**Adam Shoalts is **a member of a dying breed. For one thing, he had to be pressured by his now-wife into getting a smartphone. And service tends to be sparse where he works. Shoalts, originally from Fenwick, Ontario, is one of Canada’s greatest living explorers—our very own bearded, millennial Indiana Jones. He’s done archeological digs in four countries, hosted guided hikes focused on edible mushrooms and has faced down gale-force winds, rapids and entirely too many bears for comfort. It’s all part of a larger project: to keep Canadians in touch with the country’s wild side.

Shoalts has faithfully chronicled his many treacherous expeditions. In his latest bestselling book, Vanished Beyond the Map, he recreates the Arctic journeys of Hubert Darrell, a fellow wanderer whose disappearance remains unsolved 115 years later. Not only does Shoalts live (spoiler), but his solo trek reveals parts of Canada most of its residents never see: untamed, undeveloped and mostly unnavigable, even with Waze. Thankfully for Shoalts’s many superfans, unlike his long-dead explorer colleagues, he posts trip footage on YouTube.

This week, Ontario received its first snow dump of the season. I thought, I bet Adam is out in this. Was I right?

I just shared an Instagram story where I walked through the forest by my house in Niagara. It’s especially pretty right now because we’ve got two seasons in one: there’s snow and the tamaracks are still golden. Of course I want to get out there every chance I get.

The map of Canada looks different now than it did when you started exploring back in 1999. It’s a bit strange to think of our geography as something that’s always very much evolving.

For sure. Even in 2012, I visited places that had no high-resolution satellite coverage. There weren’t any drones; now, you can buy one at Staples. But, to your point, geography is not fixed. In the western Arctic, the soil is soft sediment, so landslides happen regularly. Islands form and disappear. We assume GPS can never be wrong in our modern AI world, but nowhere in nature is it 100 per cent foolproof.

Your new book focuses on the disappearance of Hubert Darrell, a prospector turned explorer. He’s not exactly a household name.

As of last fall, he didn’t even have a Wikipedia page.

He vanished in the Northwest Territories 115 years ago—and you retraced his original routes. What possessed you to do that when you know how it ended?

I didn’t even think about that when I started—terrible answer, I know. I’d already done so many other expeditions across the North. Sleeping under the stars was just second nature to me. Plus, legions of books have been written about the Franklin expedition, but no one’s ever tried to solve the mystery of Hubert Darrell. It’s a genuine cold case. I’ve always been attracted to mystery. You’re a journalist. I’m sure you like mystery, right? Getting the scoop?

Completely, but I also enjoy running water. And being able to do some of my work over Zoom.

Come with me for a few months and you’ll get bitten by the wilderness bug. You’ll say, “My goodness, I can never go back to a high-stress life doing Zooms!” Listen to the haunting call of the loon echoing across some misty lake, or the crackle of a campfire at your feet, and you’ll say, “This is winning.”

We might be… different. For example, you see a falcon fly by while sitting on your porch one day and think, I’m going to follow that guy’s flight path to the Arctic. And then you do.

I like to seize the day. The other reason is that conservation issues are never far from my mind. The vast majority of Arctic birds are migratory: we see falcons, sandhill cranes and snow geese coming south. They depend on little parks or ledges on highrises in towns and cities for habitats. You’d be amazed if you knew how much of my day is taken up by conservation issues.

Oh?

Right before this interview, I sent texts to a couple people to see if we could save a forest that’s been put up for sale, before it goes to a developer. It’s alarming how Canadian politicians of all stripes are now just saying, “Let it rip.” Because of the tariffs, we’re approving projects all over the map—whether that’s mines in the North or eliminating red tape to build more houses. Ontario just gutted its Endangered Species Act. I guess “slow down” is an unpopular position right now.

Would you chain yourself to a tree if the situation warranted it?

Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.

Realistically, how long do you think you could survive living in a fast-paced city?

If you love city life, I’m happy for you. I’d never be satisfied living in an environment of asphalt, concrete, steel and glass.

Here’s a riff on a tried-and-true magazine question: what’s in your camping bag?

That’s a parlour game I used to love to play: pick five items to survive. Should I take my hatchet here? [Shoalts pulls a hatchet off his bookshelf.]

Oh, wow, you just have one right there, eh?

Could be useful! Maybe duct tape? Maybe a pot for boiling water, fishing tackle—or just a hook with a couple sticks? It dawned on me a few years ago that what you put in your backpack doesn’t matter as much as your mindset. Some days you wake up thinking, I’m hoping to find a gorgeous campsite tonight. Then you wind up sleeping on muskeg in a bog, inhaling mosquitoes and black flies with every breath.

You’re really selling me on this experience.

The key is to always find a silver lining. If the bugs are bad, it means the wind is light—perfect conditions for paddling. As soon as you get frustrated, it’s game over.

You’ve sometimes gone months without seeing another human being. At what point do you start to lose it?

Never. People get weird when they’re stationary in a log cabin—stir-crazy because every day is the same. When I’m alone, I’m in continuous journey mode. Every second, I’m analyzing what’s around me, figuring out whether I’m looking at a stump of juniper or thinking about mending my torn clothes. To me, solitude is one of the most enjoyable aspects of all that. I’d be a bit disappointed if I went out and found 100 other campers on a lake.

I don’t mean this in a derogatory way: were you always kind of a loner? Is that why you’re so good at solo missions?

Not necessarily. I had lots of friends as a kid, but I was also the guy who was always in the woods. Some of my former elementary school teachers asked if I would do a talk for their retired teachers’ association. They’d tell you they gave me a lot of detention. Me and the other kids would wander off and have adventures in the forest. We’re gonna get eaten by a bear! Or maybe Freddy Krueger! Who knows what’s out there?

What’s the closest you’ve come to death?

Probably driving home last night from Peterborough without winter tires. In all seriousness, I’ve been doing expeditions since I was 13. I’m now 39 and I’ve never had any significant injuries or needed search-and-rescue. Most tragedies happen because people weren’t prepared—because, sometime in July, somebody goes up a mountain in shorts and a T-shirt not understanding the temperature drop at a few thousand feet in elevation.

You’ve said that, in the grand scheme of things, the odds of an animal attacking someone are quite low. Not if you’re you!

Two grizzly bears have charged me. And I had a polar bear come at me once.

How did that go?

I was canoeing near the coast of Hudson’s Bay—polar-bear territory. From a distance, it looked like a big, triangular rock, right in the centre of the river, maybe 500 metres ahead of me. Then the rock started to move.

No, no, no.

It swam in my direction, then started doing this deep huffing and puffing—like a low growl. There were some small rapids, so I just canoed with the current to get away. That was a sleepless night. There was also a storm; it would’ve been difficult to hear something approaching in the dark. It’s all scary in the moment, but most bears just want to avoid conflict. Sometimes I talk to them calmly, as I would a horse: “Easy there, bear. I don’t want any trouble.” If I’m really worried about an encounter, I’ll take my rain jacket, a hat and my two paddles, then lash them up with a pot and some steel carabiners to make a scarecrow that jingle-jangles in the wind. If you follow a few simple rules, the wilderness can be a safe, relaxing place.

What little luxuries do you enjoy once you get back to civilization?

Having more than one tea. Out in the wild, I only have one lukewarm cup a day. At home, I think, I could have five today!

Or go to Starbucks!

Well, I don’t do that.