Bob Takes His DJI Neo Drone to Kensington Market

Sometimes the best views of Toronto aren’t from the tallest tower or a fancy observation deck—they’re from unexpected spots tucked away in the city. This weekend, Bob decided to bring his DJI Neo drone to the parking garage at Kensington Market to see the city from a new perspective.

The garage rooftop offered the perfect launchpad: wide open space, clear skies, and sweeping views of Toronto’s ever-changing skyline. From here, Bob sent his little drone into the air and captured scenes that blended old and new Toronto.

Looking west and north, the drone picked up rows of heritage houses and low-rise buildings that give Kensington its character. Murals and graffiti peeked out between rooftops, reminding Bob why this neighborhood is known for its vibrant, artistic spirit. Beyond them, the skyline of midtown rose, with its smokestacks, glass towers, and hospital complexes standing tall in the distance.

Turning the camera south, Bob caught the CN Tower in all its glory, piercing the sky above the downtown core. Modern high-rises stretched out around it, cranes marked the next wave of construction, and in the foreground, rooftops decorated with graffiti carried the voice of the city’s street culture. The contrast between the bustling downtown towers and the quiet, half-empty parking garage below made for a striking composition.

From the eastern angle, Bob’s drone highlighted how Kensington Market is nestled right against the urban growth of Toronto. Condo towers rise on one side, while the market’s maze of shops, vintage stores, and food stalls remain just steps away. It’s a view that sums up the market perfectly—an island of character and community surrounded by a city that never stops expanding.

Here is a photo of Bob before takeoff, getting ready with his DJI Neo on the rooftop:

Flying the DJI Neo here was simple but rewarding. The drone’s lightweight build made it perfect for navigating the city without drawing too much attention, while its camera managed to capture crisp, detailed shots even in the harsh mid-morning sun.

For Bob, this wasn’t just a flight—it was another reminder of how photography can reveal layers of the city that are easy to miss from the street. Sometimes, all it takes is a short trip up a parking garage, a drone, and a curious eye.

Next time you’re at Kensington Market, remember to look up—the best view might just be right above you.

 

Bob Explores the History of Logging in Wakami

 

Walking through the forest trails of Wakami, I felt like I had stepped back in time—back to the 1920s and 1940s, when this region was alive with the sounds of axes, saws, and the steady creak of horse-drawn sleds. Logging was the lifeblood of northern Ontario then, and here in Wakami, they’ve done a remarkable job preserving that history.

At first, horses did all the heavy pulling, dragging massive logs out of the bush on sleighs in the winter. But by the late 1920s and into the ’40s, machines began to muscle their way into the picture. That shift—from horse power to horsepower—changed everything, and the displays here tell the story beautifully.

Along the trail, I came across restored logging equipment under simple wooden shelters. Big steel winches, their cables still coiled tight, reminded me how loggers once hauled timber from deep in the bush. Then there was the sawmill setup, complete with a log ready to be cut. You could almost hear the whir of the saw blade biting into fresh pine. Nearby, huge wooden sleds loaded with timber sat frozen in time, waiting for horses that would never come.

The displays aren’t just about the machines though. Scattered log buildings—bunkhouses, cook shacks, and tool sheds—give you a glimpse of the rough lives of the men who worked here. Interpretive panels along the way help piece it all together: the long days, the brutal winters, the danger, and the pride of shaping a booming industry out of the northern forest.

What struck me most was the balance between nature and industry. Today, Wakami feels so quiet, just the wind in the trees and the crunch of boots on the trail. But less than a century ago, it was buzzing with the hard work of loggers, their horses, and eventually their machines.

For me, walking through this outdoor museum wasn’t just about learning history—it was about feeling it. The smell of the pines, the creak of old timber, the sight of rusting iron left in the forest—it all brings the past a little closer.

Logging built this region, and Wakami makes sure we don’t forget it.

Bob Visits the GreenFirst Sawmill in Chapleau

Chapleau might be a small northern town, but it’s home to some big industry. On my latest stop, I wandered over to the GreenFirst Forest Products softwood lumber sawmill and biomass cogeneration plant, a place where the hum of machinery and the steady rhythm of industry fill the air.

The first thing I noticed was the tall smokestack, sending a steady plume of white steam into the clear blue sky. It stood like a northern lighthouse, only instead of guiding ships, it was a signal of industry hard at work. The plant doesn’t just cut lumber—it also powers itself with a biomass co generation facility, using bark, sawdust, and other byproducts to create energy. Nothing goes to waste here, and that’s pretty neat to see.

Driving in, I passed stacks of lumber piled high, wrapped and ready to ship out across the country. A loader rumbled by, carrying a fresh bundle of boards, while trucks and trains lined up to take the finished product to market. The place had a rhythm all its own—machines, workers, and nature all playing their part in this northern economy.

What impressed me most was how everything here connects back to the forest. Logs arrive, lumber is cut, waste becomes energy, and the cycle continues. Standing near the rail yard, I watched loaded cars filled with GreenFirst lumber, ready to head down the line. It was a reminder of how towns like Chapleau grew around industries like this, and how they still keep the community going today.

For a visitor like me, it wasn’t just about sawdust and steam—it was about seeing how innovation and tradition come together in northern Ontario. The sawmill is more than just a workplace; it’s a heartbeat of Chapleau, turning forest resources into something that travels far beyond town limits.

And as I walked away with the smell of fresh-cut pine still in the air, I thought: sometimes the story of a town can be told in the sound of a mill whistle and the sight of a railcar loaded with lumber, heading down the tracks to the wider world.

 

Bob Visits the CPKC Rail Yard and Museum in Chapleau, Ontario

On my latest adventure, I found myself in Chapleau, Ontario—a true railway town through and through. The history of this place is written in steel rails and the sound of locomotives, and I couldn’t resist stopping by the CPKC (Canadian Pacific Kansas City) rail yard to see it for myself.

As I walked along the tracks, I caught sight of a bright red Canadian Pacific locomotive, number 2305, parked against a grey northern sky. It stood out like a bold streak of colour, ready to take on the long stretches of rail that cut across Northern Ontario. Not far from it, a line of yellow maintenance-of-way equipment sat waiting, each machine with its own role in keeping the network alive and running smoothly. They looked almost like a construction crew, resting before the next big job.

But Chapleau doesn’t just celebrate its present-day railway operations—it also treasures its past. A short stroll brought me to the Chapleau Railway Museum, where Canadian Pacific steam locomotive 5433 is on proud display. The big black engine sits in a small park, complete with benches and flowers, a monument to the days when steam ruled the rails. Standing next to it, I imagined the heat, smoke, and noise it must have created as it thundered through this very town decades ago.

The museum itself gives visitors a glimpse into Chapleau’s long-standing ties to the railway. Photos, tools, uniforms, and stories from the people who lived and worked along the tracks bring the history to life. It’s the kind of place where you can feel how important the railway was—not just for transportation, but for building a community.

Chapleau may be a small northern town, but the railway makes it feel big, connected, and full of history. Visiting the CPKC yard and museum reminded me that railways aren’t just about trains—they’re about people, places, and the spirit of connection across Canada.

 

 

Bob Visits Iroquois Falls

 

Bob rolled into Iroquois Falls on a bright summer day, the kind of day when the northern sky looks endless and the sun sharpens every color in town. His first stop was at the old locomotive on display—a proud reminder of the town’s railway and industrial roots. The black engine sat quietly in the park, its red trim and steel pipes gleaming in the sunlight. Bob could almost hear the ghostly huff of steam and the clang of a bell that once echoed through these tracks.

After wandering around and snapping a few photos, Bob strolled down Main Street. Like many small northern Ontario towns, Iroquois Falls had that quiet charm: low buildings, wide streets, and the steady rhythm of local life. A few cars passed, but most of the action seemed centered around the small businesses.

Bob’s stomach soon reminded him it was lunchtime, so he headed into The Imperial Restaurant, a family-style diner right on Main Street. The sign promised “Homemade Meals – Breakfast all day”—the magic words that spoke straight to Bob’s heart.

Inside, the atmosphere was friendly and down-to-earth. Locals chatted over coffee, and the smell of fresh cooking filled the air. Bob ordered up a classic diner meal: a plate of eggs, toast, and bacon, with a side of crispy home fries. Simple, hearty, and exactly what he needed. The kind of food that made you feel at home even if you were just passing through.

With a full belly, Bob lingered for a while, watching Main Street through the window. He thought about how towns like Iroquois Falls might not always make the travel brochures, but they hold their own kind of treasure—history, character, and good people keeping small-town life alive.

By the time he stepped back outside, the sun was still high, the streets were calm, and the locomotive waited silently at the park. Bob tipped his hat to the old engine before heading off to his next stop, grateful for a good meal and a glimpse into the quiet beauty of Iroquois Falls.

Bob’s Camping Trip at Kettle Lakes Provincial Park – Bullfrog Lake

 

This week, Bob set up camp at Kettle Lakes Provincial Park, a quiet northern Ontario gem known for its chain of lakes formed by retreating glaciers. He managed to snag a campsite right by Bullfrog Lake, and it turned out to be one of the most peaceful camping trips he’s had in a while.

The soft sandy ground made for easy setup, and the surrounding forest gave plenty of privacy and that true “back-to-nature” feeling.

A few steps away, Bullfrog Lake stretched out under the afternoon sun, sparkling like glass. Bob couldn’t resist spending time down by the picnic table at the water’s edge, watching the light dance across the ripples. It was the kind of view that makes you slow down and forget about clocks.

As the sun dipped lower, the lake turned into a mirror, doubling the golden rays and tree-lined horizon. Bob stood at the shoreline, soaking in the stillness. The reflection of the setting sun looked like a second star floating in the water. He thought to himself, “This is why you camp—this is what city folks just don’t get until they see it.”

But the real magic came later. As daylight faded, the forest hushed, and Bullfrog Lake slid into the blue hour—that fleeting time when the sky glows deep cobalt and the water mirrors it perfectly. The tents glowed faintly in the last traces of light, while loons called across the water. For Bob, it was a painter’s palette moment, where the whole world seemed dipped in shades of indigo and silver.

The night promised campfires, the sound of loons, and maybe a cider or two before crawling into the tent. Bob couldn’t imagine a better way to spend a camping stop than sitting under the stars at Bullfrog Lake.

Kettle Lakes may not be as busy as some of Ontario’s bigger parks, but that’s what makes it special. For Bob, this was exactly the kind of camping trip that reminds you why the outdoors is worth protecting—and visiting again and again.

Bob Visits Kap-Kig-Iwan Falls Provincial Park

There’s something about waterfalls that pulls Bob in every time—maybe it’s the sound of rushing water, or the way a river carves its way through the rocks, shaping the land for thousands of years. This week, Bob set out to explore Kap-Kig-Iwan Falls Provincial Park, a hidden gem near Englehart, Ontario.

From the moment he arrived, Bob could hear the thunder of the Englehart River as it spilled over the rugged rock ledges. The trails wound through thick northern forest, opening up to viewpoints where the falls revealed themselves in full force.

At the first stop, Bob leaned on the wooden railing and watched the water crash down into a deep, foaming pool (photo 1). The sheer power of it was mesmerizing, a reminder of how untamed northern Ontario can be. He took his time here, letting the mist hit his face before heading down the trail for a closer look.

Further along, the river spread out and cascaded over multiple ledges (photo 2). Each drop had its own character—some smooth and steady, others tumbling wildly between jagged rocks. Bob found himself snapping photo after photo, trying to capture the movement of the water against the dark stone.

Finally, he wandered to a quieter spot where the river widened and flowed more gently (photo 3). Here, the falls were smaller, framed by evergreens and moss-covered rocks. It was a peaceful contrast to the roaring sections upstream. Bob sat by the water’s edge, listening to the steady current and enjoying the calm northern atmosphere.

Kap-Kig-Iwan Falls might not be the most famous destination in Ontario, but for Bob, it was a perfect mix of rugged wilderness and soothing scenery. The combination of rushing falls, quiet trails, and thick forest made it a spot worth returning to.

Before leaving, Bob thought to himself: sometimes, the best places are the ones you stumble upon in the quieter corners of the map.

 

 

Bob’s Day at the Spadina Museum: A Stroll Through Time

On a sunny Toronto morning, Bob decided it was the perfect day for a trip back in time. His destination: the Spadina Museum, a stately heritage home perched just above the city, where the early 20th century still lingers in every corner.

From the moment Bob stepped onto the gravel path leading to the grand front entrance, he felt like he was walking into the pages of an old family photo album. The mansion’s pale exterior and elegant ironwork awning set the tone—this was no ordinary house, but one that had seen decades of fashionable Toronto life.

Inside, Bob was greeted by richly decorated rooms that seemed to whisper stories of the past. The drawing room, with its deep red walls, ornate gold mirrors, and patterned carpets, was like stepping straight into the 1920s. Bob imagined the parties that once filled the air with laughter, the soft clink of teacups, and the scent of fresh flowers brought in from the gardens. He lingered over the details—delicate porcelain figurines on the mantle, a faintly glowing lamp in the corner, and plush cushions on a floral chaise that practically begged for a lazy afternoon nap.

The kitchen and pantry were another treasure trove. Shelves lined with vintage tins of coffee, biscuits, cereal, and even old potato chip cans transported Bob to a time when grocery shopping meant visiting the local corner store, not scrolling through an app. He chuckled at some of the colorful designs and brand names that had long since disappeared from modern shelves.

Bob wandered through the halls, each room offering a new glimpse into Toronto’s past—from the elegance of the entertaining spaces to the everyday life hinted at in the working quarters. By the time he stepped back outside, the modern city skyline peeking in the distance felt almost jarring.

The Spadina Museum had done its job—it had let Bob escape for an afternoon into a world where craftsmanship, detail, and slower living reigned supreme. And like any good trip through time, it left him with a deeper appreciation for the stories behind the city he calls home.

Bob’s Uphill Battle: Conquering the Baldwin Steps on a Scorcher

It was one of those Toronto summer days where the air felt like it was being piped in from a sauna. The kind of day when even the squirrels were lounging in the shade and the city pavement seemed to shimmer like it had its own heatwave mirage.

Bob stood at the base of the Baldwin Steps, squinting up at the daunting concrete climb. “Well,” he muttered, “it’s only… what… a few dozen steps? Easy.” Famous last words.

He grabbed the railing and started the ascent. The first section wasn’t so bad—plenty of shade from the overhanging trees, dappled sunlight dancing across the steps like nature’s camouflage. But as the street below shrank away, so did Bob’s illusion of an easy climb. His pace slowed. His breathing deepened. Somewhere halfway up, he was pretty sure he’d entered a new time zone.

At the top landing, Bob paused to look back down Spadina Road. The view stretched far into the hazy distance, Toronto’s skyline rising up through a green sea of treetops. A gentle breeze teased him with the promise of relief, but it was short-lived—time for the final push.

The last section spiraled up between stone pillars and garden beds bursting with flowers. Bob’s shirt was clinging like plastic wrap, but his determination held strong. Finally, with one last step, he reached the summit.

He turned to take in the city view again—this time from the top. From here, the street below looked almost serene, the traffic lights blinking lazily in the heat. Bob, on the other hand, was anything but serene. He was dripping, panting, and already planning his next move: finding the nearest shady bench and maybe a cold drink.

Sometimes, the best part of climbing the Baldwin Steps on a hot summer day… is knowing you never have to do it twice in a row.