If You Go Down to the Woods Today …

As I look ahead to another summer camping trip with my daughter, I reflect on our experience last summer. And lament for not buying a lottery ticket. For years, we passed through New Brunswick on our way to Nova Scotia, Newfoundland, or Prince Edward Island. We made New Brunswick our destination for two weeks in 2025. We left on August 2. Over the next week, we explored Mount Carleton Provincial Park, Kouchibouguac National Park, and Fundy National Park. Much of Atlantic Canada was under extreme fire threat, with burn bans in effect throughout the provinces. On the second night, a storm rolled through with heavy rain. A lifting of the fire ban allowed us to cook our meal on a campfire on our third night. We couldn’t have a campfire at our site in Fundy National Park, but we could use the wood stove in the cooking shelter. By the time we left Fundy National Park for Deer Island on Saturday, August 9, we’d hiked 140 kilometers, spending more than 40 hours exploring the trails in the three parks.

As we were turning in that Saturday evening, my daughter got a text message announcing that the New Brunswick government was closing all crown land to hiking. The government would go on to urge municipalities to close access to nature reserves in the days ahead. By the time we awoke on Sunday morning, the three parks we’d visited were now closed to hikers. If we’d left a week later, we’d likely have turned around and gone home with no access to the trails that were integral to our vacation. We were incredibly fortunate to hike – and have campfires – when we did.

Our next destination was Grand Manan Island, where we stayed for several days. There, we couldn’t hike the trails of Anchorage Provincial Park. But most of our planned hikes were on municipal and private land. Again, we were lucky: we weren’t barred from any trail.

We paid a “campfire permit” fee of $40.35 for our stay in Chignecto campground in Fundy National Park. We didn't get a refund because of the fire ban. With free admission to the park and the pseudo campfire in the cast-iron stove in the kitchen shelter, I figured we came out even.

Despite our good fortune, I did a slow burn on the government’s decision to close access to crown land. Specifically, my beef was with being lumped in with a few careless idiots who flick cigarette butts in the woods. To reduce risk, no one could enter the woods for fear of starting a fire. (And part of the argument to keep people out was that in the event of an incident, authorities wouldn’t have to rescue people trapped by fire.) To me, this situation felt akin to the government saying no one was to drive anymore because it was concerned with too many traffic accidents. My unsympathetic wife thought my analogy was flawed, and she agreed with the government’s decision. Ironically, the one year we decide to stop in New Brunswick is the year the government, through its actions, says we can drive on through, but don’t stop to explore the province.

Apparently, I wasn’t alone in disagreeing with the New Brunswick government’s decision. On August 10, lawyers provided by the Justice Centre issued a legal warning that the province-wide ban on public access to Crown land was unconstitutional. One of the lawyers, Allison Kindle Pejovic, wrote:

Quite clearly, walking through the woods and fishing do not pose a risk of starting fires.

These restrictions infringe on Canadians’ right to liberty protected under section 7 of the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms.

Punishing Canadians by restricting their freedom to roam and enjoy nature is disproportional and not rationally connected to preventing forest fires.

The province lifted the ban and reopened the woods to the public on August 25. The government claimed cool weather and rainfall reduced the risk of wildfires. If we take what was said at face value, charter rights weren’t the reason for the reversal. Thus, I fear that with this precedent, we’ll see bans of (this) nature again.