Hand-pitched safari tents on 400 acres of old-growth and lakeshore. A real bed, a wood stove, hot water under the stars — and nothing between you and the dawn chorus but a single layer of canvas.
Built with, and watched over by, the people who keep this country wild
Every Canvas Camp tent is built for the long stay — insulated, lit, warm, and quiet. You bring a bag. We've thought about the rest.
A king frame, wool toppers, and a duvet rated for a frost-edged October night. We start with the sleep and design outward — a retreat you can't rest in isn't one.
A cast-iron stove with a season of split birch stacked at the door. Strike a match, watch the canvas go gold.
Solar-heated rain catchment feeds a copper rainfall shower. Steam rising into cedar at six in the morning, no boiler in sight.
Rooftop panels and a silent battery wall run every lamp and kettle. No generator hum, no diesel smell — ever.
A two-ring stove, seasoned cast-iron, a hand grinder, and a larder of provisions from farms you passed on the drive in.
What the land gives back
We bought this land to keep it standing. Everything we build is designed to leave when we do — and to give back more than it takes while it's here.
Tents rest on timber platforms set on screw piles. Pull three bolts and the forest floor is untouched — no concrete, no scar left behind.
Rain is caught, filtered, warmed by the sun, and returned to a reed bed that polishes it clean. We draw nothing from the lake.
Eggs, sourdough, maple, and greens from farms inside an hour's drive. The shortest supply chain we can walk on foot.
200 acres are covenant-protected and will never be built on. The tents share the edge; the deep woods belong to the herons and the deer.
Each one sits alone, out of sight of the others, chosen for a different mood of the forest.
Steps from the water, with a private dock and a morning swim before anyone else is awake. Loons for an alarm clock.
Tucked in a stand of old cedar, deep-shaded and cool clean through July. The most hidden tent we pitch.
High on the escarpment with a deck built for the sunset and a sky that goes fully dark by nine.
Open grassland edged by birch, a fire ring, and room for the whole family — two-legged and four.
“I haven't slept like that in years. The stove ticking, the canvas breathing, rain on the roof — I forgot I owned a phone. Three days and I came back a different speed of person.”
“We packed expecting to rough it and got the best shower of my life, outdoors, under the stars. My kids talked about the dark sky for a solid month afterward.”
“You can feel that this land is loved, not just used. No hum, no fences, no neighbour you can see — just the lake and us. We booked next spring before we'd packed the car.”
Rates are per tent, per night, with the breakfast larder included. Two-night minimum, three on long weekends.
Late autumn through early spring.
Summer and the colour weeks of fall.
All four tents, the land to yourselves.
Fully. Solar runs the lights, kettle, and water heater; the wood stove handles the warmth. There's no mains power and, gloriously, patchy cell signal — but a hardwired emergency line, and Starlink in the main lodge for the night you truly need the world back.
Each tent has its own private copper rainfall shower with solar-heated water and a composting toilet, both in a cedar wet-room joined to the tent. No shared block, no walking across the dark to find one.
Shoulder-season nights dip near freezing. The wood stove and our frost-rated wool bedding keep the tent genuinely toasty — most guests end up sleeping with the stove door glowing and the canvas flap cracked for the cold air.
Well-behaved dogs are welcome at The Meadow and on every trail. We ask they stay leashed near the lake to keep the loons and nesting birds at ease, and there's a towel-down station waiting at the door.
Honestly, it's the best soundtrack we sell. The tents are fully waterproof with covered decks, the stove makes the inside cosy, and watching the lake disappear into rain is something most people never slow down enough to see.
Tents are released one season at a time and the lakeside clearings go first. Find your nights, zip the door open, and let the dawn chorus do the rest.