July 5 to July 11, 2016
We have been on the Gaspé peninsula between the villages of L’anse au Griffon and Riviere au Renard. We came here because Brenda wanted to see whales and I wanted to revisit a place I had been to in 1971. I think I was scouting an alternative to the draft, frankly, when I came here then, taking a bus to Montreal and then hitchhiking around the peninsula and back to Maryland. The geography appealed to me—almost the far north, mouth of the St. Lawrence, dramatic coastline—and just the fact that it was remote and seemed to be unknown territory.
We are on the edge of a steep, 90 foot cliff overlooking the gulf of St. Lawrence which from this vantage has no end—as limitless as any sea. Not the best time to be here, however. The temperature is normally in the mid 70s but has barely risen above 60 since we arrived. We have spent a couple days walking the beach. The cliffs are black, shale-like rock, emerging at all kinds of twisted earth-evolving angles, shot through with bright white crystal bands (calcite, I think) and the occasional layer of granite. The black rock is soft and once it breaks from the cliff it quickly erodes into small pieces of smooth, regular shapes—triangles, discs, rhomboids–each shot through with bright white lines. So the beach is filled with these little works of abstract art in black and white.
We have seen pilot whales (triple-size dolphins in appearance that stay under a long time) off shore below us, and a seal that shows up just after the lobster fishermen have refilled their traps. When the sun shines it is a beautiful sight, the waters clear and all kinds of blue and green, the rocks in the surf multicolored and interestingly shaped. When the sun goes behind the clouds the whole landscape becomes dismal and soul-deadening. Sun shines, all is bright with the chatter of birds and the promise of a good harvest from the sea; sun hides and you look with despair on the past and the future. Sun is out and you look forward to the Catholic feast days; sun disappears and you become a Calvinist. It’s been mostly sunny and we have taken some great hikes in the Parc National de Farillon which surrounds us. Today’s arduous hike brought us close to a bear. We paused on the trail to examine a dead porcupine and a French hiker caught up to us. We speculated that a bear had killed the porcupine. He went on ahead and soon I heard him yelling French phrases with the word “bear” in them. He told us later he had indeed made effort to shoo off a bear.
Few people we have encountered speak English, which surprises me. I managed to get the oil changed in the truck at a small garage (at least I think I did—maybe he just refilled the windshield wiper fluid and charged me 40 dollars Canadian.) I thought I was hitting it off with the next door neighbors until he brought up the American election and asked about Trump and I said “absolument non.” His wife laughed too hard and he kind of scowled and I got the idea he liked Trump. So I said “Hillary, comme ci, comme ca” which he found funny but he kind of gave me the cold shoulder after that.
Jacques Cartier made his first landfall near here in 1534, establishing France’s claim to Canada in the eyes of France. The sun must have been shining when he laid claim, otherwise I think he would have kept looking. I mentioned in a previous post the Loyalist cemetery we had seen on the St John river. The Loyalists, I’ve learned, were british-americans who supported Britain in the American revolution and had to hightail it to Canada after the war. The Gaspe received a fair number of Loyalists tho most settled in the maritime provinces.
As I say, it has been unseasonably cold here, tho I write this outside at 8pm sitting by the fire. I had talked to someone in the Bay of Fundy who was 150 miles (as the crow flies; 500+ road miles) northeast of here in late May and had seen icebergs offshore. I never mentioned this to the rest of the crew because morale has been sinking with the temperature.
I have a fondness for the geography and foodways of the Gaspesie. Can’t say I know the people well, but they seem quick to laugh and evince the fatalist attitude of people who live in harsh circumstances. They paint their houses and their boats in bright colors, which is always a plus. The native people, the Micmacs, called this region, their world, “Land’s End.”
We are going to be in the region for another week. We head up to a wildlife reserve for a few days of more rustic camping then across the St Lawrence to La Bergeronne where the whale hunting is good, I’m told.