How sad it was to leave that delightful campsite, Domaine des Dunes, but the road beckoned, and so on we went. Before we left that storybook little town, we grabbed some coffe and treats for both me and my traveling companions, and took a ride on the ferry across the Saguenary River hoping to see some whales, but none surfaced long enough for us to see those magnificent creatures. As soon as we got to the other shore, we turned around, took the ferry back over the river, found to Lac St Jean (LSJ), some 130 miles distant, where I planned to spend the night, and headed straight there, or as straight as one can drive there.
Since we arrived at Natashquan on Sunday, I decided to slow my pace down to about 125 miles a day, instead of the forced-march-250 we had been doing before that. The views were too fantastic to speed by, not to mention the twists and turns and 12 percent grades of the highway. The route to LSJ was no different. And what a route it was - river after river of salmon runs twisting and turning and falling in ways I had never imagined possible. Mountain and after mountain, stream after steam, on a road that was virtually empty of other vehicles until well into the trip. I changed the time interval for dog walks from no more than four hours to no more than one, sometimes left. No stronger-willed person could have done better. At one magnificent stop, I met two young women from Belgium who suggested Pointe Taillon National Park for camping, and so that's where I decided to go, although in late July, when I did some research on campsites in the area, one named Historique Village de Val Jaubert looked interesting, too.
En route to LSJ we took a detour and stopped off at a picturesque village where you can see the fiords on the banks of the river, and what a sight that was. However, in all fairness, the sight reminded me precisely of the view from my bedroom window in Cornwall, New York, where I (and our current CIA director) grew up. After a long visit, and the requisite treat for the dogs, on our way we went, father and farther north until we finally got to LSJ and the national park at 4:45, 15 minutes before my window of 5-6 to find a site opened.
And then my worst fears came true. As I pulled into the park kiosk, I asked for a tent site for the night on the water. The attendant, who reminded me of the female attendant in the female POW camp in Stalag 17 (great movie if you have not seen it), Frau Bbrunehilde Von Nichtenstein, looked over my shoulder and saw Erde snoozing away in the front site. She uttered I something like Hundes verboten, but in French. (that means dogs forbidden.) I asked her to make an exception and she barked, Nein, but in French. I told her my poor dog was injured (that worked for Sonntag), but she still barked Nein, but in French. I told her back in my country people in her position make exceptions based on circumstances (e.g., the camp was empty here), lying of course, and she barked even louder, Nein, but in French. I asked where how to get to Val Jaubert, and she pointed to the exacte opposite side of the lake, 35 km across and told me that it would take me two hours to get there and that they don't take dogs either. I politely thanked her for help (lying of course) turned the Defender around, pointed it in the direction of Val Jaubert, and gunned the engine for the first time on the road. This was the first time on the trip I wished that George Bush was still president and would declare was on Canada based on some fallacious reason Cheney concocted, but then I realized it was probably the policy of the interior secretary up here. If he or she was anything like his/her US counterpart (obama's man Ken Salazar, who has declared was on all wolves) the guy up here probably considers dogs wolves. But actually, I felt myself lucky, because if the national policy on harp seal pup "hunting" here extended to dogs, that border guard would have exterminated my dogs at the border simply for licking his face.
(PS...Brunhilde really wasn't the woman's name, and she actually was polite and apologetic, and it was my own fault for not planning ahead, but the outcome was the same, and quite nice I should add.)
Until now, I usually drove at the speed limit or less, a rare thing up here, even with the rare policeman around, and I pulled over to the shoulder to let every car pass me. But not at this trip, I said to myself, not when I do not want to miss my 5-6 window. And so we flew. Only three cars passed me the entire time, as we drove through terrain that sometimes resembled Kansas, sometimes resembled Rockville Pike, and at times resembled Times Square. I saw no campsites worth bivouacing in, and god forbid that i should just pitch my tent anywhere as in Labrador. I even passed a place named FolioSex.com and wondered if they had a nice place I could camp for the night, but dismissed that thought for the dogs' sake. I cursed myself a dozen times for not looking at Google Earth to see if any people lived here. I swore I would pack and leave the next day and head somewhere where there where no people. What I thought would be a pleasant mostly-uninhabited lake turned out to look like Metropolis North. Mon Dieu (that means My God in French) I thought, quelle un mistake (I don't know what the word is in French for mistake).
Despite the odds, at precisely 5:55, we rolled into the Val Jaubert entrance and I could not believe my eyes. The dogs could not either. Contrary to what Brunhilda at the park told me, they did take dogs here, although although I parked the Defender and with it the dogs out of sight of the registration kiosk just in case. The site chose was magnificent, four stars, in a heavily wooded area not far from the historic village (more on that later). Seperating us from the fast running river in front of us was a huge slab of flat granite bordering the water that could have been the stage for a Wagner opera. And what What a sight to sleep by, the water rushing down chute after chute, eventually to find its way to LSJ. The site, and the camp's amenities were so wonderful, I decided to break my routine and stay here an extra day. I am starting to write this posting on that extra day, on the shores of LSJ, in wonderful little park in Mashteuiatsh overlooking the lake, and no one, I mean no one, is around. Even though the town is not small, there are no people. In DC, it would be impossible to see nothing but people on. Saturday afternoon, in the parks, in the malls, and at MacDonalds. I spent most of today just driving around the shore, stopping at every park, and enjoying the peace and quite and contemplating bigger questions.
I purposely made the end of my circumnavigation of the lake the turnoff to route 167, the road north to Chibagamu, where I was hoping to go on my way to Thunder Bay, Ontario. But I decide instead to spend na few days with my friend, Andre Latour in St Jovite near Mt Tremblant, where a spent a number of winter vacations with my dogs. From there I will set out to Thunder Bay. Next year I will start Part II of this adventure at route 167.
I'll write more about the historic village I visited today when my battery, now at 7 percent is recharged, or I can find the web site and link it here. I was at first hesitant to visit it, but it was a real treat. In the meantime, look it up on the Internet. What a treat it was to visit. Here is the web site for the village http://www.valjalbert.com/. Please note the correct spelling. By the way, this was the only time during the journey that I violated my rule not to leave the dogs, in this case for one hour. But it was a good tradeoff, and the dogs slept the whole time in the Defender.
Needless to say, I am glad I dropped my plan to head out of town today. But not only for the pleasant surprise that LSJ finally gave me. I also need to carefully plan my journey to Quebec City because I had intended to stay in two different national parks on the way, and I suspect that their policy against dogs in similar to the park here. The provincal parks are much more dog friendly, so I will aim for them.
It's really odd stopping in places I never knew existed before and finding such pleasant things about them, especially the people. How friendly and hospitable they are to strangers from far away. What a lesson this has been. But it is like the movie, Brigadoon. When I leave, they will disappear for another hundred years. How sad. And I am getting used to having everyone in every town stare at us as we drive by. In fact, if they don't, I ask myself, What's wrong with them?
It is now 8:00 pm and dark out. It is also very cold. The husband of the camp registrar brought me some wood for a fire tonight. It is the first time on all my road trips that I made a fire, but it will not be my last. And this fire is huge. No faux logs here. I am finishing this posting sitting outside amidst this wonderful setting, dressed for winter but feeling the heat from the fire, my dogs snuggled inside the tent looking at me with wondering eyes, all of us listening to Rachmoninov's piano concerto number two on my iPad, and (me) drinking sone Marquis de Chassee 2008 Bordeaux unpicked up today, the only other visible light coming from the moon and a nearby site occupied by a couple from France, and the water fusing past us as if to compete with Rachmoninov. What more could someone ask for?
That last sentence does raise a point about these tenting road trips. I was hoping it would give me a chance to think about some bigger questions. But instead of the question of the existence of God, I am more concerned about the existence of a good solution to prevent the dogs from knocking out my recharging device in my cigarette lighter in the Defender. Instead of having time to think about the meaning of life, I am reduced to thinking about the meaning of some of the directions I hear in French. Instead of being able to ponder the destiny of the human race, I have to ponder the destiny of my poor tent, which is showing more tiring than thee rest of us. And while it would be nice to give some quality time to my priorities in my remaining 34 years on this planet, I have to think about the priorities for using the rest of my iPad's battery, which is now down to 10 percent. But aren't these all the same questions as the bigger ones?
Tomorrow we head south toward Quebec city, which we will teach in two days, and then to St Jovite. (Jacques , Natasha and Edie, if you are reading this, let me know where you are in St Saveur and I will stop by for coffee and let Jacques take my defender for a spin.). After a two day respite there, it is off to Thunder Bay, if the dogs say so, and than more of the road.
On that note, it is time to post this update and turn in for the night. It looks like tonight is going to be a three-dog night, but I'll settle for two.
Ed, from Camp Val Jaubert, on Lac St Jean, Quebec, Canada.
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