Month 36: Monts Chic Chocs, Quebec, Canada
Three days, 1,416 miles driven, and a foreign mountain climbed- all for the turns.
This summer, I’ve discovered that a lot of times things don’t go as planned. You have it in your mind that you will be somewhere by a certain time, and life turns you upside down and shakes every expectation out of you.
It’s August 29th and I am still in NH,
I thought I would have returned to my home in Colorado by now. There is no snow in this state or any of New England.
If you’ve been following me, you may have noticed that in the summer I am always asking the ski community for adventure suggestions. The only resource that I knew to be reliable in New England was the Northeast Backcountry Skiing Facebook group. The badasses of the badasses are a part of this group. People that not only hike up and ski down regularly during the season, but do it in the bitter cold that the Northeast brings each year. There had to be someone as “crazy” as me searching for turns this time of year.
As I turned to the Facebook group, the first post was of someone skiing in the Chic-Chocs during the 3rd week of August. Since I had never heard of the Chic-Chocs, I immediately turned to my good friend Google who quickly told me that they are mountains found in the central region of the Gaspé Peninsula in Quebec, Canada. They are a part of the Notre Dame Mountains, which is a continuation of the Appalachian Mountains that stretch from Georgia to Maine. According to my initial calculations, it would be about a 10-hour drive to the Chic-Chocs.
I am not about to make that trek for unknown conditions. I learned that one the hard way during month 34 when I attempted to ski Vermont. Rudy and I drove 6 hours without seeing a speck of snow on that hill..
that was rough.
I scrolled down through the Facebook comments on the post and noticed that someone had posted a link to an Instagram story of a man named Felix. Out of curiosity and determination, I clicked. Immediately, my jaw hit the table.
THERE WAS SNOW.
AND HE WAS SKIING ON IT. AND! AND IT LOOKED PRETTY GOOD! WHAT?! OMG I’M GOING.
This day and age, the internet can be amazing, it also can be a little frightening. As I was checking out his profile, I saw that I had mutual friends with Felix from the Colorado ski community! Whoa, what a small world. I went through all 80 something comments on the Facebook post. Some people were trying to coordinate a trip together over Labor Day weekend, others going in a few weeks. Crap. None of the plans that were proposed fit my schedule so I decided to message Felix directly.
In connecting with him, I learned that Felix plays in the Chic-Chocs all year round and lives nearby. Luckily for me, he was going back up to ski 2 days before I had planned to arrive at the snow. Sweet. I would have a reliable report!
I leaned over to Rudy (my doggo) and said, “Rudy! Do you hear that?” He perked up his ears as I drew out a long dramatic pause. “THE SNOW IS CALLING MY NAME!” I told him, with a huge smile on my face.
I don’t know if he understood, but I think he felt the stoke.
This trip was going to be a whirlwind.
I was going to drive up to Quebec, hike and ski, drive south to see the coast of New Brunswick and return to New Hampshire in 3 days.
On Monday, I departed for Canada. When I arrived at the border in the evening, patrol was skeptical that I was going skiing...in September. Maybe that is just part of their job, to be skeptical and give people a hard time? Especially a young woman claiming that she is going skiing during the late summer, in a foreign country, by herself. They can question me and search my whole car! As long as they don’t take my pistachios.
I arrived at my Airbnb at 1 am. Woof. Not a great start to the trip. But I was on a mission, I knew that it would bring challenges, AND that I had what it takes. I stayed up when I arrived to plot the entire next day: timing, mileage, and food I would bring. I packed my bag too. I didn’t just put the gear in my pack though, I also attached my skis and boots so when I arrived at the trailhead I could immediately begin my trek.
The next morning I drove 3.5 hours north to the Ruisseau-Isabelle parking lot on the southern edge of Parc national de la Gaspésie (Gaspesie National Park) in Quebec, which sits at 996 feet in elevation. When I arrived I took pictures of the maps at the trailhead and took off. Felix gave me directions to the snow that were pretty straight forward. I got this.
For the first three and a half hours, I was by myself on the trail. It was glorious. If you know me, you know I not only love hiking, but I also love silent hikes. I had my observation lenses on, as per usual. Absorbing all the things around me. One thing that stood out to me was the change in the trail terrain throughout the hike. It started with a wide ATV trail that morphed into a bit of a rock scramble, which changed into a muddy root covered trail.
I discovered two types of mud on this hike, the black kind, and the brown kind. The black kind appears to be a firm surface just like wet soil, but when you step on it, you sink in about 3 inches and the muck holds onto you for life. Yes, I got stuck a few times and almost went down with my 50 lb pack and skis. The brown mud looks like your average mud, but it doesn’t take hold of you. Instead, it usually sends you flying in a direction you don’t want to go by sliding you across its slippery, ruthless surface. I mention the mud because of the impact it had on me. I was not only trying to take in the scenery and pay attention for potential wildlife, but I also had to put more energy, and focus on staying upright.
I’m on a treasure hunt. Dodging obstacles and searching for the gnar!
After 3 miles I arrived at my lunch spot, La Serpentine hut, that sits at 1,846’. It was a small hut with a wood-burning stove, two indoor picnic tables, and a composting toilette. La Serpentine had beautiful views of Patroller’s Wall, a frequented area of backcountry ski lines. Some of the lines are named Rolling Stones, La Couloir a Benny, and Rock ‘n Roll. Maybe one day I will return to send it on those lines with Felix himself!
I continued to make observations after the hut as I resumed my ascent toward the treeline.
One thing I noticed was how I didn’t know how far I was hiking because all of the trail maps and signs were in French and used the metric system. I can typically gauge how long a trail is going to take me based on that and the elevation gain, but here, it was a mystery. I do believe I could have tracked it if I had paid more attention but all of my focus was on finding the snow and fulfilling my mission. And I was totally okay with that. As you know, I was in it for the turns. I had already cooked for a 3-day trip, drove 10+ hours to a trailhead in Canada, and was on my way up. I didn’t care how many miles or kilometers I had to go, as long as I made it down before dark.
I have been blessed to see mountains on the East Coast, the West, the Pacific Northwest, and even Italy- but none of them looked like the Chic-Chocs. They were rocky in texture and caramel in color. The forest floor was flooded with mushrooms that matched the color of the mountainside but they appeared to be so caramelized that I could run my finger across its cap to collect their sugar and lick it off- just like in Willy Wonka. As I advanced up the trail, I continued to see flora and fauna that looked edible! Don’t worry I wasn’t going to actually eat it, but my imagination sure was having a feast.
After three and a half hours on the trail, I encountered my first human. He was a shorter, older man with round small glasses, a ball cap, worn hiking clothes, and a water bottle clipped on his belt. He saw me and of course, as expected, his mouth completely dropped. He shouted what sounded like a question in French. Then he began to laugh. Not having spoken a word all morning and during my silent hike, I found myself stumbling over my thoughts. After what felt like an eternity, I finally articulated, “Sorry I don’t speak French.” He said in a thick accent, “ARE YOU GOING SKIING?! WHERE?!” I replied with, “The glacier tucked away at the top of this trail”. I tried to sound confident as if I knew where I was going, even though I had never been to this part of Canada, on this trail, or to Parc national de la Gaspésie. I was just following the directions from a man on Instagram. He replied with, “wow! You are...how do you say...crazy! Can I take a picture of you? My wife won’t believe me that I saw you.” Wow, that was a new one, someone wanting my picture. Most are baffled by my drive and determination but no one has ever asked for my photo. I shrugged with a big surprised smile on my face and replied with, “Sure!”.
He not only got a picture of me with my pack on by the creek but also turned around quickly and got a selfie with me. He wished me luck and sent me on my way. I wonder how the pictures came out and what his wife had to say.
Crazy Americans.
I continued on.
As I hiked, I encountered more people who were just as shocked as the older man and also laughed and spoke to me in French. Ten minutes later, I saw the first patch of snow. I was excited yet slightly off-put. There was no way that was the snow that Felix skied...or at least that was what I was hoping. The patch of snow was tiny and tucked under a rock ledge high above me and seemed like a very steep technical climb, which I had no desire to conquer solo.
The trail quickly turned from a soft surface of forgiving dark dirt-covered roots into a caramel-colored rock scramble. After 30 minutes of twisting and turning my body as I hiked to prevent my skis from scraping on the small boulders around me, I encountered the last group of people that I would see for the day: two middle-aged outdoorsy couples out for a jolly jaunt. After our initial interaction, one man was very interested in my excursion and continued to connect with me as the others continued their descent. He asked me about where I was coming from and why I was doing what I was doing. He said something to me that I will never forget, especially because of his kindness, presence, and accent. He told me, “my, my, you are quite courageous Tori. Very brave girl.” When he said courageous, he didn’t pronounce it “cor-aye-jes”, he said, “cor-ahhh-jus”.
Corahjus, Corahjus, I repeated to myself many times throughout the rest of my ascent.
After leaving the jolly group, I came around a bend in the trail and saw the actual snow. I WAS SO RELIEVED. I came a long way and had spent a lot of energy to get to where I was. The glacier or said snow patch, sat perched in a crevasse in the mountainside. It was wider at the top and tapered off toward the bottom where the glacier was melting from the underside to fill the creeks that I crossed on my way up. When I arrived at the glacier, I took my heavy pack off to take a look around. I remember on Felix’s Instagram story, he had posted a video of himself from under the glacier. Of course, being the corahjus woman that I am, I wanted to check it out and see if I could do the same. I had skied a few glaciers but had never been underneath one before. I felt a lot more confident exploring and going to a place that I had never been to because of Felix’s guidance. I walked down a steep slope to get up close and personal with the glacier. I noticed that it was extremely thick at the lower aspect which indicated that it would be even denser as it went up the mountainside. This observation brought my mind to ease and gave me the guts to go underneath. I went back up to my pack, got a sip of water, the GoPro, and my raincoat.
As I went back down to the glacier and got closer,
I heard a steady roar coming from the depths of this snow cave.
No, no, it wasn’t a mountain lion roar or a bear. It was the deep roar of a waterfall. I quickly crossed the perfect stepping stones laid by mother nature in the snowmelt and entered the cave. I immediately put my hood up as the glacier was melting from the bottom causing it to rain on any visitors. I was in awe as well as completely terrified. I mean let’s be honest, I was under a melting glacier, in a National Park in Canada, without service, by myself. Definitely not the brightest move, but definitely the boldest. I took a few still shots on my phone and a video, which took me about 70 seconds, then I got the heck out of there. I was feeling the fear and was also aware that I still needed to ski, hike back to the car, and drive 5 hours south to my next Air BnB...and it was already 2:55 pm.
When I got to the top of the glacier, I discovered that it was much larger than I thought. It wrapped around a large rock pile and got wider before it angled down toward the crevasse in which it tapered. I also discovered an additional waterfall that came from above the glacier and flowed into the snow cave waterfall. I unloaded my gear and strapped in.
During the month of July, I totaled around 12 turns, by the looks of this glacier I was for sure going to lose count. Before I dropped in, I gazed at the valley below. I reflected on this journey not only of today but on my ski streak as a whole. I had skied fancy resorts, volcanos, dirty ice, and everything in between. I was honored and full of gratitude to be surrounded by fresh air in the Chic-Chocs of Eastern Canada. After sitting in the sun for the afternoon, the snow was soft and oh so shreddable. I loved every second of it.
It’s moments like these where I wish I had someone to share it with, yet, I love having the ability to tell the story from my own heart, experience, and perspective.
A shot taken at the top of the glacier. This waterfall flows down into the glacier feeding the second waterfall.
The next morning I drove two and a half hours from my Air BnB to the coast of New Brunswick, Canada to the Hopewell Cape. It wasn’t on the way back to New Hampshire but I figured I didn’t come this far to only come this far, so why not?
Tucked away in the northern part of the Bay of Fundy, just northeast of the coast of Maine is where the highest tides in the world reside. Because of the bay’s shape and features, the tides have the effect resembling a 50-foot tall “wall of water”. Rather than a tsunami-like tide ripping towards the shores, the water slowly fills the bay, as well as backfills the rivers. HOW COOL? The Bay of Fundy has a seiche which is a natural rocking motion that happens in a bathtub. It takes about 13 hours for the water to rock to the mouth of the bay and return back to the shore. When I was first driving along the coast I didn’t know these fun facts but knew there was something different about this shoreline in particular because of the things that I observed. I saw what looked like deep trench-like features in the wet sand on the shore. The sand appeared to be more mud and clay-like. I noticed the cliffs that lined parts of the shore were stone mosaics filled with smaller rocks and shells. I noticed that no humans were walking the shoreline as people do everywhere on the coast in the Northeast. Nature had caught my curiosity yet again and I had the desire to follow the spark.
When I arrived at Hopewell Rocks Park, I B-lined it for the museum inside to get a complete download before I immersed myself back into nature. I love and deeply appreciate when I can use my imagination to brew up daydreams of how it came to be, or how it once was. I ventured away from the crowds and began my tour of the park on the right side.
I walked down to the shore and was in complete awe. It appeared as if each time the saltwater filled the bay, it eroded the hills of the lush forest. Pine trees stood tall with some roots exposed on the slanted slopes below. The bay seemed to stretch out far, but didn’t have much depth. I wanted so badly to wade out into the water and observe the shore from the ocean.
Remember how I mentioned the mud in the Chic-Chocs that would hold onto you for dear life 3inches deep?
Well, I was quick to discover that the firm-looking wet shiny sand was far worse than that black mud. As I walked along the shore I noticed the regular looking sand slowly got softer and softer. I saw an arch off of the side of a cliff that I wanted to explore. I was so surprised that there were no people around and was stoked to check it out! I took one step into the shiny sand and in my foot went. It swallowed my tennis shoe up to my laces...on all sides and somehow stopped below the rim of my shoe.
On the way back up the trail leaving muddy footprints behind me,
I noticed a shoe cleaning station. It was obvious that rookie tourists like myself, make this mistake all the time. I tried to clean myself as best I could to not appear to be a rookie. I spent another hour or so strolling through the park and exploring the view spots. I took pictures for others and heard foreign conversations. I wanted to spend the whole day there but it was time to head south. Of course, it wouldn’t be a complete experience without visiting the gift shop on my way out.
I’m not one for trinkets, especially with building a tiny home and downsizing, but I went in there because it felt right. I didn’t know why, but I went with it. As I walked in, there was a rotating rack with keychains on it and right at eye level there was a tin copper keychain that read, “Be Brave, Strong, and Courageous”. Ahh yes, corahjus. I am a corahjus woman, and I can’t forget that. My whole being smiled. I purchased the keychain and a few postcards and drove back into the United States.
