Road Trip to Coaticook - day three

When you are on a short jaunt from home, the sudden prospect of having to pack up everything on only the third morning is saddening. This morning was no different. As soon as we are out of the tent, Mario begins to gather up blankets and pillows, removes the fly from the tent to air out the inside. I turn the other way, ignoring him while I simmer a pan of spicy Shakshuka for our breakfast. It's another big coffee morning, but not for the same reason as yesterday. Today we are trying to use up our food - lighten our bags for the return trip, and take up less space in the car. And failing. Of course I packed too much food.

Like an evil game of Tetris, we try to cram every inch of space in the car with our gear, our tent, our sofabed mattress. We will be leaving the car in a parking lot all morning, so would like it to look the least messy possible. Near the campground is the Lac Lyster municipal beach, with its artificial sand and grassy area, but they also rent kayaks by the hour. Having fallen in love with the activity in Vietnam, when we glided among the limestone karsts of Halong Bay, Mario and I have been looking for any opportunity to reconfirm that it wasn't just the location, but the kayaking itself that we had so enjoyed. We rent a double kayak for 2 hours and set our sights on the massive granite pinnacle, Mont Pinnacle, across the lake. 

Two hours should be enough for a return trip across a lake, right? More than enough, it turns out, as we speed across the water, fighting wind and crashing through waves, and arriving at the base of the rock formation in just a little over 20 minutes. From this point on, we realize that Lac Lyster is small. and we could've easily toured the entire lake with our 2 hours, so we set ourselves to a cruising pace instead, getting up close to the rocky shoreline, exploring the fallen boulders covered in lichen and tenacious sideways-growing trees from the comfort of our boat.

We slowly meander along the coastline, admiring the collection of beautiful cottages lining Lac Lyster. This is cottage country, as is evidenced by the construction of some of the older buildings, likely built in the 1950s and 60s. Newer places are large, with massive bays of windows overlooking the water, decks and docks offering up the best views of the lake. I wonder how many of these places have become 4-season residences, especially being so close to nearby Sherbrooke, and only a 2-hour drive from Montreal. Though it may be quiet and lonely in winter, if you are into winter sports, I can see it being the ideal place to get away from the hustle and bustle of the busy city.

We watch some courageous rock climbers scale the flat face of Mont Pinnacle, the first scrambling up to a rock shelf, securing the rope, and then a second and third following along. Mario revels in their speed, and secretly wishing he was following them, I think. I am glad to be down here, safe in my kayak. 

All while we paddle along the water, grey clouds swirl overhead. That threat of rain that has been looming over us all weekend still hangs in the air, but doesn't fall. The wind swirls around us, making our kayaking more challenging at times, but the rain doesn't come, and we make it all the way around the lake and back to the beach without feeling a drop - from the sky. Otherwise, we are soaked from our own splashing and the water dripping down our paddles as we rowed! A quick change of clothes at the car, and it's off to Laiterie Coaticook for one last ice cream reward for all our hard work.

Ever the adventurers, Mario suggests we try for an alternative route for our drive home, so out come the paper maps, and I begin navigating us along all the scenic back roads towards the highway. Up one particularly steep hill, we find a magnificent vista of the surrounding farmlands and the Eastern Townships beyond, a patchwork of yellows, green and browns sprawling out in front of us. Then we head back down the hill, miss our turn, and end up on the road towards Sherbrooke! Oops. Not the first one of the weekend, we u-turn back and find the elusive road to Fromagerie La Station.

This little cheese-maker in the middle of some of the most remote farmlands, has some of our favorite Quebec cheeses. On our last visit here, we learned how the herd being fed hay in the winter, while grazing pastures in the summer, has a great effect on the milk they produce, which in turn greatly affects the flavour of the cheeses produced. Summer cheese will have a more fresh, grassy note to it, while winter cheese will be a little more dry. And of course, they are all delicious. Since Covid is not conducive to in-house tastings, we pick up a couple of chunks to go, and assemble the most ghetto-looking cheese board I have even seen, in the front seat of the car. And then the rain begins to fall. Sitting in the parking lot of Fromagerie La Station, eating apples and cheese and leftover baguette, we watch the sky open up, and all the storms being threatened all weekend come at us all at once. Which is fine. 

We are on our way home now - it can rain for the rest of the day - and it does. It rains as we regain highway 10, just before Magog, and begin heading west. It rains as we stop in Eastman for gas, and find out that their in-store espresso is actually really decent. It rains as we round the bend past Ange-Gardien, when the Montreal skyline comes into view, and we are flanked by the mountains of the Montérégie. And it stops finallyas we pull into the driveway, back home, and unpack everything from the car. 

Back to the heat of the suburbs, we open all the windows, turn on all the fans, and reassure some very unimpressed fur beasts. It has been a lovely weekend away from life, and nice to feel the emotions associated with travelling again, after so long.

Until next time...and hoping it's not so long.

Road Trip to Coaticook - day two

It wasn't cold last night, but the dampness that seeped in after the rainstorm soaked right into my body, and I awoke with a chill that I wasn't prepared for. The hot summer nights of sleeping outdoors at home, though only 2 hours away, seem sweltering in comparison, and I really should've packed more layers. I rolled myself up tighter in the blankets and eventually managed to fall back asleep.

Morning came in, sunbeams filtering into the tent through the trees, blue jays cackling up above . It is a big coffee kind of morning, especially after our late night of hiking through glowing forests, and as Mario slowly stirs the scrambled eggs, I pull together the making of baguette sandwiches and potato salad for lunch. Our plan for the day, given that the weather gods are stilling smiling down on us, is to hike the trails of the Parc de la Gorge de Coaticook. It is centered around the glacier-made gorges and river valley system of the area, and crossed by the longest suspension foot bridge in the world(at least when it was built in 1988). The park contains a campground, old round barns, lookout belvederes, and a whole mess of hiking trails of varying degrees of difficulty.

We boot along the rolling hills between farms, windows rolled down, the week's URU Karaoke music blaring from the car's speakers. Normally, I don't like the abundance of country music, but in this context, along these roads, the songs really add to the feeling of the moment. We check in at the park and begin our trek along the longest, most challenging trail. Black diamond and all - for a total of 10 km - lay ahead, waiting for us. We make our way through the campground area, through the grassy field and its playground, past the rows of fifth wheels and camper vans. We climb up a gravel slope to where the trails split. one for mountain bikes and one for boots, and make our way to the mountains.

This trail we are on, the Tillotson trail, weaves its way in and out of several river valleys and gorges, while also crossing through old growth forests and long-overgrown fields, glowing yellow in the sun from the goldenrod. It dips in and out of several different ecosystems, giving us something new to discover at every turn, be it a mountainside of giant ferns, a corridor of blackberry brambles, an elusive deer on the trail, or tiny rainette frogs crossing our path. I try to catch them. 

One thing I really like about these trails is how well they are maintained. Field trails are mown short and wide. Forest sections are marked with signs, as well as splashes of blue paint on the nearby trees. Ravines sport lovely little footbridges to make for easy crossings, and nice view points often sport benched or seats carved into over-sized logs. We snack on apples next to a small waterfall, cooling ourselves with a bandanna dunked in the fresh water.

Around lunch, we hit 6.5 km and the wildlife pond area, where ducks hid in the reeds while we ate our ham & cheese baguettes, and stretch our bare feet in the grass. There is even a picnic table and garbage can, so no need to hike out our trash. Bonus! As we leave, the frogs croak their goodbyes at us.

After much climbing and descending, climbing and more descending, we take one last steep slope back into the campground. Arriving at the car, we decide 2 things: one, that we want to continue on to the gorge, to see the suspended bridge in the daylight, and two, that all this hiking deserves the reward of more ice cream. There are certainly no arguments to that second point!

The bridge hovers in the middle of a hazy canyon, made that way by far-off wild fires. The crossing is good, but not as atmospheric or special as in the dark of last night's Foresta Lumina experience. At this point, we also decide that three, we are tired from all of this hiking, and take the short cut back to the car, resulting in getting ice cream faster. And in cups this time, because who has time for ice cream in a cone anymore, really?

The rest of the evening plays out in a very chill mood. We bounce along the same country roads to the tune of more country Karaoke music. Upon arriving back at the campground, cool and refreshing showers are in order, and we hang out on the campground's private "beach" for a quiet 5-à-7 with a lukewarm Coaticook beer and huge bag of cheddar popcorn. The "beach" is really just a grassy spot with water access, a small pier crowded with boats, and a rocky shore glazed with fuel spillage of a couple hundred motorboats. Not pleasant. 

What is pleasant is the refreshing feel of being in the forest, on our site, enjoying the sounds of the birds and nothing else. I write down my thoughts while Mario reads. We chop veggies for dinner - a Moroccan couscous that is too big for our pan - and attempt to make blueberry cheese pies in our newly-acquired pie irons. I wouldn't call our attempt a completely failure, especially if you like your pastries on the dark side. Things to remember for next time? Cook the pies less close to the flames, add sugar to the cream cheese, and use homemade dough of any kind. Pillsbury crescent roll dough is not as tasty as I remember. 

And after all that physical activity, sleep came really fast.

Road Trip to Coaticook - day one

There is a palpable sense of excitement in the air this morning, with this being our first TRUE getaway from home since the whole Covid thing went down. Bags lay in a pile at the door, while a cooler sat open in the kitchen, waiting to be filled with the ingredients of a menu I had been planning for the past 2 weeks. Not wanting to waste any more time than necessary, we eat breakfast while I gather food, standing over the counter inhaling bites of tortilla spread with peanut butter, and gulps of coffee.

The cats seem out of sorts - Kali hides in dark corners while Persie meows dejectedly at the back door, wanting to be let out. Slinky sulks on the couch, not really knowing what is going on. Being a Covid kitten, she hasn't known a time when we both have been away from home for more than a day. She's our post-travel "baby".

Turns out, we pack as much for a 3-day camping trip as we do for 3 weeks of international backpacking. The back seat of the car is stuffed with our sofa-bed mattress, because why can't we enjoy the comforts of home while sleeping in a tent in the wilderness?! Car loaded, gas tank filled, instructions given to our temporary cat wrangler, and we are finally on the road, flying down the 10, opposite a sluggish line of holiday-goers returning to to the city. Memories flood back to me, as we continue west through the Montérégie, of weekend trips to the family cottage, a line of trees whizzing by, and the crunchy ends of a store-bought baguette munched in the car. 

We attempt to stop at the "question mark" information centre, but find it closed, asphalt cracking open and tall weeds poking their way through. We do find another option, in Bromont, among the outlet stores and tourist trains. We get what we need and beat a hasty retreat. This is not the tourist action that we seek!

Finally, over the rolling mountains past Magog, we turn onto less frequented roads, heading past tall pine forests and flat patchwork farm fields. We reach the Villageois town of Coaticook, with its quaint vintage main street, its old building and new strip malls, like any good Québec town. 

We head to the north of town past the Gorge, the main draw, which we will leave for later. Instead, we stop at the Microbrasserie Coaticook, known for its unfiltered beers and maybe its pub food, too. Not sure, the online reviews were mixed at best. We decide to give it a shot, since we're here, and there's beer to taste, and it will be our first port-Covid restaurant experience - big shoes to fill. Turns out its a good gamble, and that a lot of people were wrong. The salmon tartar I order is just the right combination of fresh, lemony and spicy, and the staff are accommodating enough enough to give me more croutons instead of fries that I can never eat. Mario's fish n' chips is moist and flaky, sealed under its thick, crispy crusty batter coating, which makes the right noise when tapped with a fork. It sits on a generous nest of greasy fries, but the real star, according to Mario, is the sweet, spiced rice & grains salad that comes along with the dish. He insists that he could eat a whole bowl of that and nothing else! Also, custom beer-tasting board for the win!

Bellies full of delicious food and beer, and a quick stop at the boutique to pick up a few cans of of our favourites for at camp, and we head, with the rest of the world, across the street to the Laiterie Coaticook. Here in this old dairy factory, they make the best ice cream in the province. And yes, even though you can get the stuff in just about any grocery store in Québec, here you can try more original flavours like banana, cinnamon bun or pineapple & coconut, that are only available at their ice cream bar. At picnic tables in the sun, we join the rest of the sweet-toothed travelers  licking desperately at their melting cones, while drips of sticky-sweet cream trickle down their hands. Smart thinkers, these people at Laiterie Coaticook - they have installed a small sink outside to wash away all that stickiness away. Maybe it was for Covid hand-washing measures, I don't know, but it is much appreciated on this hot, ice-cream-melting summer afternoon.

Back on the road, we head south to Lac Lyster, a quiet cottage area surrounded by jutting granite pinnacles, where our backwoods campsite waits to welcome us. Deep in the forest but still close to those pesky permanent sites, we find ourselves alone with nature, our brand-spanking-new tent, and a fire pit begging to be cooked over. First, we take a little pre-dinner climb up the trail at the back of the campground, to the top on Mont Seguin, with its white granite cap and walk lined with raspberry bushes. We climbed and picked, then descended and picked some more, filling up Mario's cap with the tiny, tart berries. Oh, and the view of Mont Pinnacle across the lake is superb.

Dinner is Mario's Scout camp specialty: foil packs cooked on the fire, like hobo meals. True camping food. One holds chunks of red pepper and garlic, another sliced potatoes with sage and green onions, topped with butter. We grill some chicken souvlaki from Adonis, and use fresh pita to scoop up all the tasty morsels. The Gose beer from Coaticook pairs well with the meal.

We dive into the tent for a post-dinner nap, before heading out for our evening of adventure, and just in time - as soon as we close the zipper, a massive storm hits the area, dumping bucketfuls of rain on us. And only the area - not 5 minutes' drive back to Coaticook and the roads are dry again. Which is a good thing since hiking in the dark and rain is NOT a fun combination!

Foresta Lumina is a nightly light spectacle put on along the trails of the Gorge de Coaticook, including the long suspension bridge. It's a story of a girl who travels in the forest and meets its spirits, which remind me of the Kodama spirits from Princess Mononoke, right down to the green glow they give off, and the accompanying high-pitched chirps they make. We venture through the dark woods into the forest, hundreds of lights come pouring over the mountain towards us, as if to greet us. They dance in patterns, giggling among the trees, or so it seems. At the bridge, white beams of light streak towards us, while a misty portal beckons on the other side. We descend towards the  bottom of the gorge, passing through a forest alight with rain drops, glowing through the fog, which intensifies into an orchestral thunder shower, lights flashing every which way. And deep in the belly of the gorge, we find ourselves surrounded by the dancing lights of a thousand fairies, swirling and twirling their way up and down the rocks, covering the ground we walk on, making the whole world spin. 

As we climb back out of the gorge, and out of the world of Foresta Lumina, I realize that what we have just experienced is nothing short of magical, and there is no way I am ever going to be able to describe it using words. I can only say that it is something that needs to be experienced by everyone, and that you should definitely go. But maybe not for the 11 o'clock showing, because now we are sleepy.