Wild camping in Canada is real easy - as long as you have a tent and a chainsaw. The long stretch of road we take out of Sept-Iles is straight, boring and drab. On both sides the road is lined with forest. Not the beautiful mystic sylvanian forest of middle Europe, or the lush overgrown complexity of tropical jungle. Just scrawny pine trees about two to three metres tall and pressed together too tightly so that their branches are are ill-formed and weedy and reaching out to the floor as if to seek some extra support. We finally come to a break in the trees where a telephone mast has been plonked down beside the road. There's a small housing for the technological stuff and a fence to keep nosey-parkers out. We cook our tea and then continue down the road wondering if another gap should ever appear ever again. Ever. This when the chainsaw comes in handy.
We finally find a place where the trees have been cut down and behind the first 'curtain' of trees is a kind of clear lane. It's where the electricity pylons and lines are running in parallel to the road. The ground is rough and covered in blueberry bushes but we manage to eke out space for the tent. As we nod off, my ears pricked for any sounds of wildlife, all we can hear are motorbikes and waves alternately roaring in the distance.
Sunday morning and the sky is full of low-hanging dark clouds that feel oppressive. We decide to cycle before breakfast because we don't have much water. We are surprised to find a turn-off very soon that leads down to a beach. There's a street of houses along the shore. We park the bikes and start to get our breakfast going. A woman calls out from the end house. "Would you like a coffee with that?" We give her a thumbs up. A neighbour walks over from another house with his little girl in tow. We swap geetings and ask what he does here. In this forlorn place. He tells us he does the wood cladding on new frame houses. Here? No, back in Sept-Iles. Do we need anything, he asks us. Yes, water. He tells us to help ourselves from a tap outside his house.
And then the Coffee Woman arrives with two big steaming mugs. Gayle hates coffee, but how do you explain that when someone has been so kind. We chat with Evelyn for a while and I surreptitiously swap cups with Gayle to empty both of them. This kind-hearted woman tells us that a storm last year took away their beach. At the end of winter they sometimes get bears foraging in the bins. We tell her about our journey and where we're heading. Her friendliness and spontaneous kindness has lifted our spirits on this gloomy day. If only every day could begin like this.
We finally find a place where the trees have been cut down and behind the first 'curtain' of trees is a kind of clear lane. It's where the electricity pylons and lines are running in parallel to the road. The ground is rough and covered in blueberry bushes but we manage to eke out space for the tent. As we nod off, my ears pricked for any sounds of wildlife, all we can hear are motorbikes and waves alternately roaring in the distance.
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| Evelyn The Coffee Woman, Rue De La Mer |
And then the Coffee Woman arrives with two big steaming mugs. Gayle hates coffee, but how do you explain that when someone has been so kind. We chat with Evelyn for a while and I surreptitiously swap cups with Gayle to empty both of them. This kind-hearted woman tells us that a storm last year took away their beach. At the end of winter they sometimes get bears foraging in the bins. We tell her about our journey and where we're heading. Her friendliness and spontaneous kindness has lifted our spirits on this gloomy day. If only every day could begin like this.
