Mégiscane River, Québec

They were clearly worried about dumping me in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night. I was not overly concerned.

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Erica said:

Part 2

It all started 30 years ago with this book:

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We had learned tandem whitewater on the upper Hudson River with Jerry Jenkins, a one armed paddler and then spent a week at Nantahala back when you could camp for free on the west side of the river. We'd taken our first real 12 day outing in La Vérendrye and I was ready for more. After extensively researching the above book (remember, there was no internet, no forums in the 80s) I chose the Mégiscane.

We paddled the Rivière Mégiscane two summers in a row. My canoe partner and then-spouse and I made a great paddling and tripping team. Though this was more than 30 years ago, I never found someone who could replace Jacques. At 71 years of age, I wanted to see if I could still paddle it as I did in my 30s. Solo.

I drove from my home near Lake Placid, Florida, to Senneterre, QC. The trip was uneventful except for stopping to see Jacques and his wife (a kayaker!). He'd found more of our old pictures and we looked through them together, laughing and saying, "Do you remember, etc. etc." And we did. It was amazing to go through the photos and the memories they evoked. It turned out to be a fortuitous visit for several reasons.

Jacques on the Rivière Mégiscane circa 1989
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While the mapping program shows 2 days and 9 hours for the drive north, I really can only drive 6-8 hours per day. I spent some 10 days on the road taking it easy and spending some extra "rest" days packing and repacking.

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I crossed into Canada via the International Bridge and the Canadian Border Guard really grilled me about where I was going and what I was doing. She almost had a smile on her face, leaning back in her chair, gazing up at me, so I almost thought she was razzing me, but of course one cannot act on that at the border. I told her I was going canoeing. *Where*? Well, in Quebec. *What city?* Senneterre. She'd never heard of it. Val d'Or? Not that one either. Montreal? So we started from Montreal and worked our way up through Maniwaki, La Vérendrye (she'd never heard of it), to Val d'Or, to Senneterre and from there a train to Monet. "*What about your canoe*? Well, the canoe goes on the train with me. She looked at me like I had lost my marbles. I started to wonder if she thought I was putting her on. Eventually she let me pass.

By the way, I learned this trip that Québécois do not pronounce Monet in the French manner, like the painter, Claude Monet. They said "M'nette." Until I figured this out, they did not know what I was talking about.

The train station at Senneterre was easy to find. It doubles as a staging area for utility services, so there are vehicles going in and out all day. My 4Runner was untouched after three weeks sitting there, in a long line of other vehicles. Earlier in the season, recped reported in this forum that the train left during the day, say 8 am and got to Monet at 10 am. Unfortunately, this schedule had been changed to leaving at 8 pm and getting to Monet at 10 pm, which would of course be well after dark.

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Thirty years ago, the train had dumped us at an empty station at Monet where a worker was very accommodating and friendly, but warned us the manager was not. Wanting to avoid a confrontation with an irritable Québécois, I chose instead to be dropped off at the trestle over the inlet to lac Octavie.

With one notable exception near the end of this tale, all the Québécois I interacted were friendly, kind and helpful even offering suggestions and help. Most speak little to no English. This was true at the train station where a couple with a delightful daughter told me the train does not run today. They were walking to the station because the daughter had never ridden a train before and was afraid. This dry run was to get her used to at least seeing the train station and tracks.

I was lucky these kind people stopped by. Otherwise the station was vacant. It was now almost 9 pm and I had no place to stay for the night. The three motels in Senneterre were full, but I found an AirBnB about 15 minutes away. I was told I would be greeted by Vladimir. That gave me some pause, but Vlad turned out to be a friendly engaging man interested in my canoe. During my entire trip the only person who made note of my Colden Dragonfly as either beautiful or at least unusual was this handyman at a motel undergoing renovations.

The next night, when the train actually did run, found the station decently peopled with travelers and a couple of conductors. Another passenger helped me load the canoe and gear into the baggage car. I settled into the comfortable seats and watched the light bleed from the sky. I explained to the conductors that I wanted to be let off at the trestle at Monet, not at the station. His English was very good. I showed him the map. All was cool.

Night took over. The train made a couple of stops, one was for the pourvoirie at lac Faillon, the takeout of our second Mégiscane trip and my projected take out. The conductor gave me a five minute warning and I pulled things together to disembark. Baggage handlers tossed out my packs and the canoe. The railroad embankment was narrow and very high. The canoe hung out over the edge. The conductor asked if I was okay. They were clearly worried about dumping me in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night. I was not overly concerned. Maps indicated a short portage. I realized not many people paddle the Mégiscane, but I expected to find evidence of a trail and looked forward to camping by the water.

As the train pulled away, quiet and dark were restored. A full moon brightened the night sky and the water below.

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As it turns out, the conductors were right to be concerned. My troubles were just beginning.

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