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On a recent vacation in the beautiful area of Pontiac, Quebec, my friends asked me about my next project. They were curious when Book 2 of The Jayme Adventure Series was coming out. Their interest took me by surprise, but also made me feel good. I informed them that they would be reading it by the end of this summer, and that the name was '?????? ?? ??? ???? ????' .... asking them to keep it secret until the launch occurs :)
I'm sharing this because as an author (a very new 'developing' one in my case) you don't get feedback very often - so you must be self motivated! And like other art, you need to do it for yourself first. It was therefore very nice of them to be asking and encouraging me to keep going. The other 'thing' that you must completely do is drive forward with your best effort, even if others (insert here 'critics') think that your creation is not the next Stairway to Heaven song, or Tom Thomson painting. Feeling a little doubt and apprehension is a good thing in my opinion. For example, I thought I had Book 2 landed six months ago, only to be informed (more like 'strongly encouraged') by my editor that more was needed. So back to it I went pretty much all winter to refine, remove, change, and add. Oh yes, I did add quite a bit! The final book word count is now 60% higher than my first submission to the editor. During these recent months I found myself replaying in my head a saying I have been using for years - 'Never Quit'. Those who know me well will recognize the saying, which I like to use from time to time when someone around me needs a boost. I also use it to encourage others at sports, improve teamwork, or bring a sense of unlimited possibility to any goal. (FYI - The origin of that saying is from a famous comic actor in a hilarious movie - I'll let you guess/research which one). So it is with great appreciation that I thank friends, family, and readers for their ongoing support... and for keeping the 'never quit' pointing in my direction.
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Living in Canada and having a continuous direct family line which dates back centuries to the 1600’s makes these times quite interesting. My ancestors lived mostly in francophone Quebec and were present when critical conflicts took place. Some of these included long wars, a few were shorter 'battles', some did not include military force, and some even occurred within the country. Canada's history is more rich and complex than most realize, or wish to acknowledge.
In my first book 'Buoyant Passages' published in 2023, I wrote the following: The world is already so much more open than it was when I was a kid. Diversity and different beliefs easily cross borders and have become mainly global, for all to enjoy and critique..... We belong to a grand macrocosm that has demonstrated time and time again that we are all linked. Everyone has a role to play and a responsibility in their broader community to advance into the future with a light that shines brightly. I stand by those words...nothing has changed for me. At the core is living a life of respect for others, and being a valuable member of your community. And for a community to thrive (no matter the size), the members of it must take care of it and not become completely reliant on others. When I was born the Canadian flag had recently been revealed to the world, Canada was still on a high from an international exposition (Expo '67), and the country was gearing up to host the Olympics for the first time. During those years, authors, songwriters, poets and other artists took centre stage to define Canada. They dreamed of it, wrote about it, sang about it, and exported it to the world... It lifted our pride. Some would say Canadians lost their way a little bit in the decades that followed. I’m not one for going back in time, although I must admit that returning to some of that maple leaf 'resolve' feels good!! When I was a young boy, my Christmas only truly started when we pulled up in front of the home of my Grandparents and I would see the big Christmas tree in front of their house. It stood over twelve feet high and was completely covered with only red lights from bottom to top. Best of all, this was a real spruce tree that they had planted before I was born which also enriched their property during the summer. I loved that tree.
The annual elation of seeing the tree usually occurred just a few days before December 25th, or even on Christmas day when we had to leave our home later or were delayed because of a snow storm. And since we were doing the long drive from either Montreal or Mississauga, that first sighting was usually after dark - making it even better! At this point you are probably wondering why I'm writing about a tree that stood outside my grandparent's house decades ago, nothing special right? Well, I decided to do my holiday blog on this topic because the man who was responsible for this red tree, my grandfather Jean Hinse (my mother's dad), turned an astonishing 102 years of age on November 27, 2024... just a few days ago. I was not with him in Victoriaville on his birthday, but I decided to decorate our own outside tree with red lights on his birthday (see blog picture). I thought it was a good way to pay homage. We all have our own little (or big) traditions which provide that emotional lift to make Christmas special. Sometimes it is something shared with others, sometimes it is private. Whatever it is, I hope that you will have the chance to experience it over the coming weeks. My holiday wish to you for this year is that you also have an opportunity to create a new one! Enjoy the traditions, eat well, stay close to your friends and loved ones, and be kind... Joyeuses Fêtes / Happy Holidays dd. In Chapter 13 of my first book called Buoyant Passages, I tell the story of the adventure I took in 2020 to northern Québec with my brother Steve, his son Phil, and friend Simon. The chapter title easily explains the plot.... we were searching for Aurora Borealis. I'll let you read the conclusion!
Advance forward four years, and I was on an annual fishing trip to Chapais, Quebec (more on that location in chapter 15 of my first book if you are interested) with my friends Gilbert, Danny, and Pascal. We officially moved the travel date for our trip to this beautiful part of the country from the month of June to September only this year, mainly to avoid the crowds and more importantly the BUGS! And I mean not just one type, the spring/early summer season brings together a party mix of black flies and mosquitoes that will make the bravest soul cover themselves in the most potent repellant available. In contrast, September is bug-free with cool nights for comfortable sleeping, and still plenty of fish! We typically spend seven nights and fish six days non-stop. Again, this is a pretty intense fishing adventure and not for those looking for a little time on the lake or dock with refreshments or time for reading and napping... and this is why I LOVE IT! Chef Soko is the main organizer of the adventure and plans all the food with great care. Gil, Pascal and me participate by bringing various other items and contributing to all of the daily tasks - from doing dishes, cleaning fish, getting the boats in and out of the water, opening bottles of wine :), to 'other duties as assigned' by our leader. Best of all, we share, laugh, eat very well, catch fish, and take time at night to chill after all the chores are completed and the lunches are made for the next day. With over eight hours each day on the water in our fishing boats without touching land, we must be ready! So with that context, we found ourselves relaxing outside by a warm fire on the second last night of our stay in Chapais. The other advantage of September is that the sun goes down earlier, enabling the evening activities to begin sooner (and allowing for a reasonable bedtime). On this particular night, it was warmer than usual after an incredible day of sunshine and minimal wind. We therefore settled close to the fire with our refreshments and talked about 'things', never really paying much attention to the sky. A little sidebar here - my fishing partners make me laugh so much that there is little energy left late in the evening for me to look at the scenery! Although on this night, our chatter was interrupted when one of us happened to look up and behind to what appeared to be the beginning of something. Not being experts, we were not sure what was to come, but the colours and shapes were taken shape enough for one to declare; "Aurora Borealis" - Northern Lights! Within seconds we all got our phones (none of us have a real camera) and started to take pics. I tried different angles, locations, phones settings, lighting, and even ran down to the dock by the lake. The incredible thing is that the stars were also shinning bright and participated in the beautiful light show (you can see part of the big dipper in the picture on this blog). In the end, it was Pascal who captured the best pictures which we quickly shared with family and friends by text and social media. If you are interested in seeing some of them just visit my Instagram or TikTok account. The last time I had seen Northern Lights was when I was in the Boy Scouts as a youth. What I did not remember is how fast they can disappear. I did not time it on that Thursday evening, but it felt like around thirty minutes from start to finish. It was like a slow movie with an introduction of some light formation which grew to larger 'streaks' and colours, only to vanish quickly once the moon crested above the trees. Only the next morning at 7am did I realize how lucky I had been to experience this unique natural wonder. I opened my phone to hundreds of views on my Instagram and TikTok accounts, with dozens of likes from those who would have loved to see it live. It is easy to understand why some will travel thousands of kilometres in an attempt to get a glimpse. Like I have said before, you never know what gift mother nature will present! The one who made my first time incredible was Mr. Coffee. Yes, that was his name, the guide that would lead me and my dear friend Soko to memorable days on the waters of Algonquin Park.
It was in 1996 when Soko approached me about doing a four day canoe trip deep inside the legendary park. I was living in Ottawa at the time, and he was living on the other side of the river in Gatineau. We had spent a lot of time together over the last couple years as two single guys in our mid twenties, but that was about to change for both of us! I agreed to his proposal without really knowing much about the tour outfit we would be using, nor the route we would be taking. I was just glad to finally enter the park I had heard so much about, and test my rudimentary paddling skills. I had visited and camped for weeks at nearby Scout camps in Haliburton, but never crossed the park limits. I had also done hours and hours of canoeing during years of camping in my youth, but it had been a few years since I had touched a paddle... so a little nervous I was! Luckily, Soko was an excellent paddler and all-around talented outdoor person. To this day he is super active, in excellent physical shape, and never turns down an adventure on the water. I'm sharing my 'first time' because it opened my eyes to Algonquin Park's magic and awesome natural environment. And it was the first spark that led to the inspiration for my first work of fiction - Mystery in Algonquin Park. It was on that first day of our canoe trip back in '96 that I visited the Tom Thomson Memorial Cairn on the shore of Canoe Lake. It is the lake where Canada's most famous painter mysteriously died over one hundred years ago. And it was on those subsequent days that we paddled rapids, swam in cool fresh lakes and rivers, ate amazing food like Coffee's carbonara pasta, talked by small fires each night, tried to ignore the flies, and flipped our canoe with all the gear (and us) floating down the river in embarrassment. Most importantly, it was an adventure to remember. Thank you for this gift Soko... and Mr Coffee! When I wrote the story of Jayme and Binnie for Book 1 of the Series, I remembered the countless days I have spent outdoors. I'm blessed to have experienced the power of nature at a young age and excited about future adventures with family and friends... like the canoe trip inside Algonquin Park that I will do later this year. I can't wait! I hope you find that The Jayme Adventure Series captures the spirit of adventure and power of discovery. I thank all readers for their support and hope it inspires you to do your own adventure... however small or big it might be! dd. Summer has arrived and I wish all of you a wonderful time with family and friends. Hopefully it includes some adventures in nature, vacation, swimming in lakes and pools, and of course good food & drinks!
For me this season is extra special since I have just finished my first work of fiction, which will be published later this summer. It is called 'Mystery in Algonquin Park', and it is Book 1 of The Jayme Adventure Series. Coming off the success of my first non-fiction work called Buoyant Passages, I decided to carry that momentum into a new project that will bring to life a series of books for all to enjoy. The Jayme Adventure Series is about Jayme Goodall. She is a young adult from a small rural town in Ontario, and she will be taking you on different adventures with limitless energy and passion for discovery. Jayme is ready to release the shackles of youth and embrace the future. Her adventures are a mix of mystery, discovery, friendship, romance, and coming of age. In Book 1, Mystery in Algonquin Park, Jayme stumbles upon a mystery that ripples back through time and connects her life to that of Binnie, a young woman who lived in the park 100 years earlier. In parallel storylines they peel back layers of secret and intrigue, in search of the truth. Once again I want to thank you for your encouragement and support. I hope my writing so far has brought you a sense of escape, enjoyment, some reflection, and a little laughter 😀. As we await for the publishing folks to do their work, have a great start to the summer. Bonne été! dd. The clouds cleared as we climbed on the winding highway heading north into south central Spain. It had been overcast since our arrival three days earlier on the shores of the Alboran Sea in picturesque Marbella. Linda and I were not complaining since the temperature was getting to the high teens each day, a far cry from what we would have experienced in January if we were at home. I was excited to leave clouds behind and witness a clear deep blue sky ahead as we reached the higher altitudes. The road was in great condition with a well maintained one-lane paved highway and proper signage. I was very thankful for the generous roadside barriers which protected vehicles from the very steep cliffs and rock formations. It reminded me of the drive along California State Route 1. Most surprising was the immensity of the mountains and view for miles, which I did not know existed in the south of Spain (there are a lot of things I would learn in the next days about Spain and Portugal!). Although we had the GPS on the little screen of the car working from time to time, at one point I asked Linda to do a little verification to confirm when we would actually reach the top of the mountains… “No cell service. Sorry, keep going!”, she replied. Ok, now we are talking, a real adventure! There is really too much I want to write about our adventure to Spain and Portugal for a simple blog, but regardless I could not resist sharing some pictures. As my sage friend Bruno suggested a few days ago, maybe I will write a book or longer piece about it one day. So for now, I hope you enjoy this ‘Photo Blog’! For some context, here are some facts about Spain and Portugal: Spain:
Portugal:
 The Puente Nuevo Bridge in Ronda, Spain, is a thing of beauty. We drove through the valley below to take this picture. Amazingly, the bridge is only one of the wonders of this city. It was the site of an ancient Iberian settlement and known in Roman times as Acinipo. The Moors were present from the 5th to 15th century, until Monarchs Ferdinand and Isabella reconquered in 1485.  The ‘Catedral de Sevilla’ is as impressive as St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome. It is one of the largest churches in the world and the largest Gothic church. Along with the adjoining Giralda bell tower it is a Unesco World Heritage Site. When Linda and I visited the immense church we arrived at the main chapel and said “This is really big, and beautiful”. Later, I would research that the altarpiece is the largest in the world. I never knew Seville had such beauty and history - the benefit of travel!  The Tomb of Christopher Columbus has been located in the Seville Cathedral since 1899. There are quite a bit of stories and speculation about the movement of his body since his death in 1506. Interestingly, he was born in Italy but he became legendary as leader of four Spanish transatlantic expeditions of discovery to the Americas.  The urban beach of Playa Santa María del Mar in Cádiz, Spain. Cádiz is located on the Atlantic Ocean and is one of the oldest continuously inhabited cities in Europe. We were lucky to spend an afternoon walking the streets and beachside paths of this port town. There is even an ancient Roman theatre which was discovered only in 1980… Crazy!   Food is a very big part of the experience in both countries, and luckily available at reasonable prices. The traditional Portuguese cod dishes are at Delfina in Lisbon (Linda said as she finished her first bite: “This is the best codfish dish ever”. The burrata 'pesto' was at Restaurante El Botánico in Madrid on our last day before heading home. We pretty much always had local cerveza with our meals.  The Algarve region is at the southern end of Portugal and breathtaking. We stayed there for three nights in the quiet season and can only imagine how ‘happening’ the region gets in the peak season. Super laid back and slow is the culture.  The Tram passing in front of the Sé de Lisboa. Linda took many shots of this scene as we kept saying: “This city is like San Francisco!”. The hills, the bridge, the tram, the bay, the fog, and the nearby beaches culminate to make the resemblance very real. Unlike Madrid, this city feels older, steeped in tradition, with incredible architecture and unique cuisine.  The Lisbon City Hall. Linda utilized a style of photography that we dubbed “The Reflections Series” during our adventure. Like we feel when we are in Quebec City, Lisbon is equally beautiful at night. This was taken minutes before going into Delfina for that awesome cod dish.  This is Fado singer Tina Santos at the Bohemia LX Sé in Lisbon. A little restaurant tucked away in the shadow of the Sé, serving traditional dishes. Linda and I were lucky to run into this place and attend an evening of Fado. She was joined by two guitarists and additional singers. It was truly a unique musical and cultural experience that we both will remember forever.  This is the Ler Devagar (meaning ‘Read Slowly’) Bookstore. It was named one of the top ten most beautiful in the world, and published in the New York Times and other outlets all over the globe. I posted a few more pictures during our visit. It is a must-see for any book lover or author!  We stumbled upon these two musicians at the end of a Friday afternoon in Lisbon. Casually entertaining locals and tourists, they depict the strong culture of music in Portugal. In the background you see the Tagus River, which flows into the Atlantic Ocean.  From Linda’s ‘Reflections Series’, the Royal Palace of Madrid at night. Apologies to my UK friends and fans of London, but the size and architecture surpases Buckingham Palace (in my humble opinion). Madrid surprised us with its rich history, majestic buildings, and modern feel. Walking the city you definitely have the sense that you are enjoying one of the grand cities of the world.  Flamenco performance at the Las Tablas in Madrid. Like the Fado evening in Lisbon, this was a wonderful cultural experience. The energy which was displayed by Paco Hidalgo (sitting left side) and Lucia Ruibal (center stage) was impressive. Another must-see in Spain.  Sunset in Luz, Portugal.
Happy 2024! As reviews and comments about my book Buoyant Passages have been flowing in since the launch in October, many have recognized (to my pleasure) the importance of music in my life. This love of music was passed on from my grandparents to my mother, then to me, and now my daughters can't get enough! In some ways it is a constant lifeblood. More poignantly, when avid reader Anik posted her review of my book on Goodreads she said: ‘It’d be nice if the author added playlists to a future edition’. I agree! It is therefore my pleasure to share with you a musical accompaniment to the story of my family, life and escapes. So instead of reading a blog this time around, I encourage you to put on your headphones, airpods, or turn up your stereo speakers and let the playlist take you away. Enjoy! Now available on Spotify and Apple Music.  “BRING THE SKATES INSIDE” The exterior thermostat visible from the kitchen window indicated -15 celsius. The morning sun was rising above the tree line to the south-east, and I hoped that the clear sky would continue into the afternoon and provide some warmth on the lake. There is no question that our family would be on the open air hockey rink after a hardy lunch, battling for the Demers Cup! When you play hockey in Canada on an outside rink in the coldest months of the year, the most important thing is to keep warm. Hockey skates that don’t freeze your feet become the priority to having a good game. The other stuff is simply secondary: like the quality of the hockey stick; if you use a real puck or a tennis ball (some even use a block of ice); the quality of your hockey gloves (many play with mittens); if you use hockey or figure skates: and lastly, the actual hockey skills of the players. So, it was no surprise that all the skates were brought inside overnight to avoid having to insert your feet inside frozen inflexible plastic and leather blocks. Unfortunately, the same rule did not apply to the hockey sticks and hockey pucks. Our family therefore applied some rules for these freezing games - no contact with the sticks and more importantly, no lifting the puck off the ice! It is simply in place for survival… If you have ever been hit by a frozen puck you will understand. The most important, memorable and enjoyable games of hockey in my adult life took place during the Christmas holidays on a frozen lake near the town of Gracefield, Quebec. Deep in the wilderness about 100 km north of Ottawa was where the frozen gift was located. My brother Steve and his wife Josée decided to buy a beautifully forested piece of lakefront property years ago, and built a cabin for their family of five. The seclusion was perfect, especially in the winter when most seasonal cottagers were not present. I’ve been there in all seasons, but the winter is the most unique. Over time, the little cabin was expanded to accommodate extended family and friends, and naturally became a gathering place during the holidays. The hockey team which brought me such pleasure was all family, composed of my daughters, nieces, nephew, parents, and even grandparents. The games captured the spirit of the holidays, and everyone joined the fun. The Demers clan of players sometimes expanded for a game here and there when friends visited. But it was mainly a family affair. When I was researching for this blog I found a picture of my mom, Martine, and wife, Linda, acting as goalies (well, in truth, they stood with a stick to make it harder to slide the puck in the net), and my dad, Claude, standing in a defensive position (he was mostly contributing by cheering on the kids). Even the dogs got into it, with Josée holding down the responsibility of protecting the little puppies so that they did not get injured. No matter the temperature, we were out there!  After an afternoon hockey game My brother Steve was the main caretaker of our precious rink. Every year, on the day after he would arrive at his cabin with his family to celebrate Christmas and escape the city, he began the ritual. First, he would walk down the numerous snow filled steps to the lake and assess the quality of the ice, and more importantly measure how much snow had gathered on top of the ice. The most critical of the two was the amount of snow, because (you guessed it) all that snow would have to be removed to expose the ice for a proper rink. Of all the years we played on that rink, the size was never the same and completely determined by snowfall - if there was lots of snow it was smaller, and vice versa. He was so passionate and resolute on having a proper rink each year that he and his son Phil would spend countless hours on the first few days shovelling crazy amounts of snow and flooding the open ice at night to make it perfect. All by hand, no snowblower, no electric auger, just an old water pump (which had to be carried up and down the hill each day so it did not seize…. a frozen pump is useless!). The work was hard, but one of his rewards was being able to eat large amounts of tourtière and sweet holiday treats after the daily effort! By the time my family arrived from Oakville for a few days of holiday cheer in the winter wonderland, the rink was a work of art. It had two full size proper hockey nets with the red steel posts. A border was present around the rink made from either hard snow and ice, or pieces of wood when the snow was minimal. He even added two sets of powerful flood lights for evening games - which rarely included the entire family but mostly the hard core players. We would end our evening game by completing a fresh flood for the next day, improving the ‘boards’ with the water before freezing, and lastly turn off the lights. This last part was the most beautiful on clear nights with mirror reflections coming off the freezing ice surface. It was probably rude of me, but each year when we arrived at the cabin (even before saying hello and asking how everyone was doing) the first words out of my mouth were: “How is the ice this year?” It was the only time of the year when I got to play the game of my youth on a frozen surface, outside, open to the winter elements. It was also good for me to exert my banker physique and get the lungs going! Like my daughter Julia used to say… “must shed some of that little holiday weight”. Everyone who celebrates the holidays has a childhood memory, no matter the location or the tradition, there is something in the memory bank that stays there for a lifetime. For me, it was going to see my grandparents and extended family in Victoriaville, Québec. As the oldest grandkids on both sides of the family, we had the pleasure of being treated to special visits with aunts and uncles. I played outside a little bit, but it was mostly inside the homes that my fun took place. Playing cards, bumper pool, tok, and making a racket with my grandfather’s jukebox turned up very loud. We bounced from one home to another for what seemed like days of dizzying social activity. Mom and dad enjoyed the company of their siblings and parents, while Steve and I played with our younger cousins. We never stopped (probably due to the massive intake of sugar from all the treats) and only slowed down when mom would finally tell us to go to bed….PLEASE GO TO BED! 😂 Now that we were parents, my brother and I hoped these games of hockey would become part of the fond holiday memories of our kids. What better than to have strong family memories that exemplify the real spirit of Christmas. We might have shed some of the traditional religious routines like attending midnight mass over the last decades, But I’d like to believe that our actions and shared values continue to respect the significance of December 25th. Based on the stories that our kids still share today about those special hockey games, I think it worked!  Nephew Phil practicing his hockey skills. Snow and cold never stopped him from enjoying the rink on the lake. Looking back, I remember a few epic games. Not because of the score or which team won the game, but because of the circumstances around a certain game. Some of my favourites are: THE HUMBLING GAME It was late December 2018 and we already had been playing a few days of what we thought was pretty good hockey. The weather had been good and sunny, so the time on the ice for our gang was longer than other years. On this particular day, the Sabourin family from a nearby lake had called in the morning to tell us they would be coming to join the game in the afternoon. “Awesome” my brother replied “The more the better”. These are our great friends, and their crew included young teenage boys who played organized hockey. I never gave it a second thought, how good could they be? Well... I never touched the puck! Ok, maybe I touched it a little bit, but not for long! And if I did it was because one of the boys (or dads) decided it would be nice to include me in the play. My daughters and nieces laughed and laughed. My nephew excelled un the game now that he had better players on the ice. And my resolute brother skated like never before to try to keep up. Suffice to say it was humbling… but I worked so hard that I had myself a few extra ‘Hello Dolly’ treats after dinner.  The gang on a very cold afternoon. Some decided to play in boots to avoid the freezing skates. THE DEEP FREEZE When the little outside thermostat needle went lower than -25 celsius, we knew the hockey crew would be reduced for that day. On the last days of 2017, the roster was reduced for the entire time we stayed at the cabin. On the first afternoon after arrival I was so excited that I went down to the lake with my brother and nephew, put on my skates, and started passing the puck. Steve had told me that the wind from the north was frigid, but I brushed it off from the comfort of the warm cabin. But once on the ice it took mere minutes before my face was frozen and my hands stiff. After an attempt at skating a few times around the ice I felt my lungs getting tight. “Sorry boys. This is crazy. I’m out!”. I can usually handle the cold but it must have been - 45 with the wind effect. Next day, same temperature. But this time we decide to forget the skates and make it a game on boots. Surely we will be much warmer with our feet tucked into our felt-lined winter boots. Yes, the feet were warm but nothing changed for the upper body, face, and hands. We just kept moving which made things bearable. This time our daughters also joined the three of us, but one by one the brave hockey players exited. My daughter Emilie actually stayed the longest with Steve and me. She just loved playing on that ice year after year, and had limitless energy. Her hockey abilities improved each year and she became quite skilled. Sadly the deep freeze did not really let up during our visit that year. But we still got the family cup game done (just a much shorter one!).  HOCKEY NIGHT IN GRACEFIELD One night in 2019 after a full meal and a few cocktails, we convinced the kids to get dressed, put on skates, and play a little night hockey. Let me state that it is no simple achievement to convince teenagers to come outside and play in the cold after dinner, in the dark! Even our most committed player, Phil, required a little nudge. Steve and I were excited about this. We had rarely been able to convince our full hockey team to venture out after dark onto the ice, so we took care of everything. The lights were set-up, we brought water, some sweet treats, extra gloves and mittens, and maybe even a few drinks. My wife Linda also joined us to take some special photographs. We were ready! Steve and I went down first and waited on the ice as the team made its way down to the lake, with laughter filling the quiet evening. We were elated, and happy. I don’t know if it was the extra energy from the great meal or the special sweet treats, but the fun we had that night was magical. Far from a formal game, we would stumble to the ice, pass the puck with our hands, tackle each other into the snow, not count the score, and get lost in the celestial sky. We stayed out for a few hours, with my brother and I lingering as long as we could after the others had left to enjoy the magic of the peaceful winter environment. The best gift. The glitter of small white lights appeared in the distance as we drove in the darkness on an elevated highway overpass on the north shore of the grand Saint Lawrence River. I had seen this view dozens of times in the past returning from business trips either in Montreal or somewhere my work as a banker brought me. The only difference is that this time I was seeing it in the early morning hours, not at the end of a long day when all I wanted was to get home before my daughters went to bed and spend a few hours with Linda. The lights in the distance only appeared for a few seconds and hid again once the car descended below the tree top line. But it was enough to recognize that we were about to enter the ‘Region de la Capitale Nationale’ - no, not the Ottawa one, the Québec one! I’ve written extensively about this oldest fortified city in North America in my book Buoyant Passages. Its history is critical to anyone who wishes to understand Canada, its people, and the backdrop of the international relations that shape our Canadian world politics today. When the glitter of lights appeared again we kept on moving. Unlike the many times when I have taken the first exit south, travelled a few kilometres, and turned on the urban road that would take me to my house. But that was 15 years ago, at a time when Linda, Julia, Emilie and I had the pleasure and privilege to be residents of Quebec City. On this day, just before 7am with my brother Steve in the driver’s seat and my nephew Phil sleeping in the back seat, we did not turn or stop. We had a different mission and purpose… To find the Poet. When people think of famous Canadian songwriters and authors, names come quickly… Neil Young, Margaret Atwood, Leonard Cohen, Drake, Roy MacGregor, Joni Mitchell, (and on and on…). But when you ask people to think of famous Canadian poets, names don’t come as quickly (try it with the people next to you now and you will see!). Some purists will mention Al Purdy, Dionne Brand, and those are fantastic choices but I’m sure unless you ask a well read individual they will shift to songwriters and authors. And that is perfectly fine because I am of the opinion that it does not matter - a talented ‘writer’ can present their craft in different ways and it only makes the work more interesting. This is exactly the profile of the individual that my mates and I were out to find on these last few days of good fall weather. We were heading as far as the highway would take us on the north shore of the Saint Lawrence to find someone many consider to be the greatest Quebec poet, not to mention one of the greatest that Canada ever produced (but more on that later). Our hunt for the poet might have been our stated objective, but for me this escape elevated my senses because I was about to travel into an area that few take the time to visit, full of natural beauty. If all went well, the road would take us hundreds of kilometres east and directly north of PEI. Our destination was actually closer in distance to Gros Morne National Park in Newfoundland than Quebec City! Interestingly enough, we soon found out that we were pretty much at the time of the year when locals stopped driving the long highways and business owners closed their seasonal restaurants along with local attractions for the long winter to come. Leaving from Toronto on October 27th, I was sure hoping that the favourable forecast would continue for the next three days as we burned rubber. Luckily for Phil who was mainly a passenger (and most importantly an excellent DJ), the selected route for this adventure had cell service so he could inform us continually on local facts, tourist spots, and places to eat. I was actually thrilled that he had again decided to join my twin brother and I for this latest unplanned road trip. With his career taking off and his filmmaking advancing well, it might have been his last for some time. We passed Quebec City and Sainte-Anne as daylight broke and were happy to have made the exit from Montreal early in the morning so that we would have time to stop and discover the area on our first day. By 9am we had already travelled over 400km. Our first official stop was at the legendary Fairmont Le Manoir Richelieu and the nearby town of La Malbaie. The Manoir is one of the prized properties of the Fairmont chain and sits atop the Pointe-au-Pic bluffs overlooking the wide Saint-Lawrence. It was first built in the 19th century in a traditional French-chateau style, and later added a fabulous golf course and casino to complete the offering. It is now a pristine destination with the added feature of La Malbaie just a short drive (or one-hour walk) away to enjoy local culture and natural environment. It does not have the artistic and cultural significance of Baie-Saint-Paul closer to Quebec City, but boasts a wide and shallow bay where natural ocean discovery is at its best. As we made our way along the oceanfront road through town and climbed the north end of the giant bay, the view was spectacular and we stopped to take a couple pictures and witness the grandness of the area. Legend has it that Samuel De Champlain stopped in this bay back in 1608 but found it unfit for anchoring, with only a little river at the end. He named it ’Malle Baye’, which translated to English is: Bad Bay! Our drive now took us on long stretches of road which had mainly trees on both sides, except for the pleasant surprise of large rivers with thunderous rapids which crossed the highway to exit into the Gulf of Saint-Lawrence. These really attracted my interest and we stopped at every one so that I could discover and take a few pictures. Like this one of very impressive waterfalls in the wilderness. The height of the falls is 115 feet, with powerful and thunderous rapids leading into the completely wild waterfall. I’ve seen many rivers in my time and this one was hugely impressive.  A gem of a day next to the very big and impressive Manitou Falls. Riviere-au-Tonnerre, Quebec. Day one was all about getting to the city of Baie Comeau before dark, with stops to discover little towns, rivers, and special landmarks (like the weird park called ‘Vieux Quai de Ragueneau’ on the gulf where we stopped to witness statues and random monuments built close to the water - including a gigantic dinosaurs!). Steve kept reinforcing that all we had to do was get to that city, and that anything interesting on the way there was open for consideration - this is the ‘unplanned’ aspect of our adventures which he really loves. One thing which was evident to all three of us while we captured amazing views and jumped out of the car to investigate everything and anything - this road trip would be completely dreadful in the rain or impacted by fog. When we arrived in Baie Comeau before 4pm and took some time to stroll around the beautiful park near our accommodations, we jointly made a wish that the next day would again bring a clear sky. Before I go on I must declare a special quality of my brother Steve, resolve. Once he is determined on something or has a strong conviction, he’s pretty tough to move in a different direction or opinion. It is endearing to all who know and love him, and has served him very very well so far in his life. You don’t accomplish what he has without it! For Phil and me, it was on our second morning of travel that this quality was displayed to us. While the poet was our ultimate target, Steve really wanted to take a little detour (not!) and visit the largest arch-and-buttress hydro dam in the world - named Manic 5 or Daniel Johnson Dam. So massive that it took over ten years to fill its reservoir. He had done the drive years ago when he worked at HQ and mentioned that it would take just a few hours, and we’d be back in Baie Comeau for lunch. On the road by 7am we started a fast drive into the woods heading directly north, only to be impacted within the first thirty minutes by a debilitating situation - car sickness. The roads were full of curves and hills which Phil and I could not handle. We tried switching drivers, stopping a few minutes, opening the windows, and nothing worked - especially for poor Phil. I even told Steve we should just turn back and give up. That’s when his ‘quality’ came out and I was refused. Our last attempt involved me driving at a much lower speed with Phil sitting in the front passenger seat with fresh air flow. We made it 10km, then 50km, and eventually arrived over three hours later to witness the big block of concrete (enough to build a sidewalk from the North to the South pole). The only highlight for Phil for that specific ride was when we got back to the city and he ordered a big lunch, I did the same. Our reward!  The picture proves we made it alive! With Steve’s little side trip finished (I joke, but I actually did find the drive beautiful and the structure impressive), my sights were squarely on the poet’s town. After eating our take-out lunch and a stop for fuel we hit the long flat highway for the afternoon and did more fact finding about the poet. Here is what we discovered:
You may have guessed it by now, our poet is Gilles Vigneault. And the small town of Natashquan located on the shores of the Gulf of Saint-Lawrence is our destination. Our last overnight stop before reaching our destination was Sept-Iles, the largest city in the vast geography with over 25,000 residents. Our arrival just before the sunset was beautiful with a calm bay and pink sky. The industrial nature of the city was completely evident to us as we counted numerous large ships parked in the bay waiting to depart or arriving to deliver supplies. Only spending less than twelve hours, our visit was brief with a great little dinner at a local place that Phil found - he is the master of identifying good food places. By then I was very much done with the flat pavement and endless highways, get me to Natashquan ASAP! Leaving by 8am the next morning to another clear day, the six hours of driving took us along a highway which did not exist when Gilles Vignault was younger. The land is completely barren and frozen for more than six months of the year. The only way to reach Natashquan until only a few decades ago was by boat and plane. Locals told us that it took years to finish the highway from Sept-Iles and Natashquan, with tonnes of soil and rock imported to elevate the road above the flat wetlands. Suffice to say that this last stretch really tested us and made us realise how isolated some communities are in the grand country of Canada. I did not know what to expect from Natashquan. We were entering the territory of the Innu Indigenous communities, with their rich history and important presence. Located close to the south of Labrador, this land that we were entering has been inhabited for countless years which we acknowledged with respect. It was left alone by European settlers much longer than other locations to the south along the St-Lawrence. One thing was evident on this bright sunny afternoon, we would not be able to see and appreciate the beauty of it at all if there was rain, fog, or clouds. Arriving just before 3pm, we drove through the small spattering of homes that lined the few roads of the small community and headed for the water…we needed to see the ‘Galets de Natashquan’ before sunset! Simply put, these are small buildings on the shore of the Gulf of the St-Lawrence which were used by cod fishing groups at the start of the 20th century. Like in Newfoundland, the industry was vibrant in those years and provided locals with a good life. Now the small buildings sit quiet but beautiful as a testament of the area's rich history.  The ‘Galets de Natashquan’ on a beautiful October 30th. The weather could not have been better! There is a certain romance to our poet. An aura of remoteness from everyday life, as if he is living above all the minutiae which fills the minds of all of us. Maybe he was deliberate about attaining this creative environment, or maybe he was just born this way. Building-up an expertise over many decades of artistic practice and success. I tend to think it is a mix of both - innate talent and hard work. His romance extends to his lifestyle and political choices which have shaped his writing since the day he put down the words to his first poem. For me and my travel mates we were hoping that his remoteness would still be in action on this late fall day, and that he was still here, in Natashquan where he spends considerable time in the non-winter months. We had to find his home... His real home! Not the museum home of his birthplace which is the top tourist attraction (by far) in the small town. I mean, you can’t miss the small yellow house which has been completely renovated and has inside some of his childhood belongings. Next to this ‘museum’ there is a large parking area, walkway, signs, snack bar, and a fee for those who wish to enter. Late in the season it is not open so we could only walk around and peek in the windows. Well deserved, it is considered a historical site. We left the museum and started driving the few streets in the hope we could find Gilles’ real residence, even Phil was active on his phone researching. But nothing! I was dreaming of finding him quietly sitting on his porch waving ‘allô’ to us, or walking on a street, or doing some gardening around the house, anything that would allow us to see him. Maybe we could even strike up a little conversation. My mind was active with hope at what could be a very special reward for all the long miles of pavement. Surprisingly there was no one on the streets to ask or any local shops to wander into and ask for clues (I guess once October comes people either leave or close-up until the next summer). Steve could not stop remarking that it was like we had entered a ghost town… “Where is everyone?” He asked. As the sun disappeared we parked in front of the Inn where we were staying for the night, hoping that they would have food or some type of dinner services.. Because everything else was closed! Similar to what we have experienced on other remote escapes, sometimes there is no one home. Unlike a busy hotel in large cities, the sole-owner / operator has many tasks and does not sit at reception all day, there is work to do. I also know that in these situations the owners are usually very accepting of guests making themselves comfortable (as long as the door is unlocked). So that is what we did! We looked around the property, read the information pamphlets in the lobby, and helped ourselves to water and little biscuits. Once the very nice Innkeeper appeared we were quickly given our keys and the necessary information for our 15-hour stay (including details for dinner…phew!). After some Eldorado and our regular pre-dinner chatting, we made our way to the dining area for a homemade meal. Once we noticed that the Innkeeper was friendly and chatty, we unloaded multiple questions on our new best friend. We wanted to know everything about the community, its people, how long he had been running the place, how it was in winter, who his customers were (almost all Hydro employees), and most of all where Gilles Vigneault’s real residence was located. We were lucky that he was willing to share and seemed to enjoy answering all our questions while doing everything in the little ‘restaurant’ (and I mean everything, he was alone). During the tasty meal Steve finally got the courage to ask: “Alors, ou-est la vraie maison de Gilles Vigneault?” (So, where is the real house of the poet?) The response came without hesitation and was super simple and clear. Like if we were asking where to find a gas station: “It is the little blue house on your left on the road to town. Just close to here, less than a mile away. He was here this summer and still quite active around the house and community. People respect his privacy here. He left in September. Not many stay here outside the months of June to August”. We had missed him. He was not home! We awoke the next morning to thick clouds, wind and rain. A complete change from the last three days. It was Halloween and the end of the nice weather for the locals. The Innkeeper had even told us during dinner that he would be driving many locals to the airport this morning before the bad ‘weather’ arrived. At 7:45am we drove a few hundred metres and stopped the car to confirm the location of the poet’s house and take a picture (I have not shared it to protect his privacy). There is no sign with his name, and the property has a small gravel driveway on one side with a wraparound porch. It has been recently painted and looks modern. Surrounded by tall spruce trees it sits like many other homes, now closed up for the winter season. Even if the poet had been there and we were lucky enough to see him outside his home, I don’t think we would have had the courage and boldness to bother him. This is his sanctuary. It is why he still comes at an old age to relax, visit friends and family, and be left unbothered. Still a writer, I suspect his best work has been drafted in that house, less than one kilometre from his childhood home where his first thoughts of the old iconic songs “Mon pays” and “Gens du pays” probably took place. Best to leave the talented ones to their craft so they can create new magnificent works. The return home is always more difficult, sometimes made easier by beautiful weather or taking optional roads. But neither of those were available to us as we left Natashquan by 8am and faced a long drive back to Montreal (then Toronto for me). Applying our rule to keep planning to a minimum, we had not yet decided if we were going to stop for a night of sleep or just go for it. You can probably guess which choice we made when all three of us realised before lunchtime that we were out of Halloween treats!  It was only when I was back at home showing my wife Linda where we had travelled
that I realised how truly far we had gone. Canada…So much to discover! |
AuthorDaniel J. Demers is the author of Buoyant Passages and The Jayme Adventure Series Archives
May 2025
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