Is The Poet Home?

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.
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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:

• He has been inducted into the Canadian Songwriters Hall of Fame (with no less than Leonard Cohen, Anne Murray and Gordon Lighfoot looking on).
• He has received honorary doctorates from many universities including Laval, Carleton, Quebec, Trent, and more.
• He has received the Governor’s General Award
• He has done tours in France, Switzerland, and Belgium
• He lived in Europe for some years with regular performances and recognition in Paris. Even a school in Versailles, France is named after him.
• He still owns a home in his hometown…steps away from a museum dedicated to him on the property where he grew up.
• He still spends most of the summer in that small hometown.
• His song ‘Mon pays’ is considered by many to be the unofficial anthem of Quebec.
• He has just turned 95 years of age.

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!
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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!