Yellowlegs, Shaggy Manes, a Mess of Poutine Crevettes

Off we went with Garth and Carole to renew acquaintance with the Gaspesie – Quebec’s Gaspe Peninsula. For Jan and I the previous encounter might have been fifteen years ago, for Garth and Carole more like fifty. Recollections were rusty.

At Carleton-sur-Mer Jan spotted a barrachois poking into the widening Bay of Chaleur: a narrow spit featuring a bird blind. We went there. Savannah sparrows and American pipits foraged in the seaside prairie; on the beach a bald eagle dismembered a carcass of indeterminate provenance as gulls stood watch, awaiting opportunity. Squadrons of black ducks and mergansers assembled nearby. Later, while the others took mid-morning comfort of cafe and croissants amandes at la Mie Veritable – I went back out alone and was rewarded by the sight of a brace of falcons – peregrine and merlin – heading purposefully to points south.

A bit further along Highway 132, in New Carlisle, another birding opportunity availed itself. At the Jean-Paul Dube sanctuary, more savannahs and pipits showed themselves while two greater yellowlegs left a lasting impression, both visual and aural, on pal Garth. In the heart of New Carlisle stands a bronze life-sized likeness of the village’s most famous native: Rene Levesque, beloved by Quebec nationalists, founder of the Parti Quebecois.

At Cap-d’Espoir we made a little waterside cabin our base camp for two nights. The cabin provided an excellent vantage for watching surf scoters and gannets and relishing the ship’s-prow cape that gives the community its name. In the evening, at the splendid Cafe du Centre, we dined regally on raclette, spaghetti fruits mer, flan caramel et al.

Late September proved a good time to mount our assault on Perce and the great rock that attracts hordes of tourists in high season. Many of the tourist shops were closed; we were spared the nine-dollar public sparking fee those who arrive in July and August are privileged to pay. Rocher Perce, the big rock that is the town’s main tourist draw was just as striking, just as memorable as it was 15 and 50 years ago.

At Gaspe town I completed a grail quest of sorts: seeing the only Emanuel Hahn war memorial figure in Canada that had previously eluded me. It occupies a prominent place right at the water’s edge as one approaches Gaspe from the south. Alas, the Hahn is a little the worse for the attentions paid it over the years: a piece of the grieving soldier’s nose knocked off, the thumb and forefinger of his left hand similarly abused. Do not assume that everyone regards a war memorial in an attitude of respect or reverence.

The very nice lady at the visitor centre across Highway 132 from Hahn’s granite soldier offered options on where to take mid-day sustenance. We chose the Restaurant Brise-Bise because, the nice lady said, that is where we would find the original poutine crevettes – the category of poutine featuring fresh shrimp. All four of us took our friend’s advice and, though shrimp poutine might not be an indulgence one should enjoy on a daily basis, on this occasion we were unanimously happy with the recommendation.

We erased some of the Brise-Bise calorie intake with a walk about town, then went to Forillon National Park to burn more in a walk to Grand-Grave toward the Cap de Gaspe. We stepped around very fresh bear scat but had to make do without a close encounter with the beast that deposited it.

Near the Gaspe Hahn I had spotted a fresh crop of shaggy manes, one of the choicest of wild mushrooms. We harvested these; chef Jan made the most of them back at the Cap d’Espoir cabin.

North of Forillon Highway 132 takes on a very different look. The low-lying, cheek-by-jowl communities of the Gaspesie south shore suddenly give way to hills and forest that are a Jacob’s-coat of colour in the early weeks of autumn. At Pointe-a-la-Renommee, the hills a blaze of colour, we stopped at the reconstruction of the first maritime radio station established in 1904 by the resourceful G. Marconi.

Culinary rewards continued: at the Restaurant L-‘Etoile du Nord in Pointe-a-la-Fregate some of us opted for the table d’hote. I felt particularly well rewarded for my selection of palourdes croustillantes and gros petoncles -- a medley of clams and scallops for those suffering as I do from chronic unilingualism. At La Martre we paused to gawk at the handsome red phair, a wooden lighthouse in operation since 1906.

From La Martre to Sainte-Anne-des Monts Highway 132 hugs the coastline at the base of the Chic-Choc Mountains, a dramatic road that must have cost millions per kilometre to build. As we cruised the north shore Garth happily seized the role of musical director. Robert Charlebois not being included among Garth’s onboard selection of CDs, we listened instead to his treasury of country music classics – Porter Waggoner, Patsy Cline, George ‘No-Show’ Jones, Eddie Arnold and the immortal Conway Twitty. Those who cherish country music above all other genres would have trembled in euphoria.

Sainte-Ann-des Monts availed one last culinary delight. At the Restaurant du Quai I opted for chaudree de palourde and bourgots a l’ail – clam chowder and winkles in garlic, if you prefer the bill-of-fare in English. After four days in the Gaspesie I decided that – aside from the birding ops, the scenery, the wild mushrooms, the happy conclusion of my Hahn grail quest – the regional cuisine all by itself is reason enough every fifteen years or so to pile into a comfortable car with bosom pals and revisit the Gaspesie. D’accord.