Crossing the border from Maine to Quebec is like walking through a magical portal. Suddenly, you’re transported to a foreign land where the inhabitants speak a French dialect and measure in meters.
Paper money is every color of the rainbow. Fries are served with squeaky cheese curds and gravy. Ice castles serve as hotels. And a jovial snowman called Bonhomme is more famous than Santa Claus.
Yet the snowy landscape reminds me of home. And, just like in Maine, the people of Quebec embrace the wilderness through outdoor activities like snowshoeing and skiing, hiking and biking, ice skating and canoeing.
I’ve visited Quebec several times over the years, although I typically drive straight to Quebec City to shop and dine. It wasn’t until a recent trip that I stopped to explore some of the outdoor destinations the Canadian province offers.
Now I’m hooked. I’ve realized that there’s a long list of trails I’ve yet to hike, just over the border. I feel drawn to the area. Perhaps it’s my love of the north, especially the boreal forests and harsh climate.
I’d like to spot a caribou herd, hear wolves howl and watch civilization dwindle with each latitudinal line.
But I don’t need to drive too far north to experience the beauty of Quebec’s wilderness. Conserved land and trail systems are scattered throughout the province, and some lie just outside major metropolitan areas such as Quebec City and Montreal.
During my most recent trip to Quebec, we crossed the border on Route 27, northwest of Eustis, and ate lunch in a town called Lac-Megantic. We then headed over to Parc national de Frontenac (a national park) to stretch our legs by walking along an unplowed road to the shore of Grand lac Saint-Francois.
Covering more than 12,000 acres, the lake is a major feature of the park, which is broken up into three sectors. The park itself covers more than 38,000 acres and includes several campsites and trails for hiking and biking.
With just a couple of hours to spare, we didn’t have time to even scratch the surface of what the park has to offer, but we quickly discovered that it’s absolutely full of wild creatures.
A variety of animal tracks decorated the snowy road. I did my best to identify them. Snowshoe hares and white-tailed deer had left their marks, along with squirrels and mice. Near the banks of the lake, we found the distinctive pattern of an otter sliding downhill on its belly. I also noticed what I thought to be the tracks of a muskrat, with its human-like hands and a drag left by its long, rat-like tail.
Perhaps it is no surprise, then, that the cove we visited was called Baie aux Rats Musques, or Muskrat Cove.
Just a bit farther down the road, a trail led to La Tourbiere, a peat bog with carnivorous plants and orchids. We didn’t have time to visit it (and it may have been closed in winter anyway), but in an online visitor guide, I learned that the trail includes wooden walkways and interpretive displays. It’s on my list of places to return to in the spring or early summer.
A couple of days later, we fled the hustle and bustle of Quebec City to devote a day to snowshoeing. The weather wasn’t ideal. A blanket of thick, white clouds blocked the sun, and fog filled the forest. The effect was gloomy yet enchanting.
Our destination was Sentier des Caps de Charlevoix, a vast network of trails and backcountry lodges about 40 minutes northeast of Quebec City. Run by a nonprofit organization, the network is a hotspot for winter recreation.
In the town of Saint-Tite-des-Cap, we paid a day use fee at a small visitor center, where we also rented snowshoes. The woman running the center didn’t speak much English, and I confessed to her that I didn’t speak much French (“Je parle un peu francais.) So, we both tried to speak each other’s language. The result was laughter, respect and eventual understanding.
Running over hills along the north shore of the St. Lawrence River, the trail system comprises more than 40 miles of hiking trails, 20 miles of cross-country ski trails, nine rustic shelters and 13 camping platforms. Following online suggestions, we hiked into a shelter called Refuge La Faille, then visited an observation tower on a nearby hill.
The views, I imagine, would have been spectacular, had we not been engulfed in a cloud. But we enjoyed the magic of a brief snow shower, and the odd beauty of a forest wrapped in both snow and fog.
The backcountry shelter was a spacious log cabin with a woodstove and tables on the first floor, and bunks on the second floor. There we added some wood to glowing embers left from the previous night’s guests, and I pored over a logbook, picking out French words I knew like “froid” (cold), “chance” (luck) and “beau” (beautiful).
In reality, I was just a few-hours’ drive from my home in Maine, yet I felt a world away. That is the magic of Quebec, and I plan to experience more of it.
The Canadian province is home to 28 national parks, and that doesn’t count trail networks like Sentier des Caps de Charlevoix. Plus there are downhill ski mountains and — of particular interest to me — a 9-mile ice skating trail called Domaine de la Forêt Perdue, which roughly translates to “field of the lost forest.”
So, excuse me while I brush up on my French. I see some more Quebec trips on the horizon.
