Gaspésie Gambol, Day 7

I Am a Rock
Sunday June 28, 2009
Copyright(c) 2009, Jim Beachy

We are in the area called Land’s End and have planned zero riding miles today. As it happened, it has worked out very well for us to be in Percé rather than Gaspé as originally sketched out, although it involved 30 extra miles yesterday riding in extremely dense fog and wet roadway. But Hotel la Normandie is a fine full-service hotel and is within walking distance of the cruise ticket offices, the wharf of Percé, and has direct access to the boardwalk that runs along the sea. And there’s a lot to explore within walking distance should we choose. For a fog-shrouded, misty interlude, we couldn’t have picked a better place.

Days like this, with zero riding miles, are actually quite unusual for us; I believe that last year’s several-day hiatus in Key West was the first time in all our travels that we’ve stayed in the same hotel more than one night. Usually we just ride to see the country and absorb what we can as we explore and research the area we’re in. On this trip, we watched the dramatic skylines of Montreal and Quebec slide by to our left as we kept moving in spite of invitations from several people to help us explore the cities. Generally we aren’t about cities (Kitty’s rules: No snakes, no cities, no traffic), but are all about areas that keep the cities apart. Here at foggy and chilly Land’s End, all of Kitty’s criteria are met.

We have a lazy breakfast. “I can’t imagine there could possibly be a whale-watching cruise,” I tell Kitty. The fog has been relentless and all-encompassing, and it’s hard to imagine it would be any different on the open sea 8 km from land.

But we dutifully walk the several short blocks to the billeterie or ticket office of les Bateliers du Percé to find out. As I expected, the cruise is cancelled. But Slow-Down Guy is in a hanging-out mood today, so we exchange our whale-watching tickets for a $50 refund and a new pass to a cruise to L’Ile Bonaventure, which features the world’s largest nesting colony of northern gannets.

Kitty is not a water-lover, unlike those swimmers we saw yesterday in 65F (18C) temperatures plunging into the frigid waters of the Bay of Saint Lawrence! And she’s definitely not fond of small boats on the open sea, and especially not when fog has closed in and visibility is only a stone’s throw. But she gamely takes her Dramamine an hour before departure, and we clamber aboard the 40-foot boat. It’s a rough ride, and even the park naturalist says it’s “not too good” today.

But we arrive safely, drop some people off at the island, and then circle it once to see the northern gannet colony from the seaward view. We see thousands and thousands of the large white birds lining the cliffs and rocks. Amidst the brooding fog, it’s a spectacular view and we’re glad we made the trip. Kitty has done quite well with her Dramamine kicking in, unlike some others who spent the whole trip hunched over the buckets liberally distributed throughout the boat.

The boat drops us off at the dock and we set out on foot to traverse the island to see the bird colony from the landward side. It’s said that only one-third of the colony is found on the cliffs, the rest on the slopes above. It is those nesting birds we are making the 5.6 km (3.5 mile) round-trip to see. It’s a more arduous walk than we expected, and the path is frequently muddy.

Eventually we can hear the cries of the thousands of birds, and as we approach, the cacophony is deafening. When we are finally able to see the expanse of nesting birds stretching into the distance as far as the fog will allow us to see, it is a stunning, jaw-dropping sight. 120,000 couples, the naturalist tells us, the world’s largest colony of northern gannets (fou du bassan). They will all be gone by September, wintering on the coasts of North Carolina and south to the Gulf of Mexico. They return to the same nest every year for life.



These are large white birds with a delicately colored yellow-orange-brown head and neck. They mate for life and lay one fertilized egg per year. Each nest is basically a small hollowed-out mound in the dirt, and we see many males returning to the nests with huge mouthfuls of plucked grass or seaweed they’ve collected on their journeys. They are constantly engaged in home improvements. Fascinatingly, each nest is the same exact distance from each adjacent nest, all equidistant in every direction. It turns out this distance is exactly the distance beyond the pecking reach of the jealous bird sitting on each adjacent nest, guarding its territory.

The chicks are just now hatching, and as some of the birds exchange roles (the males also take their turn sitting on the nest) or shift positions on the nest, we are able to see the large pale reddish speckled eggs, and some nests already contain a small gray featherless chick. The naturalist tells us that the young birds remain dark even after their plumage comes in because it’s their free ticket to being an extra body within the nest territory. Otherwise, they would be treated as an imposter, attacked, and driven from the nest.

The nearest birds are only a few feet away from us and show no interest or fear. Near the rope that marks their territory from ours, we see a number of birds that don’t have nests. The naturalist tells us this is where new couples meet and form mating relationships. Apparently it’s a kind of gannet singles bar. They become a couple one year but don’t mate and nest until the next year.

After spending probably an hour and a half observing and taking pictures, we walk back across the island, board the hourly cruise back to the dock at Percé, and pick up a few things for the grandkids in the Boutique Natural.

It’s raining and still very foggy, so we decide to eat at the hotel tonight. Slow-Down Guy is so mellow he even convinces me to take a little nap while Kitty launders our muddy clothes. Just before leaving our hotel room, we notice that the fog has receded and the famous rock off shore is suddenly visible for the first time. “It really does exist!” says our next-door neighbor as she, like everyone else, comes out of her hotel room to gaze at the rock or take a picture. We’d learned that it weighs 370 million tons. Which begs the question, just how do you weigh a rock that big? And where do you stop measuring? The waterline? The bottom of the ocean? The center of the earth? Whatever, it’s a truly imposing spectacle and a rewarding moment. I’m glad we have an hour to see Rocher Percé while enjoying our dinner before the fog once again rolls in to protect the monster rock from mortal view.

At the end of dinner, I tell Kitty I don’t want any dessert. I’ve had too many on this trip. When the waitress brings the carte du dessert, of course I immediately order the cheesecake tart with maple sauce, which turns out to be stunningly excellent! Many desserts may have just a hint of maple; this slice of cheesecake is drenched with a buttery sauce made with maple sugar that’s almost caramelized, and maple becomes the dominant flavor of the whole dish. Spectacular with a strong cup of café noir! But no more desserts while we’re in Canada! We still have to eat at Cook’s Lobster House on the way home!

This has been an extremely gratifying zero-mile day and I’m glad we didn’t decide to hit the road when we learned the whale-watching cruise was cancelled. Tomorrow, if the weather deteriorates even further, perhaps we’ll wish we would have made a run for it today, in the fog but with no rain. Meanwhile, we're in a nice hotel listening to the surf crash against the seawall; we have enjoyed this day and will deal with tomorrow as it arrives.

See you then.