Visiting the island

With the wind behind us, it took less than three hours' flying to reach the Isle aux Coudres on July 2nd; we stopped for lunch on the way at Trois Rivières, where a taildragger (Cessna 150) sat on the apron with new tundra tyres. It had been flown there from northern Ontario, Sioux Lookout. As the second leg of the journey, over the Laurentian Mountains northeast of Quebec City, was bumpier, we briefly climbed to 7500 feet before striking out across the bay within sight of the island, and once over the water, the air became smooth, so I was able to take these photos during the approach (click to enlarge them). Mariette, the airport owner, heard us on frequency at her house and by the time we landed (a nice smooth landing this year!) had driven the few metres up the hill with her young grandson to meet us. I chatted to her in French while Chris tied PTN down in the meadow. Then I rang La Coudrière and the proprietor / chef, Claude, came across the island with his van to pick us up and drive us to l'Auberge, where we were given a cabin room by the pond, with a splendid view of the mainland to the north. Two Muskoka chairs on the lawn outside the cabin door were the most peaceful place from which to admire it, until the insects came out at nightfall.

By the time our friends arrived, Chris and I had been for a walk to the shore and taken some photos and I had picked some flowers for the bedside table in our cabin. Carol and Elva were travelling by car from Ottawa that day on their way to the Jardins de Métis to see the famous blue poppies blooming there; they too spent the night at La Coudrière and joined us for the first of our delicious four course suppers there.

After supper Carol and Chris played with the horseshoe throw in the gardens and we also wandered down the lamplit Sentier des Amoureux in the neighbouring property on the headland, which displays a series of quotations (in French of course) about love, engraved on little placards stuck in the flower beds.

Before the ferry (an icebreaker, brise-glace, in winter) was initiated in 1959, islanders could only reach the mainland by canoe.

Plusieurs fois par semaine en hiver, quatre ou cinq équipes semblables partaient "avant le franc jour" pour aller chercher le courrier à Saint-Joseph-de-la-Rive (appelé "le Nord"). Mais plusieurs traversaient pour autre chose : transporter un malade, aller chercher quelqu'un de la famille de l'autre côté...

Nowadays they hold an annual Grande Traversée in winter, to commemorate this.

When Carol and Elva had driven off to be ferried across to St-Joseph-de-la-Rive on Saturday morning, Chris and I walked down the hill and rented a couple of bikes for the day from Vélo-coudres, in order to do the Tour de l'Ile. We hadn't ridden more than a couple of kilometres before we went astray, taking the Chemin de la Bourroche along the northern side of the island, that turned out to be a cul-de-sac onto a pebbly beach in which our wheels sank. They used to trap beluga whales on these beaches. Back to the main road then, the Chemin des Coudriers which goes round the whole isle, up and down a few steep hills. At the western end was a bakery thronged with motorbikes from the mainland, as was the Voitures d'Eau museum where the tattoed, pigtailed bikers and their pillion riders were lining up for burgers. We'd visited this excellent little museum in 2005, so didn't pause there this time. There's a windmill and a sizeable church (St-Louis) too, as well as two miniature wayside chapels. We carried on, the breeze at our backs, to stop for a drink at a barn selling old snowshoes and mukluks, decorative metal cockerels, old farm tools, framed pictures of the Virgin Mary, etc., etc. We could have bought a couple of young coudriers growing in pots, but we couldn't have got them in our plane, let alone onto our bikes.

We found a tasty lunch in a dilapidated tavern with a garden shaped like the front end of a boat before handing in our bikes so that I could cool off in the outdoor pool (the water at 20°) at the Auberge before supper. The dining room was packed, but I think we were the only anglophones. Near us sat the four actors who later performed a comedy in the next room: Le Théâtre. Chris and I sat outside and watched the sunset before settling in for a very long sleep.