Game Preserves vs The Government
Michel Lamarre has been living on the banks of Réservoir Blanc for nearly 20 years. Year in and year out, he welcomes dozens of outdoor and sports enthusiasts who come to find the trapper, the hunter or the fisherman lurking behind their city-slicker surface.
For Lamarre, owning a game preserve is more than just a job or hobby; it's a way of life, a lifestyle that gets him in touch with the freedom-craving, nature-man within. "I may have been born in Montreal, but my real home is in Windigo. When I was young, I used to spend my summers here, and as soon as I was able to buy a some land, I moved here for good. I love what I do, even though it's not always easy."
Even if Michel's yearly receipts is approximately $ 125 000, half of this sum goes directly for taxes and permits. "You don't start a game preserve like you would any other business. I have to report to four different ministries and I have to have a mountain of authorizations from each. It didn't always use to be this way; I used to make half as much profits, but end up with more money in my pockets. Can you believe it?» No, Michel. We can't.
As if that weren't enough, the running costs are astronomical because, among other things, of the distance. For example, it costs $ 4000 a year to be connected to the telephone network, basic monthly fees being as high as $ 200. You must be a true believer to run a game preserve, especially in light of all the politicians who refuse to understand anything but their own point of view.
Therefore, despite the great affection he has for this wild region, Michel might soon be looking for new riverbanks, other moose to hunt, different wildlife to trap. The problem is that for about ten years now, a dark cloud has loomed over Michel's head as governments consider the possibility of building a hydroelectric dam over Rapide des Coeurs. A dam, here, on one of the last great rapids in Quebec? As if this province isn't overflowing with dams as it is!
"It would be catastrophic" says Michel. "Every spring, pikes come here to spawn. If they build this dam, large sections of the rapids will be drowned under millions of gallons of water, so you may as well forget about pike." Michel and his family have invested everything they could into this venture: their time, their money, their sweat, their pleasures, their pain. They built the log cabins, the great hall, even the family home. But if this dam goes through, the Lamarre family already knows they will have to leave.
The worst thing is that not only does Michel Lamarre have to deal with the possibility of leaving, but he will have to counter the problems that such projects cause, even before the first shovel of dirt is disturbed. "In 1990, Hydro-Québec helicopters did some reconnaissance on the Rapide des Coeurs. I lost a good number of clients because of the infernal noise and all the dust they were kicking up. They told me not to worry, that they would give me financial compensation. I never even caught a glimpse of that money. I ended up hiring a lawyer. After spending $ 8000 in legal fees, I just gave up. It was too much of a mess," says Michel.
When Michel's thoughts start rumbling like the rolling waters, he comes to Rapide des Coeurs to soothe his mind. This is where he flyfishes, catching most of his fish from the cascading water, white foam gathering at his feet. As he thinks that he might have to leave this place soon, he has this to say about bureaucrats: "The only dams I like are the ones the beavers build." And that says it all.
