Ice climbing

If you close your eyes, all you hear is a barely audible, repetitive sound coming from above. It's the noise from the climbers' crampons carving an imaginary staircase out of the icy mountain. Welcome to a paradise for one of the world's most recent sports.

Just as impressive in winter as they are in summer, Montmorency Falls don't attract as many tourists and adventurers during the cold season, a fact that makes our climbing experience all the more memorable. Combined with the incredible view of the majestic St. Lawrence River, this ice-climbing adventure guarantees thrills and chills down your back, all in a secure environment.

Climbers wear conventional climbing gear over winter clothes. François-Guy Thivierge grabs his ice axes and clamps the crampons to his boots. Once again he checks the knots that will allow him to safely waltz and dance around against the side of the mountain without losing his footing. Over the years, Thivierge, Quebec's unofficial ice-climbing ambassador, has helped introduce the sport to most of the province's regions, oversaw the building of artificial climbing walls and climbed many world-famous peaks in Alaska and the Himalayas. It's no surprise that he looks up at the 84 metres of ice before us with the calm of a milkman about to go on his morning delivery. We, on the other hand, are wide eyed and suitably impressed as we see him climb up the moutain, looking like an ant against the enormous, icy backdrop. "Few people know that Montmorency Falls are 23 metres higher than Niagara Falls," Thivierge informs us. Yanick Rose and I are very annoyed that our too-busy schedule won't allow us to go along for the unbelievable climb, our irritation only growing as we watch two or three climbers happily putting on their gear, impervious to our frustrated desires.

When François-Guy comes down, he only adds to it all: "Out of Quebec's 750 waterfalls, this one is by far the most renowned. People come from all over world to climb here."

"So how is it for first-timers?"

"People come here to take up the challenge, stare down winter, break the ice, feel the excitement of swinging an ice axe, of making your way up a wall of ice, of standing in a frozen waterfall. It's wonderful, it's magical! You feel like you're in another world. And everyone can try it, because it's absolutely safe. Anyone who likes winter sports should come here. It's a memorable experience. You learn what your limits and strengths are; it's a sport that allows you to be in direct contact with nature," explains our expert.

The falls have a very heavy flow, which means that they only partially freeze. Throughout the years, the falling water has carved out a 17-metre-deep basin. Ice walls form from December to March on each side of the falls. Most of the climbers and instructors use the left side, but today we can see a climber making his way up the right side, yet another ant fueled by the great challenge. Nowhere is the difference in size between puny humans and majestic nature more apparent than here.

Ice climbing is a very impressive sport, but François-Guy assures us that young and old will appreciate it. At the end, all who try it come out with a large smile and the feeling of having given their all. "What's more," he adds, "they can later practice the sport wherever they want because we give them an accreditation."

Every winter, a 30-foot-tall mound of snow, called the Sugarloaf in these parts, forms in front of the falls. The mist that comes off the basin when the water hits deposits itself and accumulates to become the Sugarloaf. Some sled marks on the surface suggest that you can slide down this unusual hill. Curiosity gets the better of me and I climb up. I soon realize that climbing to the top is extremely difficult, what with the mist coming down as fast as in a tropical storm. From the top, the view of the falls is even more breathtaking. You can easily imagine the first settlers being completely awed by this natural occurence.

Soaked to the bone, I climb down the Sugarloaf as the team members begin to pack their gear. Carrying Yanick's tripod case, I walk behind the group. From time to time I see them looking back to sneak one last glimpse at the tiny ants clinging to one of nature's masterpieces. The further along we get, the more we understand: Near or far, the falls capture the imagination, like a wonderfully powerful magnet.