Survival of the Fittest
The snow banks are twice as high as our minivan. Outside, the blowing snow keeps us from seeing anything beyond the next 30 metres. Benoît Laporte, who is visibly more uncomfortable than he is on one of "his" trains, drives on nonetheless, wanting to reach our collective goal of filming a report on forest survival. For the moment, we care more about surviving the province's roads. In fact, this would make an excellent introduction for our report.
We had left Gaspé the previous night as 60 centimetres of snow began to fall. But the storm also hit the lower St. Lawrence region and Rimouski, which is going to be our home base for the next few reports. The whole town is paralysed, roads are impossible to manoeuvre, and the members of our small team find themselves going in circles in a hotel room all morning. Benoît is reading the newspaper, Denis Bouchard is fiddling around with his computer gizmos, Catherine is putting the finishing touches on a project, Yanick runs around between phone calls, and I zap around the channels, looking for something to kill the time. Finally, during the afternoon, the storm dies down and we are able leave our cushy prison.
The road is fairly clear and the driving conditions are back to normal. As we get closer to Saint-Gabriel, farther inland, the winds pick up again, strong enough to lift the car. Those same winds sculpt enormous dunes of snow on either side of the road, and, now and then, even in the middle of the road. Denis and I hold our breath for an instant as an 18-wheeler comes barrelling down the road in the next lane and almost loses control. We see its trailer swaying from side to side as he drives past us and disappears into the distance, leaving behind a cloud of whirling snow that takes a while to dissipate; it completely blocks what limited view of the road we had. We start breathing again, looking a little stunned and telling ourselves that we are indeed still okay.
When we get to Saint-Gabriel, the village seems deserted, almost like a ghost town. The only movement is that of the blowing snow and one lone man who seems to have been shovelling his driveway for centuries. I wouldn't be surprised if he were still shovelling right now! As soon as we walk into Gilles Toanen's house, the owner of Gallayann Aventure, he congratulates us. "You're the first journalists who've ever made it here in such weather! Usually they just can't reach us." He takes it upon himself to explain the basic principles of forest survival. "You absolutely must have matches or a lighter. That's the most basic things." He then points to a block of magnesium hanging from his belt. When you rub a piece of metal against this block, you produce a small amount of magnesium powder. You then mix this powder with birch bark and throw a few sparks at the mixture by striking the other side of the block. Excellent! I now know what I have to take on my adventure expedition in case we get stuck in the forest because of blocked roads, for example.
Seeking harmony with nature is what motivates Toanen and his family to organise forest outings. This kind of high respect for nature means that when you come face to face with moose, a bear or a fox, you contemplate their beauty and silently study their behaviour. "Most of the time, the animals are curious and seem to be wondering what you're doing there," explains Toanen. "In effect, they're doing the same thing we are: They're observing another species." Toanan's favourite stomping grounds are close to the American border, at the heart of the Appalachians. It's in these vast, mostly uninhabited spaces that the observation of nature is at its best. Different modes of transportation are at the disposal of those who want to travel to this wild frontier: dog sleds, snowshoes or overnight expeditions. Travellers may sleep in a small cottage or in the woods. Gallayan himself owns a cottage in the middle of nowhere, on Seigneurie des Métis. Located in a mature forest, the Seigneurie has special rights that protect it from the clear-cutting that goes on almost everywhere else.
When listening to this nature lover say that the teeth dangling from his necklace are those of a sled dog, I realise that this man has an unexplainable understanding of wilderness, that he has a privileged relation with this wealth that has nothing to with dollars. The fangs on his necklace are those of a dog he owned many years ago, a dog who went blind, but who still wanted to pull the sled. In order for him to do that, you had to tie him into the harness next to his brother. He would stick close to him and anticipate obstacles according to his brother's movements. So he jumped, and stopped, and accelerated with the best of them, even though he was blind, even through the worst snow storm.
