Hal sipped on a cream ale, savoring the last
microbrewery of the Gaspe Peninsula. Heaviness set in as we began to realize
his time was winding down. The mind plays tricks trying to appreciate the
moment, breathing in the pungent scents as the ocean floor ebbs outward leaving
raw remnants that didn’t escape out to sea. Our hands are held tight as my
stomach clenches under the anticipation of a great adventure ahead and the
reality that not all is aligned with the moon.
Green dots indicate scenic route. Quebec has won our
award for best roads, picnic spots, clean toilets, hiking trails with appropriate
signage, food choice prices (except for gas) friendly people, historic sights,
diversity, romantic accents and ocean front campsites with wifi and gazebo’s
that shelters us from the rain. It’s the simple things that become our beckons,
the lighthouses all 11 of them on route, kept the car dodging onto back roads,
our camera zooming, our feet plodding through red mud, sweeping through tall
reeds, and taking on the Atlantic wind, simply to view buildings that has long
been vacated yet holds such a allure, to those that love the sea.
Martin Sullivan was waiting for us with drinks in
hand. Before our feet hit the ground he was up to his antics giving us the
wrong address and having to redirect us past Frank McKenna home, 3 doors down,
who wasn’t going to be hosting us. He was attending to heavy hitters putting
out $500.00 a plate for some political dinner. Marty toured us down to his
swimming hole, up onto red sandstone bluffs, along numerous paths through
forests to watch blue herons at his father in laws home. Introductions to all
neighbors and local dogs on right a ways, as he called them, which led us back
to another ocean spot to watch the sun glide into the ocean. In silence we
stood for a long moment realizing his heart was sinking at the thought of
leaving too.
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