À dix milles kilomètres d’Ishinomaki, plus personne ne parle de la catastrophe. Les journaux ont depuis longtemps porté leur attention ailleurs et même la centrale radioactive, sujet favori des médias, ne figure plus sur leurs pages. Il ne reste plus rien à dire, on est passé à autre chose.

Mais au pays du soleil levant, les Japonais, eux, n’ont pas oublié leurs prochains. Chaque semaine, des centaines d’autobus remplis de bénévoles quittent Tokyo pour la zone sinistrée. Les volontaires sont des gens ordinaires, auto-organisés dans leurs communautés, qui par sentiment de devoir envers leurs concitoyens donnent de leurs temps pour aider les victimes du tsunami. Car au Japon, où il existe une puissante culture de volontariat, les catastrophes galvanisent une population déjà unifiée, et produit de larges mouvements collectifs spontanés de reconstruction.

J’ai voulu assister à ce phénomène cette année au cours de mon séjour au Japon. Je savais qu’il y avait beaucoup d’organisations communautaires qui organisent du volontariat mais ceci est fait majoritairement localement, et sans maitriser le Japonais j’ai eu beaucoup de peine à trouver un moyen de me joindre à eux. C’est entièrement par chance que je suis tombé sur Team Nadia, une équipe fondée et gérée par une Québécoise vivant à Tokyo. Regroupant un nombre égal de japonais et d’expatrié qui demeurent à Tokyo mais viennent de partout dans le monde, Team Nadia opère dans un environnement bilingue anglais-japonais. Ces membres volontaires paient leur place dans un autobus de nuit qui les conduits chaque vendredi vers la ville catastrophée d’Ishinomaki.

C’est comme ça que je me suis réveillé, le lendemain du sommet du Mont Fuji dans la catastrophe de la côte de Tohoku. Derrière ma fenêtre d’autobus, une pluie grise tombait sur une pile de voitures démolies haute de trois étages et faisant 3 blocs de longueur. C’est apparemment là que l’armée à empilé la ferraille qui bloquait les rues. Cette pile s’élevait à gauche de la rue et bloquait toute vue de ce côté. À droite, c’était le contraire. Dans cette zone apparemment formellement industrielle, il ne restait presque plus rien d’érigé. À travers les restes de civilisation, un tapis de débris et quelques ruines d’usines, on pouvait facilement voire la mer loin au large d’où est venue la mort de cette ville.

On aurait dit une scène d’un film post apocalyptique. Ici et là quelques usines non-aplaties penchait sur leurs poutres toutes pliées, les murs ayant été fracassés par les débris emportés par le torrent. Ailleurs, c’était que des champs de débris. En avançant on quitta la zone industrielle mais pas le carnage. Ruines d’usines donna lieu à ruines de maison. Dans le quartier résidentiel, une masse de fleur indiquât le site d’une école où 74 jeunes enfants perdirent la vie.

On arriva à notre demeure temporaire. Étant donné qu’il y avait encore des répliques quasi-quotidiennes du tremblement de terre, j’étais rassuré de savoir qu’on dormirait dans le plus haut de la ville. Moins rassurant : les trous dans les murs ou voiture et débris ont fracassé la structure. En haut, on plaça nos sacs de couchages par terre (entre les fourmis) et on enfila nos vêtements de travail : combinaison de garagiste (mon ancien « puke suit » du carnaval à l’uni), bottes de travail, gants épais, masque, lunettes protectrices et casque travail. Le tout dans la chaleur épaisse asiatique.

Je. N’ai. Jamais. Sué. Au temps. Et pourtant, j’en ai fait des activités épuisantes. Mais jamais n’ai-je travaillé dans l’humidité si étouffante en vêtements si épais.

La maison sur laquelle mon groupe travaillais se situait à quelque pas de notre logement. C’était une maison unifamiliale comme on a au Québec. La famille propriétaire vivait au premier étage depuis le Tsunami, le rez étant condamné par moisissure infecte. De dehors, la maison semblait presque normale. Un petit trou dans le mur ici, un pilier brisé par-là, mais globalement elle semblait assez correct. On n’aurait jamais cru que sept cadavres avaient été découverts sur cette propriété. Et pourtant c’était le cas. En fait, il y avait eu tant de boue et de déchets que le dernier des cadavres n’avait été retrouvé que 2 mois après le tsunami meurtrier.

On se mit au boulot. Il fallut sortir tous les meubles (poubelle), démolir tous les murs, enlever toute l’isolation, enlever les planchers, couper les poutres pour nous permettre d’accéder aux fondements, et les vider de boue. Dans notre équipe, on était à peu près dix. Il nous pris deux jours complets pour tout compléter. C’était triste car la maison avait clairement eu un style traditionnel japonais magnifique; il me brisa le cœur de démolir sous le regard du propriétaire la passementerie détaillée à coups de marteau de forgeron.

Petit à petit, la maison se transforma sous nos outils, jusqu’à ce qu’il ne resta plus rien qu’une coquille vide. Le fils de la famille, un ados de 18 ans, nous aidait avec ces parents. Il a grandi toute sa vie dans cette maison. Quand on eut terminé, il n’en restait presque plus rien. C’est comme ça qu’on la laissa, prêt à être reconstruite par des professionnels que Nadia embauchera.

Notre volontariat à Ishinomaki ne dura que trois jours. Notre séjour au Japon, trois semaines. On est resté en contact avec les gens de Team Nadia, qui nous ont accueillis très chaleureusement dans leur groupe. Leur gentillesse et celle des autres Japonais nous a profondément marqué.

Jean-Yves
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Des oiseaux pas comme chez nous – Alexandra s’évade en Nouvelle-Zélande

Les chroniques d’un tour du monde

This winter I decided to put together a list of some of the most useful gear I have, and package it as a suggested gift guide. Here you’ll find a number of items that surprisingly many people still don’t own. The gifts I suggest are all things that I didn’t appreciate before I got one, but that have since become a permanent resident of my backpack or car trunk. I also limited the list to only items that are fun to receive. You won’t find spare batteries, camp suds, or water repellent spray in this list, only cool toys.

20$-30$ Opinel Knife

This knife has been around since the 1800s and has been an outdoorsmen’s basic tool from the start. Back in the pre-gore tex days of external frame backpacks and triangular tents, my parents always had an Opinel handy on Canoe trips. For the past 18 years now, I have had my own and I can confirm one thing: they last forever. They hold a good edge and they are indestructible. But most importantly, they are super light, which makes this item (along with a waterproof lighter) a permanent resident of my pant pocket.

Suggestion: Opinel Classic Stainless Steel #8 ($19.99)

25$-100$ Headlamp

If you know someone that doesn’t have one of these yet, do them a favor and offer it as a gift. It’s plain and simple: handheld flashlights are over. Why would you carry around a big stick when you can free your hands with one of these? Side note: like most geometric objects, you can also hold a headlamp in your hands if that’s what you want to do.

For less than thirty bucks, you can get the Petzl e+LITE™. It’s tiny and weighs absolutely nothing (28g or roughly the mass of an AA battery). I keep one in my bag at all times as part of my safety equipment. On day trips, it can be a life saver if you get delayed past sundown. On longer trips, it’s a good backup light, just-in-case –and I have needed it.

For long evenings around the campfire or getting around in the woods, stronger lights are great. I use mine all the time, especially for cross country skiing after work on Mt Royal (when it gets dark at 4, you can get the quiet mystique feeling of the nighttime forest without having to stay up super late, and what a view when you get to the Belvedere!).

Suggestions: Petzl e+LITE (27.99) or Petzl Tikka Core ($81.99)

40$-150$ Camping Stove

The problem with this gift is that those who need it already have it, and those who don’t have it don’t need it. But that’s not exactly true. Here are three options for the different types of campers:

Don’t have a stove: Those who don’t have a stove should learn the joys of cooking in the fresh air, but let’s keep it light, simple and efficient. The MSR Reactor Stove System™ is a complete, self-contained pot+stove system that packs small and cooks incredibly fast. It’s perfect for boiling river water (which disinfects it) for dehydrated foods bags. Buy them this stove and a food pack and maybe an acetal spoon and voilà! Your city dweller can cook a picnic on a hike or a camping supper.

Have a stove: If your close one has a coleman-style two-burner cooker, he/she deserves something that they can take in a backpack. But even if they have a backpackable system, it could hardly be smaller and lighter than the record-breaking MSR pocket-rocket™ (40$). At just 85g, you’d sweat it’s made of air, but it’s quick and efficient when it comes to boiling water. This is my summer go-to. It lives in my pot set.

Or if you have a hardcore adventurer in your family, who may already have a standard iso propane (or butane) stove, you can now offer him the power of cold-weather cooking with a Naphta-burning stove like the MSR WhipserLite™ or the indestructible, 8000m-friendly, MSR XGK EX™.

Suggestions: MSR Reactor Stove System ($147.99), MSR Pocket Rocket ($38.99), MSR WhisperLite ($80.99), MSR XGK EX (

50$-150$ Collapsible Poles

Useful for walking and snowshoeing, as well as for pitching an impromptu shelter with a poncho and string, there are still surprisingly many people who don’t own a pair of these. They’re good for stability on a steep hike and are key for keeping your balance while snowshoeing before you get used to your oversized footprint. They hang out in my trunk with my snowshoes. I also find mine useful for backcountry skiing, where I like to adjust my pole length based on the terrain.

Suggestion: Black Diamond Trail Shock ($89.99)

150$-300$ Snowshoes

The greatest thing about snowshoes is that 1) anybody can use them, and 2) they open up new possible activities. Why should you stop hiking just because there’s snow on the ground? And why shouldn’t you be able to reach that little lookout picnic place you like in the winter? As a cross-country skier I always shunned snowshoes as too slow to be any fun… until I tried them. Turns out it’s a great feeling to be able to walk anywhere you want in the forest; you’re even freer than in the summer when the underbrush constricts movement. I keep my snowshoes in my trunk all winter and strap them on whenever I see something I want to explore.

Multiply the number of boxes under the tree by getting tails! If you plan to walk in deep powdery snow, or with a heavy backpack, they are great tools to expand your footprint.

Suggestion: MSR Lightning Axis 25 ($254.95)

220$-350$ Down sweater

The most underrated piece of equipment. Ever! The down sweater is my most prized and newest find. It’s like a puffy down coat, but the size of a sweater. Like a sweater, it’ll fit under any jacket, and like a down coat, it’s massively warm. Mountain Hardwear, Outdoor Research and Pantagonia make excellent ones.

In the early winter, when it is still only chilly (-5 to 10 C), you can use this as a stylish jacket. But what this is really useful for is as pocket-sized extra backup warmth. Unlike a fleece sweater, these pack tightly into a tiny little ball and weigh almost nothing. I keep mine in my bag all winter long. It’s always ready to pull out whenever somebody is cold. (You get quite popular fast when you have warmth to share.) Snowshoeing and want to stop for a picnic? Slip in right on. Or perhaps you’re cross-country skiing? Not to worry, it’ll fit in your fanny pack without weighing it down. I honestly don’t know how I lived without one.

Suggestion: Patagonia Down Sweater ($217.99)

Hope these ideas will inspire you to give someone a some really cool gear for Christmas!

Outside, we hear the sound of wind and rain beating against the thin walls of the mountain hut. My neighbour is discouraged. She complains that she couldn’t sleep last night. The altitude air is too thin, the hut too cold and too noisy with snorers. A quick peak through the window reveals that the darkness outside is windy, rainy and freezing cold. There will be no sunrise, she decides, and she goes back to sleep vanquished.

As I step out of the hut into the miserable night, I can’t help but share some of her pessimism: It will be overcast but I don’t care; I’m doing what I set out to do. My girlfriend feels the same way. Over the next two hours, we make our way through the darkness over wet volcanic scree towards the summit. As we advance, the rain thins out and eventually stops altogether. We break through the clouds right before we reach the summit.

We reach the top of Mount Fuji and find ourselves standing over an infinite carpet of clouds. The ground is nowhere to be seen; there is a thick white canopy is below us but the sky above it is completely clear. The morning glow heralds a beautiful sunrise.

***

Just two days earlier, our journey started in the hustle and bustle of Tokyo city. There, jamming ourselves into crowded rush hour subways, pushing against neat three-piece suits with our stuffed backpacks, we began our 3 hour trip to the sleepy town of Fujiyoshida.

Fujiyoshida is home of the Sengen shrine, a majestic Shinto shrine that marks the start of the traditional Mount Fuji pilgrim’s trail. For centuries, pilgrims paid their first homage to the Mountain here before undertaking the long, and in those days perilous, journey to the top of their world.

Today, nobody comes this way anymore. Mountain buses leave from the town of Fujiyamaguchi carrying hordes of eager tourists up to an advance mountain bus terminus at fifth station (2700m alt.). There they step off their buses and follow their guides up to an eighth station (approx. 3300m alt.) hut. They are a remarkably homogenous crowd, each lined up neatly in groups of 20-40 behind their guides. They sport brand-new gear and just light daypacks, for at eighth station a meal and a sleeping bag awaits them.

This is how most people climb Mount Fuji. But my girlfriend and I had a different kind of trip in mind. From the Fujiyoshida train station, we walked a few kilometers to the Sengen shrine. From there we started the long trail to the summit on foot. It would take us 48km to climb to the 3785m summit and back.

Mount Fuji is a perfect volcanic cone and it slopes down asymptotically towards the ground. At first, the trail is imperceptibly inclined and the first 8 kilometers were basically a walk in the park. Or forest, rather. A beautiful mystic pine forest where roaming spirits would feel at home. After 8 kilometers we came to a point called Umagaeshi (literally, “horse turnaround”). A hundred years ago, pilgrims would dismount here and continue their trail on foot, the mountain being too holy to be treaded on by their vulgar horses. Today, however, nobody comes this way anymore and the little parking lot at Umagaeshi stood empty.

From there the trail turns steeper. It winds through a dense forest of large old trees through which barely any light penetrates. Thick roots and irregular rocks litter the wide, abandoned forest path. There are no other hikers here and we did not see a single soul. Or more properly, we did not see a single living soul, for more than once in as the evening mist closed in did we fancy discerning the hazy outline of an evil Tengu spirit amidst the trees.

We made our way to station 3 where we camped. I already mentioned stations five and eight; in fact there are 10 stations marking the trail between Umagaeshi and the summit. Evidently, these stations used to be places of prayer but today these stations are little more than a small clearing and an abandoned shrine: ruins surrendered to the stillness of the forest. A testament to a more devout past.

Station 3 looked beautiful at sunset. As predicted, we found a clearing and a forgotten shrine. There we dropped our packs and pitched our tent. While we cooked supper under the light of our headlamps, the reflection of eyes in the trees above us revealed that some Japanese squirrels were watching us. Or perhaps they were Tengu spirits. Other than them, we saw absolutely nobody that day.

***

The next day we quickly reached the treeline just below station five and left planet Earth entirely. Very suddenly the landscape changes from a mystic forest to an entirely Martian landscape. Up here there is nothing green, nothing alive, just red and black volcanic rock. This is also where the tourists' trail from the station five mountain bus stop joins in. Just as suddenly as the landscape changes, infinite solitude gives way to countless masses of tourists. It seems that everyone visits Fuji the same way: by mountain bus to station five with a guide. They are legion, but their orderliness is uncanny; they form impeccable lines behind their guides and walk in this manner the whole way up. The trail is wide and large, and passing these curious slow-moving snakes is no problem at all, even when the trail gets steep.

Nor do they ruin the view. The mountain is ungraspably large. Against the infinite slope of Mount Fuji, even the wide crowded path looks minuscule. The uninterrupted horizon, the faraway peak and the colossal wall of volcanic scree all conspire to make you very aware of your own tininess. You come to the mountain aspiring to conquer it but it puts you right back in your place. The mountain shows you proof, visible physical proof, of just how insignificant you are. And that’s when you realise that you’re not conquering the mountain at all; against its inconceivable mass, you don’t stand a chance. Nor does anyone else. Mount Fuji was born of the fires of hell down below and pushed its way lifting billions of tons of solid rock with an unimaginable force wholly unharnessable by men. It pierced through the Earth crust to rain fire and devastation on the human world below and it can do so again any time; we are completely powerless to stop it.

Three hundred thousand visitors come to Mount Fuji every year and hardly leave a dent. How can anyone claim to have conquered it? Only the forces of nature: relentless wind, torrents of rainwater and the slow inescapable pull of gravity, applied over a million years, can maybe one day render the mountain to naught. Until then, you realise, you can climb a mountain as many times as you like, but you’ll never change it one bit. The mountain, on the other hand, changes you. Bit by bit, realisations such as this one change the way you look at yourself and how you see your place in the world. You’re not the bold adventurer that you thought you were. You’re not taming wilderness. You’re an observer. A fly on the wall of a galactic concert hall; wondered by what you see but powerless to change but the smallest little bit of it.

You realize this while eating lunch one day on Mount Fuji and your thoughts turn to the pilgrims that used to seek enlightenment here. Are these the truths that they sought to discover? I always imagined them merely pursuing archaic rituals, but could they have in fact been aiming to reassess their role in life? Did they come here to explore their purpose on Earth, and did they have thoughts like mine?

***

Above station five, on the way to the summit, there are a fair number of mountain huts. These rudimentary buildings have no electricity or running water. They offer food and lodging as well as water bottles and light souvenirs. Space is very sparse. The only public room is the small eating hall, and eating times are strictly scheduled to ensure that all guests have a chance at the tables. The beds are rows of identical sleeping bags lined up side-by-side are on large bunks.

We climbed to “real” station eight (3400m alt.) where we found a spot in a hut. I had wanted to camp on the mountain but was told that tents are forbidden. Rain came with the nightfall and the temperature had dropped to 5 degrees so it was with little reluctance that we agreed to use one of the huts. We had no reservations but found a spot in the first hut we entered; we had no idea how lucky we got. The next day we met an American that slept in an unheated chemical bathroom, having failed to find any hut with vacancy. He had wrapped toilet paper around himself to keep warm since he brought no sleeping bag for the night.

***

The summit push was wet and cold, but there’s something romantic about rugged Spartan mornings. Or so I think, anyway. As we stepped out of the hut into the beating rain we found the trail below us spotted with headlamps marking the way like rainy fireflies. It was beautiful, and reminded me of the 4a.m. start of the cross country ski marathon.

The sunrise was glorious. After taking a few mandatory pics, we took a walk around Mount Fuji’s gigantic crater. It took over an hour. The otherworldly landscape was like nothing I’ve ever seen. The red and black of the volcanic rock gave the barren landscape a jagged, hostile look; like some planet incapable of supporting life. Meanwhile, a perfect carpet of clouds covered everything below the summit, erasing all proof that we were actually on Earth. It was scenery too improbable for even a sci-fi film.

We stopped on the western edge to contemplate something beautiful. The mountain cast a long shadow of a perfect cone onto the clouds below. Next to me a monk looked out to the same horizon. His curious outfit, unlike that of other monks, identified him as a Yamabushi, a rare adherent to an age-old order of esoteric warrior monks. Ascetic hermits, these men live a life of isolation in the highest mountains and perpetuate pilgrim traditions long abandoned by the urban masses.

So there were still pilgrims.

He looked out and seemed to see things I couldn’t see. What was he thinking about? He clapped his hands and concluded a prayer then disappeared down the mountain forever.

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JY in Japan: Yakushima - Island of Mystical Japanese Wilderness

Sailing in BC’s Channel Islands

But as large as Japan’s 128 million strong population may be, most of it is concentrated in a small portion of the country, leaving vast mountainous areas wild and untouched by urbanism. A prime example is Yakushima.

Yakushima is a little mountainous island off the southern tip of Japan with a small population of 15,000. Most of the island is covered in wild forests of ancient cedars, and is protected as a UNESCO natural heritage site. These forests are home to the Jomon Sugi, famous in Japan for being, by some estimates, the oldest tree on Earth. The Jomon Sugi can only be seen on foot, through a difficult 10 hour hike that winds through Yakushima’s mystical moss-covered forest, beautiful ravines and steep mountain sides. Despite the difficult hike, every year thousands of Japanese tourists flock to the island in organised groups to do the hike and as a result, this part of Yakushima, the trail to Jomon Sugi, is actually quite crowded.

We started the hike late; most groups leave at 5am, whereas we started at 9:30. We actually had to lie and say that we were spending the night in a nearby mountain hut (Yakushima hiking trails are dotted with free mountain huts) just to get permission to set off from the parking lot. Along the way, we crossed several guided groups along the narrow trail. As the day wore on, we only crossed groups returning from the Jomon Sugi, as late as we were no one else was still heading up to the tree. Eventually we crossed the last group and had the trail to ourselves for the rest of the trip. We got to the Jomon Sugi in the afternoon and had the place all to ourselves. There in front of the 2 to 7 thousand year old tree, we cooked a late lunch, and enjoyed the majesty of this gigantic cedar’s presence. We could tell from the viewing platform, which seemed specifically designed to handle large crowds, that earlier in the day, this place would have been quite crowded, but we were all alone for the 30 minutes that we spent there. If you are equipped with headlamps and a GPS, and are experienced with hiking unknown trails at night, this is really the best way to see the Jomon Sugi. We didn’t actually have to hike at night, we made it back only just before sunset.

Away from Jomon Sugi, the island is completely deserted. The thousands of annual visitors seem to concentrate in organised tour groups on the trails to Jomon Sugi, and leave the rest of the island largely unexplored. We rented a car (the only way to see Yakushima, in my opinion) and got lost in its tiny narrow winding mountain roads. On the shore, we found large untouched beaches with absolutely no one on them. We made one of them our home, set up our tent and camped there under the stars for the rest of the trip. At night, we had nothing but clear skies and the full moon was so bright that it casted long shadows on the sand. Once the moon set, the stars were so bright and shooting stars showered the sky. In the mornings, we would wake up at dawn and swim in the soup-warm sea and watched the sun rise from the water. It was perfect. We had the beach, and in our minds the whole island, all to ourselves.

Exploring the island was lots of fun too. The most impressive thing about Yakushima is the wildlife. The island is full of deer and monkeys both of whom are completely apathetic to human presence. It’s not that they are accustomed to humans and/or expect to be fed. Rather, it seems that they are unaccustomed to humans and don’t perceive us as danger. It reminded me of the animals I saw in the Galapagos Islands; there too, animals do not know or fear humans at all.

On the roads, in the trails, and pretty much everywhere outside the settlements, we crossed entire packs of monkeys, including babies gripping their mothers and dominant males picking fights. Families of monkeys fought one another right at our feet, ignoring us the whole time. Only when you get to touching distance do they shy away or bear their teeth in warning. Likewise, the Yakusima deer, beautiful miniature spotted “bambi” deer with gigantic eyes and furry antlers, also don’t seem to mind humans. They would block our path and refuse to budge until we got within 2 meters of them.

Through exploration we found large waterfalls, including one which is featured as one of Japan`s best. There I met a local man who showed me how to swim right up to the water fall itself. With snorkel gear he lent me, we dove deep under the current and swam up to the fall itself. Once up, it would crash upon us pushing us down and away from its danger. Fun!

After the waterfall, we watched the sunset while driving the windy coastal road, and eventually arrived to a tiny town, we had seen on the map. We had hoped to find dinner there, but quickly realised that there were no restaurants, just a couple of houses. Still, we met a family of fishermen who had a large outdoor Hibachi (coal BBQ) installation where they cooked the days’ catches. There, for a modest price they cooked up a feast for us under the afterglow and twilight. Other villagers joined us, and although nobody there spoke English the flowing Shochu lubricated our pseudo-conversation quite nicely.

Later as we made our way around the island, we discovered a magical Onsen, a Japanese hot water baths made from natural hot springs. This particular one was outdoors, dug directly into the rock by the seaside. At low tide, the sea recessed itself and revealed these baths carved in the volcanic shore rocks. We came there at night, when low tide coincided with the full moon and bathed under the stars. At our feet, waves crashed against rock and occasionally spilled into the dug basins, moderating their temperature perfectly.

We spent 4 days in this paradise, exploring its rivers, forests, waterfalls, mountains and beaches. Yakushima is one of the most beautiful places in Japan. If you ever have 3 or more weeks to explore Japan, make sure to include this island on your itinerary. But be warned, almost nobody speaks English there, but you will need reservations for cars and accommodation. Get someone to help you with that. Be sure to rent a car, it’s the best way to see the island. Keep an eye on typhoon forecast, and avoid the island when there are typhoons. Also, although we had nothing but sunshine on this trip, Yakushima is one of the rainiest place in Japan, so equip yourself accordingly. I brought my TNF Venture zip pants, which I keep with me at all times (they pack small) along with a rain coat. I also took my gore-tex TNF Alkaline GTX running shoes (reviewed here) (I had no room in my luggage for hiking boots) which worked fined. Lastly, be sure to arrive early and to start by visiting the tourist information center (one of the only English speakers on the island) at the ferry dock.

Happy travels!

Jean-Yves

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For more of Jean-Yves adventures:

JY in Japan: Climbing Mount Fuji - A Short Trip to Another World

Kayaking the Mangroves in the Florida Keys

Sailing in BC’s Channel Islands

I first decided that I wanted to try whitewater kayaking while rafting on the Rivière Rouge. Perhaps you’ve tried the rafting trips offered by the many companies on the Rivière Rouge (ABV, Nouveau Monde, H20, Propulsion, etc…). They’re great fun, and I highly recommend them, but the whole time we were rafting I was fixated by the safety guide following us in his kayak. Inches above the water line, this guy would dive head first in 2m standing waves, return in an eddy and surf the waves with his boat. He would perform flips of all kind, effortlessly burying nose and tail of his boat into the water as he pleased occasionally tipping completely over only to eskimo roll right back up as if nothing had happened. When the sun shined too strong, he’d wet his hair in an eskimo roll. When our raft got stuck on rocks, he’d surf a standing wave while waiting for us.

It. Looked. Awesome.

All day while this guy followed us, he looked like he was having way more fun than us… and I was having the time of my life! Thrashing about in the rapids was more fun than a roller coaster, and that was from the comfort of a big buoyant raft. I couldn’t imagine what it must feel like from the guide’s tiny red kayak.

I decided right then and there that I’d learned that sport. I signed up the same day for a whitewater kayaking course offered by the rafting company. It turns out, the red kayak guide would be may instructor. Over the course of one weekend, we learned the basic manoeuvres and even practiced them in minor rapids. By day 2 we were taught how to eskimo roll, though few people actually mastered the techniques and none were able to use it in an unexpected tip-over. Still, it was the most fun I’d ever had and I was dying to gain more practice, but that’s when I hit a stumbling block.

There were no further courses available. I didn’t know anyone who kayaks, so I couldn’t learn from a friend, and I certainly wasn’t ready to adventure in rapids alone (never recommended, not even for pros). Buying a kayak was out of the question, since I didn’t yet have the skill to make an informed purchase (there are so many style variations) and in any event, I hadn’t figured out how to learn to use it.

I was in a rut. And several years passed before I found another way to get started. I discovered the Montreal Whitewater Canoe-Kayak Club (CCKEVM) on a random Google search. I found that they offered beginner courses and signed up immediately. The first course was held in a swimming pool. Over six Thursday evenings we learned the basic manoeuvres and techniques and most participants learned to eskimo roll well.

The next portion was a two-weekend in-river course, where we relearned to apply these techniques in a true whitewater environment. Volunteer instructors taught us to read the river and navigate back currents, to leverage the water’s flow into propulsive moves and to recover from errors as they arise. By the end of the course, several pupils were able to do the notorious “sept soeurs” section of the Rivière Rouge River (under the guidance of volunteers, of course).

Amazing. In a little over two months, I had gone from being essentially a kayak virgin (my first course being long since forgotten) to a decent beginner. On top of it, I had made other beginner and advanced friends within the club with whom I could go kayaking in the future. If that wasn’t enough, I was now equipped, since the club also rents kayaks all summer for cheap!

Over the summer, the club organizes several “official” trips at varying difficulty levels. On these trips, skilled volunteer guides help ensure the safety of beginners. An e-mail distribution list also allows people to interact and to organize unofficial trips together, and there is always a trip to join on any given weekend.

In short, I had found everything I needed to enjoy this sport and a perfect vehicle for progressing in proficiency. Several years after that fateful rafting day sparked my passion for the rapids, I could finally take pleasure in the sport of whitewater kayaking.

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Kayaking the Mangroves in the Florida Keys

Sailing in BC’s Channel Islands

Bungee Jumping – Jean-Yves’ Adventures

It’s a moment that everyone must go through at least once in their lives. You worked your way up to where you are with a clear objective in mind and you have bold plans. You’ve come a long way, and now it’s time to take a leap of faith. But suddenly, at the critical moment, you find yourself standing at the edge of an abyss, scared to move forward. What’s ahead looks risky. You look back at what’s behind and it seems so safe and familiar. You consider changing course, turning around and sticking to the comfortable life you led before.

But you can’t. You know that you’ve come too far and invested too much to turn around now. Your friends are supporting you, and now they watch you expectantly. To go back now, after coming all this way, would be too shameful. Reluctantly, you leap.

…off the edge of a bridge.

Instantly, your heart stops and your vision goes black. Time comes to a halt. A surge of epinephrine overpowers your mind; you’re about to get pulverised on the unmerciful ground below.

A split second after jumping, your feet leave the surface and your body starts to tilt forward. Against your own will your arms flail wildly in the air, pushing vainly against the air. Before the jump, you had been determined to do this with dignity, but now your primate instincts take over and, frankly, you look dumb.

Time stops. So does your heart. You’re just a quarter inch past the edge of the bridge but it might as well be a mile; you’re about to get pulverised on the unmerciful ground below. A sudden surge of epinephrine overpowers your mind and makes your vision go black.

After two seconds, your body has fully inverted and you’re rushing head first for the water below. At onset, the adrenaline spike had totally shut down your brain. But now as you speed head first to the ground, your brain reawakens. You open your eyes and see your doom coming at a maddening speed. The rushing air is deafening. Inside, you feel acrid adrenaline boiling in every single vein and you cringe in the overwhelming sensation of speed. A thousand raging rollercoaster rides never felt like this: you are flying at terminal velocity heading straight for the ground.

As you speed towards your target, the adrenaline messes with your head. Time itself appears to slow down, and the world seems to pass in slow motion. By the time your head hits the water, you’re practically at standstill.

You sink down to your neck. Then, as suddenly as you fell down, time reverses entirely and you feel like you’re lifting up again.

Is your soul floating to heaven? Not today. What you’re feeling is the bungee cord recontracting, pulling you back towards the bridge. You’re flying back up now almost as fast as you came down, but the main rush has passed. As you reach the apogee, you feel an indescribable serenity. You breathe deeper than you’ve ever breathed. Your muscles decontract. As your mind comes to term with what happened, your brain realises that the danger has passed and releases a triple dose of dopamine; you are blissfully high on life. You’ll remain on that cloud for the rest of the afternoon.

After bouncing back up three times, you come to halt. The boatman comes to get you right away, and brings you to shore whence you can watch your friends go through the same experience. It’s noon, the sun is shining, you got a full case of beer in the car, and you just jumped off a freaking bridge! It doesn’t get any more glorious than this.

Tonight, you’ll brag to everyone about your exploits, but right now, you’re spending the rest of the afternoon right there on the beach, under the bungee jump. The bridge (actually more like a crane) is over a quarry, underneath which is a crystal clear lake bordered by a beach. There, you kick back suds and revel in your natural high, you and your friends laugh about how you each looked jumping. Maybe you even bought the video. But if you didn’t, at least you can spend all day watching others jumping… right over your head.

This was my experience at the Great Canadian Bungee (http://www.bungee.ca/). At 200ft, this is the biggest jump in North America and, according to the site, “Your 160 ft. rebound is higher than the entire jump height at any other site in the US or Canada!” It’s a bit far from Montreal (closer to Gatineau) but was a great place for my first jump. There’s also a gigantic zipline they call ripride. I didn’t try it but it looks really fun. Best of all, the beach makes it great for bringing people who don’t want to jump. In their words: “If bungee is not your cup of tea, just come watch and party. We have B.B.Q. and picnic facilities, a lifeguard beach, a volleyball net and much more at this hidden paradise.”

My suggestion: try bungee jumping. Even if you’re scared, try it. In this ultra-modern world, we have opportunities to experience things that no one before us could dream of living: jumping from a bridge, flying in a plane, jumping from that too, breathing under water, seeing faraway places, practicing foreign customs, feeling the blast of a rocket taking off, and blasting off with our own on a paved track. We can’t stay at home on the weekend; the opportunity cost is too high. We owe our mortal frame to experience as much of the richness of life as we can while we’re here. That’s why I jump.

And cause it’s tons of fun! Do it!

-Jean-Yves Pikulik

Florida is a very popular winter destination for us cold-stricken Quebecers. By March, we’ve already had 4 months of winter and have at least one more month of it before it all melts away. It’s only natural that we seek to escape our frigid fate, if just for a week. And so we head en masse for the sun-drenched beaches of the sunshine state.

Florida can be awesome, if you do it right. But if you’re not careful, it can also be mind-numbingly boring. You wanna wrestle gators, air boat the everglades, party in Miami beach, hug (or kick?) Mickey Mouse, surf Coco Beach, and buy 5$ hockey tickets? Of course you do! But if you book some pre-paid complete package, you might wind up in some gated community resort, far from the action, bored to tears by the side of the pool, paying 35$ for Mojitos, and being forced-fed timeshare sales pitches.

To be honest, I didn’t really want to go to Florida this winter, but when my girlfriend produced 200$ plane tickets and her sweetest “please” face, I really had no choice. It turned out to be a lot of fun. We did it all, or almost all. Disney World was a passage obligatoire, I guess. The Kennedy Space Center in Cape Canaveral was also awesome; it’s probably Mecca to space buffs, but I can confirm it’s also really amazing to the rest of us. Miami Beach is a fun party; if you’re there, be sure to check out the Delano and have a drink by the bar in the ankle-deep pool. But our best experience was in the Florida Keys.

We arrived at our campground in late afternoon after checking out the dolphins at some research center and enjoying the long drive on the overseas highway. As soon as we arrived, we were greeted by Terry, a long-term resident of the campground, who helped me set up my tent (MSR Hubba Hubba, which withstood the strong sea winds like a boss). Terry started chatting us up and giving us tips; it turns out our campground had two kayaks that we can borrow for free. Not only that, but as a semi-local, Terry new all sorts of secret spots to kayak in the mangroves. He showed us a place from which we could access miles of waterways twisting through the mangroves.

First we had to drive through back residential roads on Big Coppitt Key which led us to some unnamed beach used exclusively by locals. From there we put to sea and had about a kilometer of paddling along the Atlantic shore before we reached the hidden mouth of a river-like pass through the mangroves. The tides helped us in. All around us was a thick mangrove vegetation: short trees spurting out from under the water. Though not really a river, the water formed a river-like shallow fjord that penetrated the mangroves for miles. After two bends, the swell of the sea was no longer felt and the water became still and completely clear. Through the blue-lagoon waters we could see fish swimming, and occasional coral protruding from an otherwise-white sand floor.

There was no one but us and the tropical birds. Terry was right: this really was a secret spot, unknown by tourists and unexploited by touring companies. Early on, by the mouth of the waterway we had crossed a small motor boat on which a father and son fished. But now, a kilometer deeper into the mangroves, we were completely alone. We stopped in a bend where a rising sand bar came up to knee-depth. We tied the boats up to some mangroves and took out the snorkelling gear. Compared to all the expensive snorkelling trips advertised on the overseas highway, this was by far the most intimate experience we could have found. We were alone in our tropical paradise.

We eventually continued our kayaking through the mangroves. At times, for dozens of meters the mangrove trees over-spanned the river and formed a full canopy over our heads. Elsewhere the vegetation was smaller and the sun drenched us with its rays.

We eventually hit the Gulf of Mexico waters on the other side of the key, and there was nothing left to do than turn around and come back. By luck, the tides had now shifted and were carrying us back to our car. We ended our trip with some parasailing and a night out on the town in Key West, kayaking through the mangroves remains the best memories of our vacation in Florida.

-Jean-Yves

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For more of Jean-Yves adventures, click the following links

Sailing in BC’s Channel Islands

The End of the Road

The North Face Alkaline GTX XCR – Reviewed

I’ve tested the TNF Jannu II GTX boots on an Adirondack trail (Mt Marcy) and was globally happy with their performance. Here’s what I found.

I guess this would be a good spot to test out the Gore-Tex!

Breathability 4.5/5

My first test for these boots was breathability. This I tested on a two-hour car ride down from Montreal in the swealtering heat with no A/C. They performed well. The leather and Gore-Tex® construction combines two naturally breathable materials. Gore-Tex® is always breathable, while although not all leathers are made equal in terms of breathability, The North Face seems to have selected a good hide for the JIIGTX. Overall, my feet stayed dry the whole car ride and, in fact, for most of the hike as well, indicating that the boots did their job of letting sweat vapor escape. The JIIGTX gets a 4.5/5 for breathability.

Waterproofness 5/5

Waterproofness was also thoroughly tested as we waded through occasionally ankle-high river water. The JIIGTX is constructed with a full Gore-Tex® membrane, which is the best way to ensure a lasting waterproof build. Even if the leather cracks with age or if a seam leaks, the Gore-Tex® membrane will stop the water from penetrating into the boot. It gets a 5/5 for waterproofness.

Support 4.5/5

In terms of support, the JIIGTX is ankle-rising and stiffened and could be qualified as a hiking or a backpacking boot. Its upper is reinforced with X-shaped stiffeners on either side of the ankle, and the sole by a stiffening shank, both of which did seem to provide adequately rigid protection for my loaded foot this weekend. So for support, I would give the JIIGTX a 4.5/5.

Dimensions 3/5

The one caution I would give a potential buyer is that these boots run small. I had to take a full size larger than I normally do and I was concerned that this would result in the ankles being a little loose. Thankfully, I found that the laces tighten the rigid ankles up adequately and the size-up boots fit my feet quite nicely. Still, I would feel more comfortable with a more accurate size number, so I only give the JIIGTX a 3/5 for dimensions.

Muddy boots = good times

Weight 3/5

Also, at 777 grams, these are not the lightest boots on the market and the light freak in me wishes that they’d weight a little bit less. To be fair, however, when you compare the JIIGTX to the Kailash at 630 grams and the Baffin Pro at 925 grams, they fall right in the middle of the typical weight range. Another 3/5 for weight.

Break-in 4/5

With a rigid boot, the break-in period can be quite long. That’s the tradeoff for tough durable leather. Mercifully these boots fit rather nicely on me and I only had one pressure point to soften up. Still, for anyone buying this boot, I would suggest starting slow and planning for a longer-than-usual break-in period. But since I had a pleasant break-in period, I give the JIIGTX a 4/5 for break-in.

Grip 4.5/5

The North Face uses Vibram® Durateck rubber for the sole, which is one of the most advanced materials in sole rubber. As a result, these boots gripped confidently to both wet and dry rock throughout my hike. 4.5/5 for grip.

Overall Experience 4.5/5

Overall I was very satisfied with my new boots and I wouldn’t hesitate to recommend them to any friend who wants a solid three-season hiking or backpacking boot. What I value the most in a boot is breathability, waterfproofness and grip, all of which the JIIGTX excelled at. As a result, this boot earns itself a very respectable overall grade of 4.5/5 in my books.

(As the season runs and as I wear these boots out, I’ll post any noteworthy remarks as comments to this article. Any breaks, tears, leaks, etc… will be reported here. In the absence of any comments, its safe to assume I’m still happy about these boots).

-Jean-Yves

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The North Face Alkaline GTX XCR: Click here for the review

Hiking boots: Click here for our buyer's guide

J'ai testé les bottes The North Face Jannu II GTX sur une piste dans les Adirondacks (Mont Marcy) et j'ai été content de leur performance en général. Cliquez le lien pour voir ce que j'en ai pensé, plus en détails.

J'ai testé les bottes The North Face Jannu II GTX sur une piste dans les Adirondacks (Mont Marcy) et j'ai été content de leur performance en général. Voici ce que j'en ai pensé, plus en détail:

Respirabilité 4.5/5

Mon premier test pour ces bottes était la respirabilité. Mon test: un tour en char de deux heures par temps de canicule, sans climatiseur. Leur performance a été impressionnante. La construction de cuir et de Gore-Tex® combine deux matériaux naturellement respirants. Le Gore-Tex® est toujours respirant, mais tous les cuirs ne sont pas égaux en termes de respirabilité. The North Face semble avoir choisi une bonne peau pour les Jannu II GTX. Mes pieds sont restés au sec pendant tout le trajet jusqu’à la piste, et pour la majorité de la randonnée aussi, ce qui indique que les bottes ont fait leur travail de laisser la vapeur s’échapper. Les Jannu se méritent un 4.5/5 pour la respirabilité.

Imperméabilité 5/5

L’imperméabilité a aussi été testé intensément lorsque nous traversions des cours d’eau qui montait jusqu’aux chevilles. Les Jannu sont construits avec une pleine membrane, ce qui est la meilleure façon d’assurer une construction imperméable durable. Même si le cuir se fend avec le temps ou qu’une couture coule, la membrane Gore-Tex® empêchera l’eau de pénétrer dans la botte. Difficile de ne pas donner un 5/5 pour l’imperméabilité.

Support 4.5/5

Parlons de support. Avec sa fermeté et le fait qu’il monte à la cheville, le Jannu peut être qualifié d’une botte de randonnée proprement dite. La tige (la partie supérieur, la botte sans la semelle) est renforcée avec des contreforts en forme de X à chaque bord de la cheville. La semelle est rendue plus ferme grâce à un cambrion. Les deux ont fait une bonne équipe pour me donner une bonne protection de support pour mon pied alourdi par une grosse charge. Pour le support, j’accorde le Jannu un 4.5/5.

Dimensions 3/5

Le seul avertissement que je peux donner à un acheteur potentiel c’est que ces bottes sont assez petites. J’ai dû prendre une taille complète plus grande que ma normale et j’avais peur que le resultat impliquerait des chevilles pas assez serrées. Heureusement, les lacets ont fait leur travail à s’assurer que le pied et les chevilles restent en place et mes bottes “trop grandes” étaient très confortables. Malgré cela, je serai plus confortable avec une numéro de taille plus précis, alors je ne donne qu’un a 3/5 pour les dimensions du Jannu.

Poids 3/5

À 777 grammes, ce ne sont pas les bottes les plus légères sur le marché et le fou du poids que je suis souhaiterait qu’elle pèse moins. Mais pour être honnête, lorsqu’on les compare aux Kailash à 630g et aux Baffin Pro à 925g, elles se retrouvent entre les deux. Un autre 3/5, pour le poids.

Rodage 4/5

Avec une botte rigide, la période de rodage peut être assez longue. C’est le compromis pour avoir du cuir coriace et durable. Heureusement, ces bottes me faisaient pas mal bien et je n’avais qu’un point de pression à amollir. Malgré cela, à la personne qui acheterait cette botte, je recommande de commencer lentement et de planifier une période de rodage plus longue que d’habitude. Mais puisque j’ai eu un rodage agréable, je donne au Jannu un 4/5.

Adhérence 4.5/5

The North Face a utilisé un caoutchouc Vibram® Durateck pour la semelle. C’est un des matériaux les plus avancés dans ce domaine. Heureux résultat, les bottes se sont collées avec autorité autant aux roches mouillés que sèches lors de ma rando. 4.5/5 pour l’adhérence.

Appréciation globale 4.5/5

Au final, j’ai été très satisfait avec mes nouvelles bottes et je n’hésiterai pas à les recommander à un ami qui veut une solide paire de bottes de randonnées trois-saisons. Dans une botte, je valorise surtout la respirabilité, l’imperméabilité et l’adhérence, domaines dans lesquels les Jannu se sont démarquées. C’est ainsi qu’elles se sont méritées une note globale très respectable de 4.5/5.

-Jean-Yves

(Au fur et à mesure que la saison avance, j’ajouterai des remarques au sujet de la performance des bottes. L’absence de commentaire indiquera que je suis encore content avec ces bottes.)

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The North Face Alkaline GTX XCR: Cliquez ici pour la critique

Top 5 Imper-respirants pour hommes

Poids 3.5/5

Le truc c'est que j'ai mélangé les noms et j'ai commandé les mauvais souliers. Avec mon colis en main, j'ai regardé les Alkaline. Ils étaient assez légers, 708 grammes contre les 652 des Singletrack. Ils avaient plus de structure, mais ils pouvaient se ranger d'une manière raisonnable. J'ai décidé de leur donner une chance.

À 708g, je les sentaient quand même légers à mes pieds et ils se comparent à plusieurs souliers du marché. Par contre, puisque je cours de longues distances, je compte chaque gramme sur mes pieds. Je suis aussi un adepte de matériel ultraléger dans le sac à dos, pour lequel les Singltracks auraient été plus appropriés. Je donne un  3.5/5 aux Alkaline pour le poids.

Rodage 4/5

Je ne les ai presque pas gardés. Ils n'étaient vraiment pas confortables lorsque je les ai mis pour la première fois. De un, ils avaient des points de pression inconfortables autour du métatarse (la partie la plus épaisse du pied), mais ce qui m'inquiétait le plus était la cheville de la tige qui semblait monter trop haut et se frottait inconfortablement contre  la malléole médiale (les bosses de chaque côté de la cheville). J'avais l'impression que j'aurais des ampoules plus que rapidement. Ce qui a épargné ces souliers d'un retour immédiat a été la période de rodage qui a été remarquable de par sa rapidité. Ça n'a pas pris de temps et déjà j'avais oublié l'inconfort du début. Ce n'est que plus tard lorsque j'y ai pensé que j'ai réalisé que le rodage était complet. Donc, inconfortable au début, mais une période de rodage hyper-rapide: 4/5.

Imperméabilité 5/5

Dans une autre critique, j'ai vanté les louanges de la membrane Gore-Tex® dans les  bottes The North Face Jannu II GTX, que j'utilise pour traverser les cours d'eau et la boue. Quant aux souliers de course, je n'ai jamais désiré quelque chose d'imperméable; je préfère la légèreté et la respirabilité par dessus tout. Ce n'est pas comme si j'allais naviguer un ruisseau avec des souliers à profil bas.

Par contre, les Alkaline sont dotés d'une membrane Gore-Tex® complète, ce qui garantie que l'eau ne s'infiltrera pas. Alors, ouais, c'est complètement imperméable. Maintenant que j'ai des souliers imperméables, je peux apprécier la manière dont la rosée dans l'herbe, la pluie et l'herbe mouillée ne détrempent pas mes bas. Je suis donc pas mal content avec le Gore-Tex®. Et j'ai déjà dit que ces souliers sont assez légers - la vérité c'est que le Gore-Tex® est une membrane super mince et ne contribue pas grand chose au poids des Alkaline. Elles se méritent un 5/5 pour l'imperméabilité.

Dimensions 4/5

Ça semble être un problème récurrent avec dans le domaine des dimensions de pieds chez The North Face. Les tailles sont plus petites que la moyenne. J'ai dû acheter des bottes de randonnée une taille plus grande que d'habitude. Avec les Alkaline, je me suis pris une taille et demie plus grand et c'était correct; je porte des bas plus minces lorsque je cours que lorsque je fais une rando et j'aime que mes souliers soient serrés. Autre que ça, ils me semblaient serrés, comme je l'ai écrit, autour de la partie plus large du pieds, mais le rodage a bien été. Ils offrent maintenant un confort parfait. 4/5 pour les dimensions.

Adhérence 4.5/5

La semelle est fait d'un caoutchouc très adhérent qui semble parfaitement adéquat. Je utilise mes Alkalines pour courir et il n'y a rien à redire au sujet de l'adhérence. Je n'ai aucune raison de donner moins qu'un 4.5/5 pour la tenue.

Laçage 5/5

La première fois que j'ai vu ces souliers en ligne, je les ai rejeté du revers de la main en partie à cause du système de laçage. J'étais des plus sceptiques. Je me disais que ça ajoutait du poids et j'avais peur de ne pas pouvoir avoir mes souliers aussi serrés que je les aiment ou que ça serait difficile de les libérer. La réalité est que le système est très agréablement petit et ne peut pas ajouter beaucoup de poids. Bien au contraire puisque ça permet d'utiliser des lacets plus minces, ce qui pourrait même réduire le poids. Le garage de lacet n'est rien de plus qu'un élastique sous lequel on range le lacet débordant. Le système parait bien, s'acquitte de ses tâches et il est léger. En bout de ligne, il fonctionne parfaitement, se sert et se défait facilement, j'adore. 5/5 pour le laçage.

Note globale 4/5

Avec les Alkaline, j'ai découvert les souliers de course imperméables. Ils font bien, sont confortables, ont un excellent système de laçage et sont d'excellents souliers de course. Je n'hésiterai pas à les recommander à un ami.

(Au fur et à mesure que la saison avance, j’ajouterai des remarques au sujet de la performance des bottes. L’absence de commentaire indiquera que je suis encore content avec ces bottes.)

-Jean-Yves

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The North Face Jannu GTX: Cliquez ici pour lire la critique de Jean-Yves

Souliers de course de sentiers: Cliquez ici pour notre guide d'achat

Weight 3.5/5

But alas, I mixed up the names and ordered the wrong shoes. With my package in hand, I beheld the Alkaline. They were pretty light at 708 grams to the Singletracks’ 652. They had more of a structure to them, but could still pack reasonably well. I decided to give them a chance.

At 708 grams, they still feel light on my feet, and they compare to many running shoes out there. Since I run long distances, however, I count every gram on my feet as significant. I also fancy ultralight gear in the backpack, for which the Singletracks would have been better suited. I give the Alkaline 3.5/5 for weight.

Break-In 4/5

I almost didn’t keep them. They weren’t comfortable at all when I first put them on. For one, the shoe had awkward pressure points around the metatarsus (widest part of the foot), but what really concerned me was the ankle of the upper, which seemed to ride too high and rubbed uncomfortably against my malleolus (the bumps on either side of the ankle). It felt like I would develop blisters in no time. What saved these shoes from a prompt return-to-sender was the remarkably fast break-in period. Soon I’d forgotten all about the discomfort, and only when I later thought of it did I realize that these shoes were fully broken-in. Uncomfortable at first, but lightning-fast break-in: 4/5 for break-in.

Waterproofness 5/5

In another review, I praised the presence of a Gore-Tex® liner in the TNF Jannu II GTX boots, which I use to cross streams and backpack through mud. In running shoes, however, I never cared much for waterproofness, preferring lightness and breathability over everything else. After all, it’s not like I can wade through a stream with low-rising shoes.

The Alkaline, however, come with a full Gore-Tex® membrane, which is basically a guarantee that water will not seep in through the shoe. So yeah, it’s fully waterproof. Now that I have waterproof shoes, I’ve come to appreciate how dew-covered grass, rain and puddles don’t soak my socks, and I’m pretty happy about the Gore-Tex®. And I’ve already mentioned that these shoes are pretty light –the truth is that Gore-Tex® is actually a very thin membrane, and does not contribute much to the weight of the Alkaline. It gets a 5/5 for waterproofness.

Dimensions 4/5

It seems to be a recurring issue with TNF footwear. The sizes are smaller than usual. I had to get my hiking boots one full size bigger than I usually wear. With the Alkalines, I got one half size bigger and they were fine; I wear thinner socks to run than to hike, and I like a snug shoe. Other than that, they felt tight, like I mentioned, around the wide “knuckle” part of my foot, but they broke in nicely. They now have the perfect snug fit. 4/5 for dimensions.

Grip 4.5/5

Sole is made of tenacious grip rubber, which seems perfectly adequate. I use these to run, and have had no issues with the gripping. I have no reason to give it any less than 4.5/5 for grip.

Lacing 5/5

When I first saw these online, I dismissed them in part based on their lacing system. I was ultra skeptical of quick-pull lace-lock system these shoes feature. I thought it might add superfluous weight and I was afraid that it might not hold a tight pull (I like my laces tight) or that it might be hard to release. In fact, the system is wonderfully tiny and can’t possibly add much weight. To the contrary, it allows thinner laces to be used, which might actually reduce weight. The lace garage, is nothing more than an elastic band under which to tuck the loose lace, which looks good, does the job and is light. Overall, this system works perfectly well, tightens easily, releases readily, I love it. 5/5 for lacing.

Overall Experience 4/5

With the Alkaline, I discovered waterproof running shoes. They fit well, are comfortable, have a terrific lacing system and are an overall good shoe. I wouldn’t be shy to recommend them to a friend.

(As the season runs and as I wear these shoes out, I’ll post any noteworthy remarks as comments to this article. Any breaks, tears, unusual wear, etc… will be reported here. In the absence of any comments, its safe to assume I’m still happy about these shoes).

-Jean-Yves

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The North Face Jannu II GTX: Click here for Jean-Yve's Review

Wilderness First Aid: Click here for more info

L’hiver achève et on aura bientôt plus de neige et de glace pour jouer dehors. Au moins peut-on se réjouir de la crue imminente qui ouvrira la saison des sports aquatiques! En attendant, c’est le moment idéal pour recueillir l’expérience qu’on a acquis cet hiver, en but d’en faire usage l’année prochaine.

Cet hiver, je me suis mis au patin, ce que je n’avais pas fait depuis mon enfance, et j’ai tenté de découvrir les plus beaux coins pour patiner près de Montréal. Ce que j’ai trouvé, c’est qu’on est très bien servi au Québec quant au patinage extérieur. Que ce soit pour une date romantique ou pour se fatiguer dans le plein air, les spots suivant sauront sûrement vous combler :

Commençons par les plus accessibles :

Vieux Port de Montréal

Location disponible : Oui
Coût : 6$ par adulte

Destination classique pour le patin de soir après le travail, ou lors d’un weekend sans voiture. Ouverte jusqu’à 21h00 ou 22h00 selon le jour de semaine, on incorpore facilement cette patinoire dans le cadre d’une soirée au Vieux Montréal (resto, patin, queue de castor, bière au Deux Pierrots). Une patinoire refroidie artificiellement se trouve au centre de l’étang des Quais qui est aussi patinable quand les conditions de glace le permettent. Pendant la saison, on retrouve autour de la patinoire une ambiance festive avec événements fréquents : feux d’artifices sur glace TELUS, nuit blanche, igloofest, etc…).

Mont Royal – Lac aux Castors :

Location disponible : Oui
Coût : gratuit
L’étang du Lac aux Castors dans le parc du Mont Royal formait autrefois une patinoire naturelle pour les Montréalais. Aujourd’hui la ville a mis en place une glace réfrigérée et entretenu tout à côté du pavillon du Lac aux Castors. Le parc du Mont Royal offre un décor semi-naturel et une gamme d’activités hivernales permettant d’agencer le patin à une plus large journée de plein air en ville. Tout à côté du Lac aux Castors se trouve une pente de luge, et un réseau de pistes de ski de fond et de raquette est joignable du pavillon d’où on peut d’ailleurs louer tout l’équipement nécessaire. La cantine du pavillon est ouverte l’hiver, mais je préfère emmener un thermos pour un piquenique dans la neige. (Les skieurs et raquetteurs avec l’esprit explorateur trouverons des petits coins isolés d’où la vue sur Montréal est imprenable.)

Le Parc Lafontaine

Location disponible : Oui
Coût : gratuit
Une autre des maintes patinoires extérieures de Montréal; elle bénéficie à la fois d’un décor magnifique et d’une bonne proximité du centre-ville. La patinoire du Parc Lafontaine est formée sur l’étang du Parc Lafontaine, d’où on oublie facilement qu’on est au centre-ville. La nuit, elle est illuminée et animée de musique.

Ste-Marguerite-du-Lac-Masson
Location disponible : Oui
Coût : gratuit

La patinoire de Ste-Marguerite-du-Lac-Masson, c’est 4Km de glace naturelle sur le Lac Masson, à Ste-Marguerite. À une heure et demie de Montréal, Sainte-Marguerite est un joli village laurentien doté de restos et d’auberges rustiques. La piste de la patinoire commence à la marina qui est le cœur du village et serpente au milieu du Lac jusqu’au bout d’une baie distante. Un cabanon avec casiers est fourni pour se changer et on peut y louer des patins. Dehors, on se tire une bûche devant le feu de camp pour savourer un chocolat chaud du thermos avant de partir.

La glace était bien entretenue quand j’y étais, avec peu de craques et de trous. Mais attention, elle n’épouse pas la rive et on y est très exposé au vent. J’ai aussi constaté que le vent peut faire pousser de mini bacs de neige sur la piste, quoi que ceux-ci sont vites déneigés par le service continue d’entretien.

Canal Rideau à Ottawa
Location disponible : Oui
Coût : gratuit

Presque cliché, je m’étonne toujours du nombre de gens qui ne se sont pas encore aventuré jusqu’Ottawa pour patiner le canal. C’est vrai, la glace est normalement en état pitoyable, le stationnement est dur à trouver (si on veut partir du « début » de la piste) et il y a trop de monde, mais on ne peut pas battre l’ambiance!

Se vantant d’être la plus grande patinoire du monde, il y a 8Km en longueur de piste patinable déblayée. Sur la glace, il y a des feux de camps et petites cabanes où on peut acheter collation et boissons chaudes. Assurez-vous de prendre une pose pour se réchauffer devant le feu et mangeant une queue de castor toute chaude!

Si vous n’avez jamais patiné au canal Rideau, je vous suggère d’y aller durant le festival « Winterludes » d’Ottawa. Allez voir en même temps la compétition de sculpture de glace au Jardin de cristal Rogers, à côté de la patinoire, c’est assez impressionnant.

Rivière de l’Assomption

Location de patins : Non
Coût : gratuit

Après la plus grande patinoire au monde, en voici une qui se dit la plus longue. Neuf kilomètres de glace naturelle sur la rivière de l’assomption. À Joliette, cette patinoire est à seulement 1 heure de Montréal (moins, pour ceux qui partent de l’Est de Montréal). Comme toute glace naturelle, la surface est pas sans certain défaut et il faut se méfier de craques et trous, surtout dessous les ponts qui coulent de l’eau salée sur la glace. Par contre, la piste est longue et belle et si on croit le site officiel de Tourisme Lanaudière, aucune autre patinoire au Québec vous offrent une plus longue piste.

Domaine de la Forêt Perdue

Location de patins : Oui
Coût : achat d’un produit de la ferme

Cette ferme d’abeille comprend des kilomètres de forêt idyllique à travers laquelle une piste de patin de presque 10 kilomètres est coulée à chaque hiver. La glace est étroite et serpentante et on a plutôt l’impression d’être sur un sentier de forêt que sur une patinoire, ce qui donne un feeling unique à la Forêt Perdue.

La glace, elle, est en très bon état, étant régulièrement traitée à la Zamboni (improvisée sur des tracteurs, mais ça marche). Bien qu’il y avait une petite foule au premier kilomètre, l’achalandage semble en général être assez bas, surtout lorsqu’on s’éloigne de l’accueil. Après deux ou trois kilomètres, on a eu le plaisir de se perdre dans la solitude silencieuse d’une forêt déserte.

De retour à l’accueil, on y trouve quelques animaux à caresser et une gamme de produits rustiques à vendre.

À plus de deux heures de Montréal, cette patinoire est aussi loin qu’Ottawa. Mais, comme Ottawa, elle vaut le déplacement.

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Toutes les photos prises par Mila Pikulik

Anyone who’s taken the ferry from Vancouver to Victoria remembers the awe-striking natural beauty of the Strait of Georgia which separates Vancouver Island from the mainland. Whales protruding from a deep blue main, densely forested islands plunging into the sea and bald eagles flying overhead. It is without a doubt one of the most beautiful public transportation routes you can take in Canada.

I had the chance to experience it from even closer when I was invited to sail these islands on my friend’s 20 foot Cal 20 sailboat. Now if you don’t count sprint kayaking, canoeing, rafting, whitewater kayaking, wake boarding, war canoe racing, dragon boating, occasionally stepping in puddles and the St-Sauveur waterslides, I’m basically a landlubber. This was my first experience with sailing, and what a trip it turned out to be!

We set sail from Victoria during the eternally-sunny month of August… in the rain. I quickly learned the ropes (literally) and took the helm (a tiller) since I was the only one equipped for the rain. It quite simply never rains in August in Victoria.

A word on raingear: I have a pair of The North Face Venture Sidezip rain pants which folds up in its own pocket, my rain jacket equally packs small. I carry these with me everywhere. I’ve already reviewed here my sneakers (The north Face Alkaline GTX), which are Gore-Tex lined and therefore waterproof, and these have held up as my daily users. In case of rain, I can pull out pants and jacket, and zip them both over my clothes, and I’m instantly protected by a waterproof breathable shell. I really recommend this system to everyone.

Back to the trip: the rain must have brought out the dolphins, because we were instantly greeted by a group of leaping porpoises. They are small and black in those parts, and just as cute as their gray East-Coast counterparts.

When the sun came out and the wind died, we were far from land and I thought it would be a good opportunity for a mid-ocean swim. For some reason, I’ve always had an inherent fear of swimming in the abysmal depth of the deep sea and I was eager to try it. So when we got as far from land as we would be that day, I took a look at the faded distant shoreline of the closest island, shuttered at how desperately far it was, put on a life vest (just in case), double-checked that our dinghy’s engine worked (just in case), tied myself to the drifting boat (pretty necessary) and jumped in.

I nearly had a heart attack. In my obsessive focus on the shoreline, I neglected the small bobbing gray mass behind our boat, which I assumed was flotsam. Now from the water, I could clearly make out, not 10 meters behind me, the small gray head of a huge sea lion! What the heck was it doing there alone in the middle of the open sea? I scrambled onto our dinghy which floated behind the sailboat; I had no idea if these beasts merit their fiercely name, and I had no intention to find out! Not until it finally turned away did I resume my swim.

It turns out these curious fellows would be a near-constant presence for the rest of the trip. A little while later, another common occurrence first came into view: the American bald eagle. What a magnificent raptor! It sat regally perched atop the tallest branch of a small island as I tried amateurishly to photograph it through the lens of my binoculars. As it turns out, we would continue to see these birds throughout the trip, fearlessly perching in plain view, and flying commandingly over our heads.

At night we anchored in island harbours and set up a camp ashore. While it is possible to sleep aboard the Cal 20, it would have been a tight squeeze for the three that we were, and a large tent and campfires offered comparative luxury. One night in particular, was especially memorable:

We were camping on uninhabited Wallace Island on the night of the peak of the Perseid meteor shower. The weatherman had promised a shooting star every minute, but we could hardly count to 10 without seeing one! We took out the dinghy to go look at the sky from the openness of the sea. As we rode out in the night, the black water became alit with phosphorescent plankton. Behind us, our wake left a tail of inexplicably bright green waters that trailed for 10 meters. Wherever we would splash the water flashed with a million flecks of light.

Meanwhile, the meteorites fell criss-crossing in the sky sometimes three at a time. One came so close that it exploded noiselessly in the atmosphere, causing a flash which lit up the whole sky. All around us, the night was filled with strange noises from unseen animals. We took the dinghy by some rocks where in the day we had seen a sea lion colony and inspected it with our infrared light. About half where asleep, but the others were in action. Babies called out for their moms, adults moved around and pushed their sleeping neighbours with their nose. I still don’t know if the meteorites had unsettled them, or if they are just nocturnal by nature.

The next day was equally memorable as we sailed right though a pod of killer whales! We had suspected that we might see orcas since we had eyed the precursor signs of whales in the area. Nature has a way of giving you hints when large predators are around. For whales, these hints come in the form of flat-bottom boats loaded with red poncho-wearing tourists. When we saw these whale-observation boats gathering in a bay, we put down our sails and scanned the horizon. Suddenly, the giant black tail of a full grown killer whale slapped the water about 100 meters out on our starboard side. Shortly after that we saw the back of another whale coming up for air; they were coming straight for us. They passed right below our boat; the closest one swam just below the surface in front of our bow and we could clearly see its massive black-and-white body through the water. We watched as they made their way across the bay and out through a straight and we stood in awe for several minutes longer before the drift forced us to start sailing again.

The rest of the trip was characterised by many other wildlife encounters: salt-water otters, little martins, more dolphins, eagles and sea lions, lock-picking racoons (really), and a breed of fearless island deer that don’t run away from humans.

Other adventures had us improvise repairs (our rudder and motor, among other things) while at sea, and navigate with a broken GPS. Eventually, after seven sun-drenched days (it never rained again), our trip reluctantly came to an end as we sailed back home. What an adventure!

Jean-Yves

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Click the links for more Jean-Yves adventures

The End of the Road: A journey in Quebec's hinterland

Wilderness First-Aid

If you’re an average North American, you’re probably planning on toughing out the winter by staying indoors as much as possible. Maybe you’re one of those who suffer the cold all week, living only for the few hours of weekend you spend on the slopes. But there is more to winter boarding and skiing and many adrenaline junkies are discovering new snow sports like ice climbing.

Originally, ice climbing started as a component of mountaineering. During the 20th century, this pursuit matured as an integral part of conquering peaks, and evolved in parallel as a sport of its own. As a standalone sport, ice climbing involves scaling ice falls that form over rock cliffs wherever springs or meltwaters drip. To get an idea of what these icefalls might look like, think of when highways cut into hills. Ever drive by those rock facades in the winter and seen them covered in ice? The same happens on natural cliffs, and the resulting ice falls can be quite high.

To describe ice climbing, one must start with the equipment. One of the joys of ice climbing is the awesome array of sophisticated gear involved. The equipment, while neat, gets expensive. But thankfully most of it can be rented. What you need is mountaineering (not hiking) boots with a rock-stiff sole, and climbing crampons (which differ from traverse crampons in their spike arrangement). You also need ice tools (think miniature pick-axes), and climbing gear (harness, carabiner, belay device, rope, etc…). So far, all this can be rented. Naturally, since you spent a lot of time out in the cold, it is indispensable to have very warm clothes, and preferably clothes well suited for wet environments: think Gore-Tex® linings and synthetic (e.g. Primaloft®) insulation.

The sport can be practiced wherever natural ice falls form, and there are countless good spots around Quebec. Some of those spots are well-known; others are closely-guarded secrets. If you are interested in ice climbing, consider making a day trip to Mont St-Hilaire to check out the ice falls there. On a sunny winter Saturday, you should be able to see many ice climbers climbing there and you can take the chance to ask them about their sport. As with most niche sports, people in this field are often very nice and tend to welcome the chance to discuss their passion.

In many climbing spots, a walkable footpath leads to the top of the cliffs, from where a rope can be anchored. This allows you to “top rope”, that is, to be continuously tied in to a rope linking you to the top of the cliff and to a belayer on the ground while you climb.

In its simplest form the technique for ice climbing is quite straightforward, if a little tricky to learn. Essentially, it involves planting spikes protruding from the tips of your crampons into the ice and digging your ice tools in as well. With practice, you learn where and how this is best done. Only a fraction of an inch of both crampons and ice tool might embed, but surprisingly that’s all it takes to hold your whole weight… that is if you can move smoothly enough not to pull those half-inches out.

Scaling an ice fall is incredibly fun. The thrill of making your way to the top of a 10-story cliff of ice, hanging on centimeters of metal, connected to your life only by the rope that holds you… it’s an awesome rush. And as you improve, you can move on to more technical ice falls, and learn new techniques such as lead climbing (where you set your own protection into the ice as you climb), free climbing (with no protection at all) and mixed climbing (on a combination of rock and ice). You can also build up a lot of auxiliary skills practicing ice climbing. Many climbers will eventually turn to back country skiing and snowshoeing, and even winter camping, to reach more remote and interesting cliff faces.

While ice climbing might not replace your current snowsports, it opens up new possibilities in a season that, to many, is deficient in activities. To learn more or get started, consider taking a course, which can be found online. And feel free to share with me your stories or recommendations, if you would like them posted here.

Happy climbing!

Jean-Yves

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Jean-Yves Takes on the West Coast Trail

Getting Ready for the Canadian Ski Marathon by Jean-Yves

Wilderness First Aid

Good waterproof boots are absolutely crucial. I used the The North Face Jannu II GTX boots, which I previously reviewed here. They did the job superbly: they were comfortable, provided ample ankle support for my weighted pack, and most importantly, they were absolutely waterproof as I treaded for hours through low-tide submerged rock.

A light tent is key if you’re doing it solo. In a group, you can share the load. I use the MSR Carbon Reflex 2, which is as light as it gets in two-walled non-bivy sac tents.

My backpack is the Arc’teryx Bora 80. A classic. At 80 liters, it is larger than it needs to be for this trip, but I had brought this large pack for my sailing trip for which I had more gear.

A headlamp is always needed when camping. I used my usual Petzl Tikka XP, which I’ve had for years. Petzl now makes even brighter and longer-lasting lamps. Because I knew I might be camping alone and in isolation, I brought a backup lamp, the Tikka e+LITE, which is ridiculously small and light (28g) and provides ample light for all camp functions.

Because I was hiking alone, I brought a marine radio in case of emergency. Never undertake a solo trip without a way to contact help. I also often rent satellite phones from Roadpost.

Rain gear was absolutely key as well, given the daily mist. I have The North Face Venture Side Zip pants, which you can put on over your pants via the side zips, and an Arc’teryx Theta SL jacket, which is made with ultralite Gore-Tex® Paclite.

For cooking I used the MSR Pocket Rocket, which is one of the lightest stoves in the world, and is also very affordable. I also used cookware from MSR: the Exo 2 system, although the Quick 2 System would have worked as well, and would have been easier to clean!

As for food, I had sandwiches and dried fruit/nuts for lunch, oatmeal at breakfast and dehydrated foods from Lyo-san. For this kind of trip, you need a lot of food; my calorific intake was through the roof. (I brought 7 days’ worth of food, just in case, and finished it all in 3!)

I brought my Garmin GPS 60CSx, which revealed Park Canada’s lie about the length of the trail! (In reality, small adjustments to the trail have to be made as needed when storms uproot trees, etc… This probably explains the discrepancy.)

A sturdy rope to hang food at night.

Basically, I tried to bring the lightest of everything I had, and nothing more than what is strictly necessary.

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For more of Jean-Yves's WCT experience, click the following links

The West Coast Trail – Jean-Yves’ Adventures Part I: The set-up

The West Coast Trail – Jean-Yves’ Adventures Part II: My Experience

The West Coast Trail – Jean-Yves’ Adventures Part III: My Gear

And, if you like Jean-Yves's style, you can also check out:

Wilderness First Aid

The Canadian Ski Marathon Challenge

Training and Preparation for the Canadian Ski Marathon

The End of the Road – Part I – Intro

My West Coast Trail (WCT) experience started with as a rather impulsive decision. I had been in Victoria to spend a week sailing in with my friend in the gulf islands (an amazing experience where wildlife –whales, dolphins, seals, otters, bald eagles, wild deer etc… met awe-strikingly beautiful coastal landscapes). Since we’d been anchoring in bays and camping on random islands, I had most of my lightweight gear with me, but I had given up my early hopes to hike the trail for want of time –I had only four days between the planned return from sailing and my flight home. But when we sailed in to Victoria a day early, I quickly did the math and decided that I could do the trail in three days (probably a foolish conclusion), bought a bus ticket and hopped on the trail the next morning.

I got a trail permit thanks to the five daily-allotted “walk-in” spots. Normally one cannot rely on getting in this way, and indeed I couldn’t, but I got lucky in part because I was alone and because it was a weekday. The south trailhead where I started lies in an isolated settlement called Port Renfrew. From there, the trail first takes on a relatively treacherous path winding up and down steep slopes in a costal old growth forest. The setting is breathtaking: giant trees with roots spanning across the trail as tall as a car, a sky-high canopy, rich semi-tropical vegetation and deep-canyon rivers. While beautiful, the first five kilometers are the most difficult. The trail itself is not technically demanding, ladders are in place where the terrain would demand protective measures, but potential hikers must be able to spend a day going up and down steep slopes and ladders with a loaded backpack.

Which brings me to the subject of packing. I saw way too many folks loaded with 60 pound bags on the trail. While it’s technically possible for someone in good shape to finish the trail with such a heavy pack, this can be done only very slowly and I can’t imagine it would be very fun. I would not recommend starting with a pack of any more than 40 pounds. It should in fact be possible to reduce that down to 20 or so pounds with proper equipment. See the gear section at the end of this article for ideas on what to pack.

They warned me that the first day would be tough. And indeed they were right. Most of the people that started with me called it a day after the first five kilometers, setting up camp at Hobbs Creek. Because of my time budget, however, I continued through the mystical forest to the 18th kilometer where I set up camp.

I never camped on the beach before. It was awesome. The pebble beach was sandwiched between two headlands at the mouth of the Culite river. There I set up my tent alongside fellow travelers’ underneath the west-coast conifers and watched the tide beat down on the rocky beach. It didn’t rain, but it wasn’t dry either. Every night, the WCT seemed to be covered every night by an eerie mist in which soaks you like rain, but without any droplets. I found this phenomenon very strange.

The next morning I was up late, and everyone had left camp. But being alone, I was soon all packed up and it wasn’t long before I caught up to the people I shared camp with. That day, I saw the transition from old-growth forest to the beach walking the WCT is also known for. To be frank, I don’t much enjoy walking on the beach. It is unsteady and tiresome on your ankles, particularly with a heavy backpack, but the amazing view from the shore made it worth it. Mercifully, the beach portion was short (although in many places, the trail bifurcates, allowing you to choose between a beach and land path). Moreover, because it was low tide, and because I had reliably water-proof boots, I was able to walk on some semi-submerged flat rock floor that lies below the sandy high-tide line.

All day, the trail stretched along coastal beaches and above headland cliffs with breathtaking views throughout. I passed a Canadian Coast Guard lighthouse and a colony of sea lions. I spotted a bald eagle and several black dolphins in the water. In order to make the mileage I needed to catch my plane on time, I had to keep walking past the last river of the day (filling up all my bottles) and camped alone on a 2 kilometer wide beach. In that evening’s solitude, I saw a pack of grey whales feeding just beyond the shoreline at sunset, and the sky cleared up to present the fullest canopy of stars. Awesome.

I would spend my next day much in the same way as the previous one. A large but currently mostly dry waterfall presented a nice picnic spot at lunch and I ate with my legs overhanging the cliff. Like every day I saw a coast guard helicopter doing its daily rounds and wondered how often they still spot wrecks on this treacherous coast.

By now every occasional encounter I made on the trail was with a new face. I had been rushing to finish the trail on time to catch the bus on day 4 (less than 72 hours total), while most people reasonably take more time to enjoy the trip. Overall, I think they have the right idea; while I’m glad I was able to do the trail despite my time constraints, I don’t recommend needlessly rushing through it if you can avoid it.

I camped on my last night 12km away from the northern Bamfield trailhead. That night, I met a lot of people who were starting off and heading south. A particular group of Vancouverites had well-overloaded backpacks (they brought things like jam in full glass jars) and needed help getting a fire started (they had insufficient wood and no kindling, just two driftwood logs). After helping them with the fire, I retired to my tent and wondered how they would fare on the trail.

I made the Bamfield trailhead on time for the bus. The complete trail is marked as 75Km although my GPS said 85. The bus ride home was 7 hours long and used interior logging roads. We ran out of fuel in the middle of one such road, outside of cell phone range, but we managed to roll-and-restart the bus all the way back to Port Renfrew and bought some diesel from boat owners there.

I made my flight with 5 minutes to spare.

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For more of Jean-Yves's WCT experience, click the following link

The West Coast Trail – Jean-Yves’ Adventures Part I: The set-up

The West Coast Trail – Jean-Yves’ Adventures Part II: My Experience

The West Coast Trail – Jean-Yves’ Adventures Part III: My Gear

And, if you like Jean-Yves's style, you can also check out:

Wilderness First Aid

The Canadian Ski Marathon Challenge

Training and Preparation for the Canadian Ski Marathon

The End of the Road – Part I – Intro

Stretching 85 kilometers along the west coast of Vancouver Island, the West Coast Trail stands at the edge of the world. Snaking along the jagged contour of a hostile shore where the endless sea batters relentlessly the sharp rocks rising from its depth, this trail literally marks end of land and the western limit of the pangean coast. There are no roads crossing this trail, no village, no service station, just mile after mile of the jaw-dropping rugged beauty of the Pacific Rim National Park.

Originally dubbed the Dominion Life Saving Trail, it was first built in 1907 as a way for rescuers to reach survivors of the far-too-frequent shipwrecks of the treacherous western coast. Hundreds of people have been victimized in the countless wrecks that have marred this coast, the remains of some of which can still be seen from the trail. Today, satellite navigation and modern SAR has rendered the narrow trail obsolete as a lifesaving medium, and it has been recycled as one of Canada’s most beautiful national parks.

Each year, a tightly-controlled number of hikers come from all over the world to hike this linear trail. The traffic on the trail is regulated to only a few hikers departing at each trailhead per day and for this reason, spots must be reserved months in advance.

The trail itself is relatively challenging, especially in the southern half, and they recommend skilled hikers to budget 6-7 days for the trek. I would add the recommendation of starting from the south to face the toughest part while your muscles are still in good shape.

Camping is possible anywhere on the trail –provided that you do not disturb the vegetation, but the best camping spots are by the beach at river mouths. There you can find flattened tent-pitching spots and compost toilettes. Because the rivers are the only sources of fresh water on the trail, people tend to congregate at these spots to camp, which gives you a chance to socialise with other hikers and trade tips.

For more of Jean-Yves's WCT experience, click the following links

The West Coast Trail – Jean-Yves’ Adventures Part I: The set-up

The West Coast Trail – Jean-Yves’ Adventures Part II: My Experience

The West Coast Trail – Jean-Yves’ Adventures Part III: My Gear

And if you like Jean-Yves's style, you can also check out:

Wilderness First Aid

The Canadian Ski Marathon Challenge

Training and Preparation for the Canadian Ski Marathon

The End of the Road – Part I – Intro

Photo de Genghis Khan (de sa statue du moins) par Chinneeb

Il y a 800 ans, autour d’un feu de camps nomade, les lieutenants de Genghis Khan se penchèrent sur la question de quel est le meilleur des plaisirs que la terre offre aux hommes. Après un long débat, ils se mirent d’accord sur la fauconnerie (à l’exception de Genghis Khan lui-même qui préférait le massacre de ses ennemis). Des siècles, plus tard, l’aristocratie médiévale s’adonnait à ce sport qu’elle jugeait des plus noble. Aujourd’hui, cet art qui jadis inspirait nomades féroces et princes charmants est plus accessible que jamais, et il est pratiqué par des amateurs de partout au monde. Mais qu’est ce que c’est au juste?

En bref, il s’agit de l’art de dresser, d’entraîner pour la chasse et de chasser avec un oiseau de proie. Le fauconnier se sert d’une science basée sur la connaissance des instincts de l’oiseau pour bâtir petit à petit une symbiose entre homme et bête dont il se servira pour contrôler le comportement de son rapace au point de pouvoir s’en servir pour chasser. Et c’est sans aucun doute la façon de chasser la plus élégante. L’arme du fauconnier, c’est son oiseau aux instincts de prédateur qui, perché sur son bras, ou le suivant au vol, est entrainé pour tuer avec précision le gibier de son choix.

Malgré son attrait, la fauconnerie demeure relativement rare au Québec, et on serait pardonné de penser qu’il est difficile de se lancer dans cet art. Mais ce n’est pas le cas. En effet, il suffit d’un cours de deux jours pour acquérir le permis nécessaire et les connaissances de base pour se lancer dans la fauconnerie avec son propre oiseau. Aussi, avoir un rapace ne demande pas beaucoup de terrain ni d’installations compliquées.

Voulant en savoir plus sur la fauconnerie, et cherchant justement à remplir une fin de semaine libre avec quelque chose d’excitant, je me suis inscrit au Centre de fauconnerie Autourserie du Québec . C’était une expérience inoubliable que je le recommanderai à tout intéressé. Voici comment ça s’est déroulé.

En arrivant, je me suis retrouvé avec trois autres étudiants, pour un rapport de quatre étudiants pour un instructeur. L’instructeur, maitre fauconnier Dan Paradis qui a plus de 25 ans d’expérience en fauconnerie, nous accueille à son centre d’élevage où il reproduit et entraine des oiseaux de proies de toutes sortes dans ses vastes volières. Durant le cours, M. Paradis nous permet de manipuler ses oiseaux et son équipement, sous encadrement, pour un apprentissage pratique.

Le cours est se partage en le théorique et le pratique. Dans son atelier, M. Paradis nous enseigne tout ce qu’il faut pour s’occuper de son oiseau : allant des techniques d’élevage à la fabrication de bracelets et jets pour l’oiseau. C’est aussi là qu’il garde ses couveuses pour les oisillons faucons et autours âgés de quelques jours.

Dehors, c’est le pratique. M. Paradis nous apprend les techniques pour accoutumer son oiseau à sa présence, et pour l’entrainer à la chasse. À chaque étape, il nous confie les rennes pour que l’on puisse pratiquer nous-mêmes les procédures qu’il enseigne. M. Paradis a des oiseaux à tous les stades d’entrainement, selon leurs progressions individuelles. Grâce à cela, on a pu pratiquer tout les aspects de l’entrainement d’un oiseau, de nourrir les oisillons, à l’approche initiale d’un rapace semi-sauvage, à la chasse avec des chasseurs aguerris.

Tout était fascinant. Les rapaces ont une élégance féroce et il est saisissant de les tenir à son bras et d’admirer de si près leurs griffes redoutable posée sur sa main gantée, leurs becs meurtrier et leurs yeux intenses. Ces bêtes sont animées d’instincts prédateurs et méfiants et il en est autant plus excitant, quand on parvient à les appeler au poing d’un vol en hauteur ou d’une branche d’un arbre éloigné.

Tout au long du cours, on récompense les rapaces à chaque étape avec morceaux de viandes (poussins du poulailler de M. Paradis). Personnes sensible aux scènes carnivores, s’abstenir. La chasse elle-même est la partie la plus excitante du cours. Avec des leurres simulant lapin et pigeons, nous sommes allés en forêt et en champs avec autour et faucon pour chasser. Nous suivant au vol, les rapaces entrainés bondissent sur leurs « proies » avec une vitesse et férocité propre à leurs méthodes de prédateurs. C’est tout un spectacle. Une fois le leurre (qui contient de la viande) attrapés, il faut ensuite le récupérer comme si c’était du gibier. Il s’agit alors de faire diversion avec un autre morceau de viande tout en escamotant le leurre saisi par l’oiseau. Et le tour est joué. Chasse réussie.

L’expérience de fauconnerie que j’ai vécue au Centre de fauconnerie autourserie du Québec est inoubliable. Le cours à terme, M. Paradis nous donne un certificat nous permettant d’acquérir un rapace a titre d’apprenti-fauconnier. Un jour peut-être, m’achèterai-je un. En attendant, je garde un excellent souvenir d’une fin de semaine complètement hors du commun.

Chavire???

Le kayak polo est un sport émergent unique qui combine des éléments de lacrosse, du polo, du kayak d’eau vive et de la joute dans un sport d’équipe palpitant qui se joue en kayak.

Ça, c'est du kayak polo

Connu aussi sous le nom de canoe polo, le concept de ce sport simple : deux équipes de cinq joueurs, dont un gardien, s’affronte sur un petit plan d’eau (souvent en piscine) à bord de bateaux de kayak polo, qui ressemblent un peu à des kayaks d’eau vive mais qui sont conçus uniquement pour le kayak polo. Les affrontements sont intenses et durent 20 minutes durant lesquelles chaque équipe se bat pour établir une dominance stratégique et physique.

Sport avec contact

Contacte-moi ce soir

Ce qui est le plus remarquable de ce sport c’est qu’il s’agit d’un sport « contact ». Les affrontements peuvent être très spectaculaires à regarder et encore plus excitant à jouer. J-C Pothier, entraineur chef de l’équipe de kayak polo de Pointe-Claire nous explique les règles sur le contact : « Ça ressemble un peu au football américain. Il est permis de plaquer ou de pousser la personne en possession de la balle » ce qui peut causer un chavirement. Mais grâce à l’équipement étanche, un joueur chaviré peut esquimauter pour se redresser, parfois sans ne jamais perdre le contrôle de la balle. L’agilité de leurs petits kayaks permet aux joueurs de d’effectuer des manœuvres agressives. Ils tentent de pousser leurs adversaires, de les tourner dos à l’action, et ils vont jusqu’à enfoncer leurs nez sous la coque de bateaux adverses pour ainsi les soulever et causer à l’adversaire la perte du contrôle sur son bateaux. En effet, tout semble possible à bord de ces petits bateaux manœuvrables.

Mais malgré l’intensité du sport, il en reste une activité très sécuritaire. « L’équipement maintient les risques à un minimum alors que les règlements assurent un jeu sécuritaire » dit Pothier. Comme protection, les joueurs portent casques avec protection facial, vestes de sauvetage avec protection corporel et même les bouts des bateaux sont ornés de coussinets. Grâce aux précautions, le rush du kayak polo peut être vécu en toute sécurité.

Pourquoi ce sport n’est-il pas mieux connu ?

Le kayak polo est plus répandu en Angleterre et dans les colonies anglaises (Australie, Nouvelles Zélande, Afrique du Sud), où il est pratiqué depuis plus longtemps. En Amérique du Nord, où il se joue que depuis les années 90 ce sport n’est pas encore bien connu. Cependant il se répand vite. Pothier nous explique qu’il y a actuellement 20 clubs de kayak polo au Canada et à peu près le même nombre aux États-Unis. La plupart des clubs sont sur la Côte Ouest mais on a la chance à Montréal d’avoir un club bien équipé qui est en existence déjà depuis 1994. Au monde, le kayak polo est pratiqué dans environs 60 pays et en Angleterre il est même devenu une discipline des sports inter-universitaires.

Au Québec, les seules équipes sont celle de Montréal et celle de Québec. À Montréal, c’est le Club de canoe-kayak de Pointe-Claire (reconnu pour sont programme de canoe-kayak de vitesse qui a vu former plusieurs athlètes olympiques) qui gère l’équipe et les entrainements sont à la piscine de Pointe-Claire (l’hiver) et sur le Lac St-Louis (l’été).

Et si je n’ai jamais joué?

Malgré l’intensité du kayak polo compétitif, le monde de ce sport naissant est très accueillant aux débutants et il y a un niveau compétitif pour tout le monde. Puisque le sport est toujours en développement, les nouveaux arrivés occupent une portion relativement large de la plupart des clubs et les compétitions comprennent normalement des catégories pour chaque classe d’expérience. À Montréal, par exemple, il y a plusieurs joueurs du club qui y sont juste pour le fun alors que d’autres on fait leurs preuves aux Championnats mondiaux.

Je voudrais essayer. Comment faire ?

Pour commencer, un débutant devrait avoir une expérience quelconque en kayak et idéalement, il devrait savoir esquimauter. Les kayakistes d’eau vive sont particulièrement bien placés pour jouer au kayak polo, et plus ils ont d’expérience, plus la courbe d’apprentissage sera rapide.

Si vous avez le profil, vous pouvez venir essayer le kayak polo au Club de Pointe-Claire durant l’une de leurs pratiques (voir l’horaire ici ). Le club possède tout l’équipement qu’il faut, mais il est suggéré que vous emmeniez votre propre pagaye, jupette, et gilet de sauvetage si vous en avez.

Peut-être à l'eau, mais ce n'est pas un filet pour poisson

J’ai appris très vite que ce n'est pas un village ordinaire. J'ai découvert qu’ici, la vie est complètement différente de celle que l’on trouve dans les villages urbanisés les plus proches de Montréal. J’ai été surpris d’apprendre que 98% des gens communiquent en cris. Certains ne parlent qu’un peu d'anglais (la principale langue seconde).

Tout est écrit dans le langage des Cris incluant les panneaux de signalisation et les noms des magasins. Evidemment ce n'est pas pour les rares touristes qui, parfois, font le long voyage dans le Nord.

Devant chaque maison ce trouvait un camion assez neuf, un VTT et une motoneige. En arrière, se trouvait un grand tipi faisant deux étages de haut. Les tipis m’ont surpris le plus. Je croyais qu'ils étaient purement symboliques, construits pour leur valeur culturelle. Pas du tout ! Ils sont très utiles. Les habitants m'ont expliqué que les tipis servent de "cuisines en plein air" où ils préparent la viande de caribou et le poisson. Une autre chose que j'ai découvert c'est que toutes les familles de la ville ont une deuxième maison, ou plutôt une cabane, quelque part dans la nature, où ils chassent, pêchent, et font du piégeage. Ces activités, entrepris avec de l’équipement moderne, semblent être une partie importante de la vie de chacun. Toutes mes discussion à Chisasibi avaient rapport avec soit la chasse soit la pêche.

Au bord de la rive se trouvait une flotte de grands canots motorisés. Il semblait y en avoir un pour chaque personne du village. Étant maintenant réuni avec ma voiture, je suis retourné à LG1 et je l’ai traversée. J’ai continué pendant 50 km sur une route non-pavée jusqu’à la péninsule de Longue-Pointe. C’est officiellement là où la route prend fin (je suppose que c’était le but de mon voyage). Là, j'ai nagé dans la Baie James car elle fait techniquement partie de l'océan Arctique et je voulait pouvoir me vanter. Inutile de dire que l'eau était glaciale. En fait, dehors il ne faisait que 8 degrés.

Là où la route prend fin – 1ère partie: Introduction
Là où la route prend fin – 2e partie : La route
Là où la route prend fin – 3e partie 1/2 : La rivière
Là où la route prend fin – 3e partie 2/2 : La rivière