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MINGAN ARCHIPELAGO NATIONAL PARK
Paddler Magazine

But this is not the dwelling of a fisherman, trapper, or iron miner, for here are a dozen sea kayaks stacked upon racks in the yard. As my wife Mary and I approach, we hear music and laughter and loud happy French voices flowing out the open door into the cool night air. Over the door a small sign says “Agaguk Expeditions.” Inside, seated at a round table covered with empty glasses, Gilles Chagnon is telling a funny story while Dominic Benoit struggles with the cork to a bottle of wine.

“Bonjour! Bienvenue! Have a seat! Have some wine!” Says Gilles as he scrambles to his feet, waves us inside the threshold and pulls up a couple of chairs. Dominic hands us each a very full glass of wine, then introduces himself and Gilles (we later learn these two are the owners of Agaguk). Dominic then introduces Ingrid, Pierre, and Denis, his friends from Montreal who have just returned from a week-long sea kayaking expedition among the islands of the Mingan Archipelago.

Formalities over, we are swept up in the conversation as though we were old friends. Later, accompanied by more beer and wine, the navigational charts come out. Mary and I listen as the others tell us stories about the islands, about favorite campsites, about hidden splendors that we just have to see. They tell us about the Zoo. By the end of the evening we have a route planned, a vehicle shuttle arranged, and several year's worth of hard-won local knowledge scribbled on our charts. When we finally say goodnight I can scarcely believe that we pulled in to Havre-Saint-Pierre as complete strangers only a couple of hours ago.

The Mingan Archipelago is a collection of little-known islands scattered alongside the Quebec North Shore where the mighty Romaine River roars down from the Labrador Plateau. 40 of these islands and islets, spread over a distance of some 90 kilometers, were set aside in 1984 as the Mingan Archipelago National Park Reserve.

But despite the official recognition the Mingans are somewhat obscure. Most Quebecois have never even heard of them, the lack of renown due in part to the archipelago's isolation. Only within the last few years has the North American road system extended its covetous reach to this remote section of the North Shore --and then only with a narrow, squiggly ribbon of frost-heaved asphalt grandly called Highway 138. This tenuous artery connects small scattered fishing outports and Indian villages where life goes on much as it has for the last hundred years. But, although the road accesses the outside world, the primary reason it exists is to provide passage for the engineers of Hydro-Quebec, those peerless dam builders. As of this writing many of the Quebec North Shore 's superb wilderness canoe and salmon rivers are threatened with extinction.

But that is another story.

The Mingans' obscurity is also due to the fact that they are located in a land of geographical and climatic extremes. For starters, this is a small archipelago and Quebec is almost incomprehensibly huge. Americans, with their limited perspective, would be shocked and dismayed to learn that the province could, anaconda-like, swallow Alaska whole and still have room for a dessert of say, West Virginia . And Americans would be equally surprised to learn that Quebec is just as wild as Alaska . As you drive from Quebec City east alongside the St. Lawrence on Highway 138 and look to your left, look hard, for the next paved road is somewhere over the North Pole in Siberia.

Finally, this is an extravagant land and seascape shaped by the stupendous forces of the ice age. Although geologists assure us the last glaciers retreated some 10,000 years ago, the exposed bedrock, muskeg, and stunted trees that characterize this region indicate the titanic ice sheets were probably here as recently as last weekend and may return at any moment. There is no doubt that winter, with its screaming gales and drifting snows, is the dominant season here.

However, warm weather presents its own challenges. During the brief summer, when warm air masses move across the frigid waters of the St. Lawrence, the coast and islands are frequently shrouded in impenetrable gloom. And if there is no wind, the fog can last for days on end.

Nevertheless, for the last decade or so I've been hearing about how sea kayaking among these enchanted islands is the one of the world's greatest paddling trips. So one August day my wife Mary and I tossed our kayaks on our truck and headed north to the Mingans from our home on the Gulf of Maine . A couple of days of hard driving later, the road crested a high rocky ridge, and we looked out over the water and saw the Islands in the last light of day. Lying just off the mainland like so many green platters on a vast blue tablecloth, the archipelago stretched off into the distance.

Then the road dipped down again and the islands were lost from view once more. But in that brief glimpse I could see why some people claim this is the best place on earth to sea kayak, and I couldn't wait to get out there.

The best place on earth is an outrageous claim, of course. What about Prince William Sound, the Queen Charlotte Islands, or the Gulf of Maine , for that matter? How about Puget Sound, and Baja, and Belize ? Do these places somehow come up short when stacked up against the Mingans? Hardly. Each possesses extraordinary qualities making for superlative sea kayaking. All are “best places” owning a unique blend including an exotic locale, grand scenery, bountiful wildlife, fabulous campsites, and multiple options for interesting routes.

Let's just say the Mingan Archipelago has these qualities in abundance. It has vast empty beaches, rocky cliffs, and dense spruce forests. It has arctic tundra. It has nesting puffins, razorbills, and guillemots. It has two kinds of seals and eight species of whales, including blue whales, the largest living things on earth. It has splendid solitude and peaceful campsites looking out to the open ocean. It has challenging crossings where you had better know how to navigate by your deck-mounted compass and chart.

It has an otherworldly collection of monolithic stone creatures called the Zoo.

Two days later we are making the crossing between Isle Quarry and Grande Isle. We have been paddling for a few hours, having left last night's campsite on Ile Niapiskau, where we spent the night above a gorgeous white sand beach tucked away at the bottom of a perfect horseshoe-shaped bay. The water beneath our kayaks is turquoise and startlingly clear, and so is the sky. We consider ourselves very lucky indeed because there isn't a cloud in sight, not even a hint of fog, and the sun is shining brightly upon us.

Suddenly I hear a tremendous whoosh of expelled air, and not 50 yards ahead a jet black minke whale breaks the surface. The whale breaches again and again as he feeds in the center of the channel, completely oblivious to us.

Sometime later we near the far shore, and there on the beach is the Zoo, the strangest menagerie of stone critters you are ever likely to see. There are frogs, and bears, and a very long, sinuous snake. Some folks see eagles here, I'm told, but I'm looking at what can only be a giant duck. We beach the kayaks and wander in amazement among the fantastic monoliths, some no taller than a kitchen stool, others towering into the azure sky.

Sculpted by ten millennia of freeze-thaw cycles, wind, and tide, these bizarre limestone formations are found throughout the Mingans. Paddle along, and you'll feel like you are being watched. Stop and look around and you'll see the voyeur –it's the Old Stone Woman on Niapiskau. Paddle around the southwest side of Grande Isle and suddenly you'll come upon The Castle, a preposterous collection of turrets, moats, walls, and battlements.

Each of the islands in the archipelago has its own charms, its own secrets. Once we paddled through a bellowing gray seal rookery, and the enormous animals –there must have been fifty or more of them—swam around our kayaks in the cold clear water. Another time a pod of porpoises escorted us as we rounded a limestone cape.

Tonight, as we relax in camp, we look off towards the rocky mainland and the mouth of the Romaine some four or five miles away. The ancient sounds of drumming and chanting carry across the water to us from the tiny Indian village of Mingan , where the native Innu are evidently holding a celebration. Overhead a billion stars burn brightly in the night sky, and the bright sparks from our crackling fire waft skyward in a thin column of smoke to join them before winking out.

 

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