The trailhead had a guestbook in French asking a few questions. Taking into account that I don’t speak any French, I filled out the guestbook rather vaguely. Where was I headed, it asked. To the mountains, I wrote. How long would I be? Four to ten hours. Since this trip was arranged at the last minute, I really had not planned out a route. With all of the questions out of the way, I began.

Mountains of la Gaspé

I was happy to be back again in the mountains hiking. Because I was quite far north, the altitudes at which the ecosystems changed were remarkably lower. The beginning of the trail, perhaps at 200 meters, resembled what in Vermont would be at 2500 meters – a birch and spruce forest. The mountains are not significant in altitude, but they have a distinctive rugged look. They are very similar to the mounts of central Norway, except that the tree line in the Gaspe is higher and the mountains are more jagged. It truly is a different world that I never expected to see in eastern North America.

Along the trail I hiked up further towards the top of Mont Albert, which I had heard was a barren mountain plateau that might still have snow on it. I was hopeful that I would be able to ski – not for training purposes, but for the fun of going for a ski in mid May. Ever since the snow had melted in Vermont in late April, I had yearned to ski again, even if it meant that it would be for only an hour or two on waxless classic skis.

An outhouse with a view

About halfway up the trail to the peak of Mont Albert, there was a clearing with an outhouse that had a view of the Saint Lawrence and the foothills in between. A magnificent view, especially for an outhouse. For the next hour or so, the going became a bit rougher. The trail was covered in four feet of snow and ice, while the incline steepened. Thankfully, I had still had my Icebug hiking shoes, which feature metal studs. It made the climb much safer because when I started slipping, the studs would grab hold, and I would be saved.

Ski season is over

At the top of Mont Albert, I was given a spectacular view of everything. I could see the Saint Lawrence to the northwest, larger mountains to the east and west, and the whole plateau of Mont Albert stretched out to the southern horizon. Unfortunately, there was no snow. I shrugged my shoulders at that, but it was difficult to be disappointed because of all the grandeur that surrounded me. I stopped and ate my lunch at the summit and admired everything.

Rocks that move

I continued my hike, opting to explore the plateau. While walking along the boardwalk that crossed it, I was startled when I looked up and saw a huge white rock in the distance. Since the sun was out and the air warming, the image of the rock was a little blurry. Gradually, as I walked towards it, the rock started to move and a realized that it was certainly not a rock. It was a caribou! And there were four more snacking on the tundra plants behind the first one!

In Minnesota, I have chased deer for fun. In Norway, it was sheep. Most recently, in Vermont, I stalked a moose for nearly two hours before it became tired, and finally relented to letting me get within a few feet of it. Now, with the prospect of testing myself against these caribou, it was difficult to hold myself back. After attempting to size my competitors up – seeing how timid they were, how likely they would be to charge at me – I tightened the straps on my pack and started walking towards them – the “start line.”

The caribou race

Having ceased their grazing, the five of them began looking at each other, at me, back at each other. They were probably trying to talk strategy, mainly how they would attempt to team up in order to beat the lone American (and human) in the race. I interrupted their team meeting and charged right for them, at which point they decided the “flight” option was in their best interests. Knowing that the tundra plants were quite fragile, I kept to hopping from rock to rock where possible.

I kept the pace easy in the beginning, knowing that the caribou had a lot more energy that me and knew the terrain better. They kept to a group and were remarkably tricky when it was their turn to set the pace. Sometimes they would walk, other times they would do full-out sprints.

German biathlete turns into a caribou

I realized early on that I needed to split them up from each other to negate their “team advantage.” My new plan was to run for the caribou on the edge of the group, thereby separating them from the others. It worked, and soon I was chasing only one lone caribou, who for some reason was named after a German biathlete that beat me at World Junior Championships in January. He will remain nameless.

The race was on and I was not prepared to lose to some caribou running with a limp. I decided to out-smart it by chasing it towards what I thought was a cliff. Here his home-turf advantage came into play and I realized that it was not a cliff. I sprinted as fast as I could, sometimes chasing him directly, and sometimes running in order to cut him off from where he was headed to.

I was losing. Badly. Ever time I sprinted after him, he would out-sprint me in turn. Maybe eating tundra grass is something I should try. Vanquished, I slowed down, and watched him trot through the birch scrub on the other end of the plateau. I sat down on a rock and ate some bread with Nutella. There is nothing better after getting whooped by a caribou than eating some Nutella and a peanut butter Clif Bar.

Heading home

Nutella and Clif Bar had their desired effect and I recovered from my tremendous loss. I packed up and set off towards the southwest side of the plateau. From there I could see the southern peaks of the mountain range.

After a while, I headed back towards the boardwalk and rejoined the trail to head home. I slid down le Grand Cuve, a massive snow bowl that would have been too steep to ski up. When I reached the bottom, where the ice turns to a river, I saw a winter trail sign – on a pole twelve feet in the air! This place definitely gets a lot of snow in the winter, though it had unfortunately melted before I arrived.

The remainder of the hike was uneventful, though the scenery was still remarkable. There were numerous snow bowls, a number of rough-cut valleys, and plenty of moose tracks. I saw a nice lake that probably could have served up some good dinner, and a few waterfalls. Since I trained a decent amount in the preceding weeks, the hike didn’t take much of a toll on me. However, at hour seven, my feet began swelling because my shoes had become filled with water when I forded a river. Only when I reached my truck and took my shoes and socks off did I realize why my feet hurt – both of my feet were simply huge blisters!

Recovery

The hike took more than eight hours, beating my record for the longest time I have been training in one day to date. I’m not sure if I am looking forward to the day that I beat this record! Immediately after taking my shoes and socks off, I began my giant recovery feast. More Nutella, a whole loaf of bread, banana after banana, a few more Clif Bars, a large quantity of grape juice, and nearly an entire package of cookies. I was surprised that I didn’t eat more!

After stretching a bit and eating some more, I set off down the road to a different campground that was set on Riviére Sainte-Anne. The place was as devoid of people as my hike, on which I saw more caribou than people.

My dinner menu was either spinach pasta or whole-wheat pasta. I could have either the tomato garlic pasta sauce or the highly-recommended tomato basil. With a whole lot of food in my stomach, I walked, or rather limped, to the river and soaked my feet in the nearly freezing water. I watched the sun set over the yellow birch and spruce trees before returning to my truck and reading a few chapters from my book, Ivan Turgenev’s Fathers and Sons. I quickly fell asleep.