I am behind in writing about the trek. I am so tired at the end of each day it has become a struggle to make a meal. My mind says fuel, my body says sleep. It’s not much of a contest really. As soon as the tent is up, I fall asleep, fully clothed and still wet, on whatever ground the tent has been pitched. No mattress, no sleeping bag, no pillow. Arriving two days ago in Trois Rivierre, my body had had enough. Severe diarrhea, stomach cramps, and headaches kept me shorebound and thankful for the hospitality of the Trois Rivierre Marina and Mario, the Marina manager.
Behind as I am and tired though I may be, this couldn’t wait.
The rocks you see on the left edge of this picture were not there when I arrived. The falling tide, ebbing toward the Atlantic uncovered them. Ships bound for or fron Atlantic ports have been steaming up and down the St Lawrence ever since I arrived in Montreal. But Atlantic didn’t really sink in until I saw these rocks.
The Atlantic Ocean. I am truly on the other side of Canada. The other side of a continent. And I have gotten here in a blink. Did I not leave just yesterday? Was it not just yesterday that I was on the Fraser? Or the Columbia? The French? The Red, the Savanne, the Dog, the Sabaskong?