Gaspésie Peninsula: Reconnecting with nature in Québec
Back when NYC was still stuck in the thick of COVID, I listened to an Audible podcast on eating in Canada. It was entitled, “Gaspésie: The Route of the Navigators.” Despite previous travels through the Canadian maritime provinces and visits to Montreal, I hadn’t heard of Gaspé and headed to a map. Within Québec, it’s a peninsula just above New Brunswick, specializing in all things seafood like vol-au-vent, snow crab dripping in butter, and sea urchin dips.
My husband and son were dubious, but I assured them that visiting this area would offer incredible scenery, fresh seafood, and access to four Canadian National Parks. They reluctantly agreed to a summer trip in which we drove the 15-plus hours up to the peninsula, broken up by stops in Montreal and then Québec City. As we drove on our first family trip post-COVID out of the US, all of us let out a tremendous sigh of relief crossing the border with Canada. Post Montreal, we were in new territory, and despite needing to stretch our legs, we were ready to see a new landscape that I was sure wouldn’t disappoint.
On a whim while in Québec City, we drove to Île d’Orléans. We found a hidden gem of a farm stand with the best berries we’d ever had: strawberries, raspberries, blueberries, and those unique, zesty Haskaps. Communication in French was a struggle through the farmer’s heavy rural Quebec accent, but his pride in the crop was unmistakable. What I didn’t realize then was that, as we continued, the locals had 20 distinct accents. In more public and tourist-friendly spots, many also spoke English.
A few days later, after visiting Jacques Cartier National Park and an incredible First Nation restaurant, La Traite, we began the drive to the Gaspé Peninsula. I had booked two different Airbnbs along the way, and I settled back in my seat for the next long drive to get to our first destination. Car trips like this were the upgrade from the drives my mother and I would do from DC to Chicago growing up – Those were arduous rides along the turnpikes of states like Pennsylvania and Ohio, but here in Canadia, the drive was scenic. To the left was the St. Lawrence River, and dotted along the way were quaint towns surrounded by farms and forests.
We finally claimed a turnout overlooking a quiet inlet. Stepping out, we were met by the full, heavy grandeur of Canada. The usual summer crowds had vanished, leaving a stretch of stillness so thick it felt intentional. We followed a ribbon of grass down to the river’s edge, where the shoreline shattered into a rugged mosaic of stone. The St. Lawrence was beautiful but indifferent, its currents too swift and its depths too cold to invite anything but awe. Resting atop a massive boulder, I felt the vastness of the water begin to steady me. It was there, watching my teenage son test his grip against a towering cliff of stone, that I felt the tension of the last few years finally break. This was the reset I had been craving.
At Pointe-à-la-Renommée Lighthouse, we discovered the site where Marconi, a pioneer of wireless transmission, established the first North American telegraph station in 1904. We clambered up a red spiral staircase at the top of the lighthouse, which led to an expansive view of the St. Lawrence River. I looked out and thought about history and communication – how, despite the incredible changes over time, we still need to interact with one another.
Further on in our exploration, we hiked to Land’s End in Forillon National Park. At the cliff’s edge, the wind was a fierce, salt-heavy gale, roaring off the water. A harbor seal broke the surface with a playful bob, a reminder that even in this remote “end of the world,” life and tourism were pulsing with new importance. Seeking refuge, we found a small park café where gluten-free options were scarce. Yet, the woman behind the counter made me a divine shrimp salad and served it in a sundae glass, a kind interaction that one doesn’t often encounter – yet seemed plentiful in this area.
Days later, in Gaspésie National Park, we found ourselves blissfully lost in the woods and waterways. While the elusive moose and caribou stayed hidden, the crystal-clear waters more than made up for it. We weren’t the only ones awestruck; a group of backpackers paused with me to photograph the exact moment the forest dipped into a valley swallowed by low-hanging clouds. Looking out, I knew the International Appalachian Trail was out there somewhere, guarding miles of what I could only imagine was pure, untouched wilderness.
Driving home, the “freedom” we felt wasn’t just an emotion; it was a physical state. This trip could have been a solitary retreat (I certainly felt safe enough physically in Gaspé), but witnessing my family find their own restorative rhythm in the wild was the true gift. I felt reassembled: my breath was easy, and the city-static in my head had been replaced by the steady pulse of the St. Lawrence. The Gaspé Peninsula proves that you don’t have to travel to the other side of the globe to find an epic wilderness. It is the ultimate sanctuary for reconnection, a place where the soul catches up to the body. We are already counting the days until we head north again.
If you’d like to read more of June’s writing, check out: https://medium.com/@junecapulette
-June C.
