La Montagne Québécoise

by SilverArrow21

Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

I grabbed my seat suddenly with both hands as the worn ultralight rocked violently up and down and side to side, several kilometers above the tree-tops below.

“Are you sure that this is completely safe?” I shouted at the ancient-looking pilot, over my headset.

“’Course I am. This ‘ere is a Quad City Challenger II, one ‘o the best personal aircraft ye can get up ‘ere. And I’ve bin flyin’ fer 45 years. We’ve just bin hittin’ a little bit ‘o turbulence, ye see” he responded.

With this in mind, I relaxed a little, before twisting carefully around in my seat to look behind us at the breathtaking country below. In the distance I could make out the now-fading Ottawa River, stretching out far to the southeast and northwest. Its wide flowing current signified that we had already entered the province of Québec. Below, the sunlight shone off the tops of the trees, and the snow from last night sparkled back at us from its thick, coniferous perches. To our right, the golden sphere that was the sun inched up over the distant, shallow hills, creating a sunrise so spectacular that it deserved to be framed, right there and then, and to be kept safely displayed to all time.

The plane shook again, and I grabbed onto the door beside me to keep from hitting my head on something hard. I had taken this trip several times in the past, so I knew that I had to be patient, at least, with this particular pilot. It would still be a while now before the 2.5 hour flight from Pakenham to our landing spot on the Gatineau was complete, as it was out of range of our plane, and we would have to land to refuel in Maniwaki before proceeding. But after that I would be in my element at last. I could see it then; hiking through the snow-covered and densely forested hills, making homemade maple syrup, playing my acoustic guitar beside the campfire at night, with the sound drifting like a lonely spirit between the trees. And the best part? I would be all alone. Completely by myself.

I glanced down once more at the nylon backpack camping gear that I’d braced between my legs. The pilot had insisted before we left that the gun be stored in a separate compartment, so it wouldn’t “Blow a hole in me g’dam plane”. This decision was probably for the best, though, he did only suspect there being one firearm with me that day…

With my mind wandering absently, I reached a hand down to the backpack and carefully pulled a small sleeve of photos from when I was younger out of a side pocket. Mostly, they were of other camping trips, days spent on the beach and the like; my mother, father and I all enjoying a wonderful day. Usually I was doing something for the camera: holding up a fish to be photographed, or a marshmallow on a stick near to the fire. But then, as I got older my mother abruptly disappeared from these pictures; not to return. The kind, helpful and cheerful man who had once been my father was now sunken and defeated with grief. Eventually, this depression would change him; his work became the only important factor in his life. I mean, I can understand him wanting to get his mind off of her by keeping busy, but that didn’t give him the right to completely rule me as well. Although I tried to help him, I found it to be useless. He had become a cold, hard statue, and I was becoming, with ever more appearance, a direct result of his whims, and I would move along in his path; willingly, or not.

***

Before long, I was standing on the open, frozen river, which was covered in a layer of snow, waving to the pilot as he sped down the powdery strip of ice on the plane’s skis and gently lifted off, flying gracefully back to Ontario. As I stood there, moving my hand gently back and forth through the biting air, watching the ultralight get smaller and smaller into the clouded distance, I had a strange feeling that this wasn’t going to be like any of my other trips. Nothing seemed to be too different, after all it was the same landing spot, same forests all around, same cloudy blue sky, but I just couldn’t shake that strange, powerful notion…

After a quick bite from some of the food I had packed, I found myself to be moving away from the river, leaving behind the spot to which I would return to in 14 days while I pushed deep into the snow-covered forest, keeping the sun to my right the whole time. From here, the only civilization I would meet would be a few minor roads which ran across this part of the north. But for the time being, I had my thoughts free to wander, and I thought once again about that report that I’d sent. What would my father think? What would he say? Sure, I would be heading straight back to Toronto after this trip was over, but I couldn’t hide forever. And then what? He had a way with finding things out, and I probably wouldn’t have a chance to set one foot on foreign soil before I got about a bizillion livid messages of all shapes and forms, informing me that I would be dead before I even knew what had hit me, and that I couldn’t have been more stupid in joining the army.

With a sigh, I shook my head, and continued warily down the narrow, barely visible footpath I had made in my previous trips to the mountain. It was no good worrying about something I couldn’t change; I just had to carry on and hope for the best. I pushed through shrubs and bushes, walked over hills and crossed streams. For every obstacle I crossed, whether it be made of earth, stone, wood or water, I felt as though I were moving solemnly away from my old life forever, to live in this undisturbed corner of the world for the rest of my days. Not at all a bad thought.

A few hours of hiking later, I pulled out my dilapidated map, and, glancing down at it, saw that I should be within sight of the mountain, just barely. So, walking over to a nearby outcropping of rocks, I pulled myself up and onto it; rolling onto my back atop them so I could keep from slipping off. After finally gaining my balance, I stood up, and gently raised a small pair of binoculars up to my face.
Sure enough, out in the distance stood a hill taller than the rest, with the river about 200m across winding around its base, frozen and covered with snow. Using my finger to turn the dial on the binoculars and pull the image as big as it could get, I was also just able to make out a small clearing on the summit, with the point of a wide roof and chimney poking out from between the tops of the sombre pines.

I smiled contentedly to myself. 'Home sweet home'.

***

As the light began to fade from the sky and the day neared its end, I pulled the last squirrel out of its snare and reset the trap on the base of the tree. The sun was falling below the horizon once again, and so I knew that my fist day had come to a close.
I tightened the straps on my satchels, which now contained a great number of edible plants, and started the journey home. The snowshoes that I’d taken were beginning to get sodden, though they kept me well above the powdery snow, and my feet were becoming very cold. By the time I reached my cabin in its small open clearing, with the yellow light from the windows flooding over the whitened ground and the rough brown trunks of nearby trees, I was sure that I would get frostbite.

Running inside and swiftly kicking off the snowshoes, I allowed the heat from within the cabin, constructed of golden cedar planks and beams, to pour over me for a moment and warm my soul, not caring about anything else at that moment. The inside of the cabin had become a lot cozier from when I’d first found it (a run-down mess in the middle of nowhere). It now had a proper floor and carpets, some furniture, extra blankets and pillows, as well as a supply of food. I had also stocked it with various other pieces of camping gear over the course of previous trips I’d taken, for any need that might arise.

Gently shedding my coat, I pushed through the front door and walked into the small 8ft by 12ft kitchen, where the smells of my venison stew, which was cooking on the fire, greeted me. Hanging my coat on a nearby rack and kicking the snowshoes into a corner, I pulled a steaming pot off of the fire, which burned in a small brick fireplace, and made sure that the stew was ready to be eaten, which of course, it was. And so, without further ado, I sat down, to one of the most peaceful and enjoyable meals of my life.

Finally, with my stomach full of the venison, I went about tidying the kitchen some before bed. After about 25 minutes, the last utensils were clean and everything was put away. Feeling quite satisfied with the days’ work, I stored my satchels of vegetables with the rest of the food, but left the rabbits and squirrels from the snares outside, as I knew the frigid air would keep them for a few days longer. Then, I made my way to the back of the cabin and slipped up a hidden staircase, to sleep at last.

The attic room had more floor area than the kitchen, but it was in the roof so the walls on either side sloped in towards the center as they went up. The floor here was old wooden planks, it was some type of hardwood but I can’t remember which. Anyway, it was old and soft to the touch, and the whole scene, with the hole in the floor to allow people up, the old cot pushed up against the wall top first, and the grimy old photos hanging on the walls, made it seem like the perfect setting for a horror movie. I can almost see myself in there now, pulling out old photos and examining them to try and solve a mystery before being slashed from behind by a terrifying monster of some sort.

‘What – a – day!’ I thought to myself while collapsing evenly onto the firm mattress; the smell of must and winter filling my lungs as I began almost immediately to drift asleep. Everything had gone as planned; that never happened! It was almost like, like magic. Ah, what a trip this would be! So many things to do! It was going to be all so glorious and bright, like that cartoon town, that had shown up, and was forcing its way deep into my thoughts right then. The one with the sun… and the mountains… and that very strange little village… but, wait… why...?

Comments

[Moongaze14]

Nicr chapter.

[JBL]

Nineteen year old army sergeant? I don't know much about the army, but I don't know if someone so young could. Not saying yea or nay, I just don't know.

[SilverArrow21]

4249896 You can. In Canada, it's 16 for the reserves or military collage, 17 for regular forces with parental consent, and 18 without. A sergeant can be either an aid to a lieutenant, who commands a platoon of 24, or the commander of a section of 8. In this case though, his rank is referencing the latter

[rurouni426]

good stoy

[Evilhumour]

Ah, I love the references to the places and how this story is going!