Road tripping part 1: climbing French-styley

It all started a couple of weeks ago when Nate at work asked if I was interested in going to Québec. Well, I thought, I’ve not got long to go in this country so if I can get another Province under my belt, I probably really ought to. ‘Hell yeah!’ was therefore my response.

Arbraska, the treetop trekking company I work for, own four more parks in Québec (we’re the only one in Ontario) and we decided to try to climb all – or at least some – of them. Throwing our gear (including our own harnesses, carabineers and pulleys) into the boot of the car, Nate, Janna, Steph, Kerri and I set off on Sunday night and drove to Ottawa (Capital City of Canada – but you knew that already, didn’t you?) to stay the night at Janna’s place out there. Kerri proved that she was indeed great in bed, as the rumours would have it, by not once encroaching on my space or stealing the blankets. Early next morning we awoke and set off for Rigaud, just west of Montréal, to begin our climbing. We threw ourselves into the deep end by starting with their extreeeeme course, called La Rafale, which was ridiculously high up in the trees and included some bizarre and very challenging games. For example, one was called The Flyswatter, and involved tying yourself to a rope then jumping off a platform about 60ft off the ground, falling and swinging simultaneously before being flung hard into a large net about 50ft away from where you started. I’ll freely admit that as I stood there preparing to jump, I began to feel a long-forgotten sensation. Fear it is called, I believe. I’m so used to running around in the trees, and find our courses at work so easy these days, that it was lovely to feel shit-scared again.

Once we’d finished La Rafale, we got back into the car and went into Montréal itself to find our boss’s apartment, which he’d kindly offered to lend to us for our trip while he was on holiday. Bags offloaded, we continued north towards Rawdon, where the second park was to be found. They had a particular climb we wanted to do, called a Via Ferrata, which is basically a rock climb, but you follow a set course via a cable, to which you attach your carabineers. We were told we weren’t able to do the Via till the next day, so instead we climbed a couple of their harder courses before heading back to make dinner, play a few rounds of ‘Cruise Marry Shag’ and crash rather earlier than planned.

The next morning we got to Rawdon for 10.30am and made our way to the Via Ferrata with our Guide, Gizmo*. We had replaced our equipment for some with longer lanyards and had also brought along a slower pulley, because the ones we’d brought from home were too fast for the ziplines that we would be doing here. We began climbing in excellent weather but soon enough it began raining and then we heard the occasional roll of thunder off in the distance. We carried on climbing, ready to abandon if necessary, and got through the three courses with relative ease, but much fun. We ended up at the zipline back down the cliff face and Gizmo went down first, followed by all my fellow climbers. I went last, put my special pulley on and jumped…only to find my pulley jerking and slowing. Then, halfway down, it just stopped and I was left dangling. Damn! I turned myself around and went to pull myself in but then heard my friends yelling at me to try my own pulley which was still on my tool belt – of course! Swinging my legs up and over the cable, I began the process of clipping on my pulley, removing the dodgy one and clipping it back onto my harness. Trying to do this with one hand, dangling some considerable distance above the ground and making sure I didn’t drop anything - all the while hearing the thunderstorm approaching - took a fair bit of effort, but eventually was able to release my legs and zip back down to the ground. Hurray!

Via completed, and the thunderstorm well and truly putting an end to further climbs, we decided to head back into Montréal and do some sightseeing. Vieux Montréal was beautiful and we ate Beaver Tails (big flat doughnutty things with cinnamon sugar, yum) as we strolled down the streets. We ate delicious Greek food and happened across a Salsa bar, where we sat and watched a live Salsa band play and people dance. I realised how much I missed Salsa dancing and texted Ali, my neighbour and Salsa partner, who now lives out here in Calgary, to tell him so.

Next day we had a leisurely start, brunch in a café, popped by the Arbraska office to pick up t-shirts. We had intended to try to get to one of other parks, but the two hour drive to the east, before a further 8 hours drive back home, didn’t appeal by that stage. Instead we decided to go back to Rigaud, which was basically on our way home, and try one or two of their other courses they had to offer, and this we duly did, not getting home till 1am.

‘The Weekend’ as it was known, was an awesome success, filled with hysterical laughter from start to finish. Much junk food was consumed, musical tastes shared, random comments made, intoxication occurred, new catch phrases coined; all the classic elements of a good weekend away. I relished being able to use my (somewhat rusty) French. I’d love to have been able to tell you some of the other carryings on, in all their sordid details, but what happens in Québec stays in Québec, on this point we were very clear…

Up for work the following morning – calls of ‘Scampy Pamphlets!’ and ‘Scroggage!’ echoing through the trees between guides** – then home to pack and leave for road trip no. 2…

*All the French guides have special trekking names, which we decided was very cool indeed, and we will try to instigate back home. I'm Cougar, naturally, Kerri (who is 6'1") is now Big Bird and Nate is Little Boy Blue, due to his baby blue eyes...
** You had to be there...