I’m standing roadside, waiting for my friend Gaëlle to come and collect me; my gear shifts in the canvas as I adjust the straps on my pack. We head eastbound. A few favourite tunes play as the urban sprawl recedes in the rearview—a welcome sight. Trees begin to flank either side, their shadows playing on the windshield.

Each kilometre marker brings us deeper into the unfamiliar; the hills come into view, breathing like the swells of an ocean. It’s an expanse born 350 million years ago, carved out by the stroke of a meteor. Mixed forests, sustained by Indigenous stewardship, and today a region renowned for its wilderness, cherished by the locals who call it home. The only thing that could heighten the majesty of this region is witnessing the gilded canopies under a sunrise.

Nature is never a constant; we mustn’t be either.

The landscape is verdant under the spring sun. The air is balmy, carrying the scent of new bloom and the sea salt of the St. Lawrence Estuary. The first beauty is revealed as we pull into the solitary refuge in Zec des Martes: Le Dôme, a log cabin nestled by a cliffside. Long shadows cast upon the yawning valleys of spruce and fir as the sun dips below the horizon. We cut the engine of our car and meet the surrounding stillness. The great alone, that which is found only in the wild places. We take in the quiet expanse of this taiga-like land.

It’s the eve of our exploration.

Nature offers no opinions, no judgements. One will never find a more willing ear than in her quiet.

The cabin smells acrid. It’s an old place that echoes with history. The scents, coupled with the unfamiliarity of this rustic lodging, stir a feeling of nostalgia.

We sup in silence, basking in the stillness, readying ourselves for the moonlit trails before the blue hour ushers in a new day.

The hours are counted through a fitful sleep. It’s time to wake and head into the gloom of the forest to catch the dawn. Before long, we take the first steps into the cool woodlands of the Charlevoix region. It’s too early yet for the warblers to herald morning with song. Nothing stirs but us. The moonlight breaks through the apertures of the forest canopies.

Gaëlle and I don’t talk much, letting the branches in the breeze whisper their voices to us. We’re interlopers in their midst; they seem to watch us as they quiver beside. We listen to the wind as our footsteps scuff the earth. Our headlamps cast a strangled light in the waning dark. As we climb toward the summit, the gloom gives way to the paling of the dawn until the clearing before us opens, and we gaze out across a horizon of high, rolling hills.

Clarity can come from darkness and reflections seen in shadows.

There at the summit, the sun crests above the hills. We stand and gaze, watching as the world awakens. Dawn bleeds its golden light atop the valley. It’s there that we turn to one another, Gaëlle and I, and smile. No words are needed, just a moment of friendship suspended in time as the slow rise of morning envelops us.

Looking out, the sunlight stretches and casts jewels on a lake beyond. It shimmers, inviting us to the riches of the water. Gaëlle and I head back down the mountain, following the trails toward the pristine lake. Soon after, we stand at its banks. A beckoning wind ripples the lake. It’s in that early AM that we plunge into its glacial waters. The cold seizes our breath; we submerge beneath the inky depths and reemerge into the mountainous valley, now awake with life. Birds sing, and the trees continue to whisper. Golden rays filter through the region, gilding nature with a resplendent glow.

All the city ever does is distance us from nature. That’s why we return, why we choose to feel a cold river’s waters—to remember where we come from.

Cold, yet reinvigorated, the day begins. We let the sun bathe us anew in its rays as we dry ourselves off before heading back home. As the forest teems with life, Gaëlle and I join in the susurration with our own laughter and idle chatter, reminiscing in a way that can only be brought out when everything else falls away.

On our return, we digest the sojourn into this remote wilderness. Though ephemeral, it’s enough to remind me why we escape the city from time to time, escape the concrete that numbs existence. It’s something you won’t find in the artificial. Because out here, life is allowed to unfold at its own pace.