from the stern
© 2001 Robert A. Mackall
After a mighty feast at Sunday dinner, the awful truth dawns on us that we are now heading back to Rimouski and the end of our trip. In addition, the forces of nature have now conspired against us and have sent not only a nasty headwind with which to contend; but also the mighty current of the St. Lawrence and a heightened lunar tidal flow. While they are sufficient to send this chronicler to his bunk to enjoy the full rollercoaster effect of the evening; they are not enough to stop the party goers (including Katie) in the dining room who spend the greater part of the evening and into the night drinking "le vin" and singing songs. Mon Dieu, these folks must celebrate the Feast of St. Jean Baptist every weekend!Morning brings the same headwind and heightened seas. Breakfast is a slow leisurely affair as nothing is planned for the day and it gives us an opportunity to visit "over the kitchen table" with these wonderful people who we will probably never see again. It is sad to meet so many people with whom we would enjoy travelling again; only to loose them back to the humdrum of regular life. Out on deck is an invigorating adventure; particularly at the bow where the ship rises well up and over the horizon and then falls into a trough sending sprays of seawater up over the bow and onto the deck. The sea has not changed from the 16th century when Jacques Cartier first sailed up the St. Lawrence. This is the stuff that binds us to our roots.
Morning is given over to packing and chatting and leads quickly into the afternoon and our final luncheon. Suddenly, around Ste. Flavie, the wind slackens, the clouds break, and the seas subside instantly. We are greeted by the first glimse of sunshine. It will be another glorious day in Québec.
As the boat is gently berthed at the pier and lines are made fast, we make our final goodbyes to crew and staff and fellow passengers. There is a huge group of people waiting on the pier, mostly family of the crew. We forget that they have been away from home these past eight days while making us their family. Leaving the boat is hard; we want to see if there is room on the next trip leaving the day after tomorrow. Katie waits for our baggage to come ashore while I retrieve the car from the marina parking lot. The car repacked, one last goodbye, one last look around and we realize that it is time to move on.
Au Revoir, L'Écho Des Mers.
