A forecast suggests this will be the warmest and sunniest day of my back-to-basics stay in Parc d’Aiguebelle. In defiance of this, I don’t rise early from my sleeping bag bunk bed hiding place.
Instead, at 8.45am, a recalcitrant sideways crawl from out of my heavily-timbered Siberian sleeping quarters, to find – joy of all joys – the handsome view of the lake and its surroundings is still to be found through the square window of my secluded log cabin hideaway.
Waiting for me to drink it all in with a mug of steaming-hot tea, followed by a rejuvenating bowl of lukewarm porridge, eaten from my picnic table balanced on the rocky promontory.
I want to start my anonymous day with a hike along Les Paysages, a rambling trail, and then head down the side of Lac Sault, however my plans appear scuppered when I find that track is coned off.
Undeterred, I blaze my way through, only to be met shortly afterwards by an oncoming park ranger with a moustache, friendly enough, but who does his best in broken English to explain I’d be a bit foolish to continue – and possibly a bit dead.
Defeated, I hitch a ride on a passing bin lorry (I don’t ask why) heading back to the gravel road, and on to the isolated Welcome Centre.
The staff there welcome me warmly by advising me that half of the hiking trails are currently closed. I take this news with a smile, not wanting to perforate my newfound outer layer of confidence and willing.
Heavy winter snow still blankets large parts of the park, although I can choose to take closed-off trails at my own risk.
And I think … do I take the open trails at their risk?
I head back out into blazing sunshine, past the German-registered Transit campervan, and over to La Salamandre, which will lead me to the suspension bridge and l’Aventurier.
Blue skies. I am a pioneer to the fjords: thinking as I go that I might well be the first person down this path since winter pissed off.
Contending with fallen trees and abandoned branches, to reach spectacular views that are up there with the very best.
A panoramic landscape running either way along the volcanic valley down below, through to Lac Haie and up to the sky-high suspension bridge, hovering over icy waters beneath.
No-one else is up here … I have a whole goddamn National Park to myself.
Along the top of the gorge for lunch on a cliff, which I could easily fall down in another life.
Who / what is down there? Glacial waters, is what.
Betraying my intuition, up to a point – that point being where the path completely disappears.
Continuing through the thick bush for a while, unguided, moving further away from the valley, before an about turn and a backwards traipse through the tall murmuring trees. They’ve seen my type before – chancers.
And it’s a long hike back. Especially when the Welcome Centre keeps on edging away from me, hiding behind those trees.
Eventually, we meet.
For a welcome retreat to my remote cabin for evening steak and beer, at the quietest of lakes.
I’ve got the log fire on, I’ve got the birds and the beavers and the rabbits around me.
I salute them all with my drink.
At dusk, the birds are off on one again, cloaking the dimming scene with a rowdy sound: a barber shop chorus of car alarms.
An Outside World 