We are literally at the end of a gravel road hard on the north bank of the St.Lawrence River east of St Ignace de Loyola in the NW corner of the wide spot in the great river known as Lac St. Pierre. The large marshes on the north bank are ancient staging areas for waterfowl heading south as well as being local breeding areas for great numbers of mallards, blacks and teal. While only 100 miles from the Vermont border, it is nonetheless, rural Quebec with English heard very rarely and a fiercely independent culture all its own. The big river dominates the people and the landscape much like the Mississippi does throughout its long course. The locals, including our hosts, are and have been "watermen" for many generations much like those I have hunted with for decades along the Chesapeake. There is that guarded sense one has in these places where the landscape still has a strong but fading hold on its people that you are intruding into a way of life that is slowly passing into a mediocre modernity. When you live your autumns going to where the ducks still are, you find these people still fixed in these solemn landscapes. But, in the words of a Canadian, Joanie Mitchell, whether these folks have the urge for going or not, only the ducks "have the wings to go"...
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