Richford to Newport with Quebecois Hospitality

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Saturday, August 25th, 2007. Richford, Vermont. Darrin awoke to find that it was STILL raining, and the river was STILL rising. He set out for the day, and after just a 1/2 mile of difficult upstream paddling, he decided to leave the Missisquoi River to itself. From there, he turned around and paddled right back to his put in. Next he prepped his gear for portaging, added a second layer of duct tape to his feet, and continued, still in the rain, to walk, and walk, for a long time.


Before we proceed with the story, let’s discuss duct tape. “Duct tape on his feet…” you ask? Yes, and two layers of it! Experience by many wilderness trippers has demonstrated the efficacy of duct tape as wound therapy. It seems superior to medical tape for both its “antibiotic,” and adhesive properties. The current theory is that its strong adherents incite the body to send an army of immune cells to investigate the adhesion site. Once there, the immune cells react by rapidly healing the wound, providing relief much faster than anything in a first aid kit.

Back to the story. With slippery, silvery, duct-taped feet, Darrin saved ten river miles by portaging eight miles along the highway, ultimately ending his “walk” in Glen Sutton, Quebec.

He crossed into Canada at the East Richford Border Crossing along the Missisquoi River. Darrin was welcomed and waved across the border by a friendly, lone, station attendant who seemed completely unconcerned with seeing Darrin’s identification, or any other indications that he was simply a canoeist and not a wanted felon. In retrospect, it was clear that the officer’s laid-back friendliness was a sign of the warm hospitality Darrin was to encounter in Quebec.

Once past the border station, Darrin immediately began to notice differences in the farms, and in the scenery. In the US, rows of corn extend all the way to the riverside, whereas in Canada, meadows with grazing animals line the banks. Farms in Canada were much smaller, and the River was much cleaner.

Upon completing the eight-mile portage, Darrin was quickly enthralled by the charm of Glen Sutton, “the friendliest little town” that he’d encountered in a long, long, time. To Darrin it felt timeless, and seemed to be a place where simple hospitality and a relaxed approach to life could always be relied upon. In “The Glen” as the locals call it, Darrin made his way to L’Auberge Glen Sutton, an inn, restaurant, and bar, with a wide, welcoming front porch and a lazy summer flower garden. Built in the 1880’s, it is one of only three businesses in town, and where Darrin would end up staying for two warm and enjoyable nights.

When he first arrived at about 12:15 p.m., Shane, the bartender at L’Auberge, let Darrin into the bar fifteen minutes before opening. Shane had determined that Darrin looked bedraggled in the 90-degree heat. He served Darrin a beer, which Darrin sipped as he began to meet some of L’Auberge’s friendly faces and enjoy the restaurants great food.

First he met Miles, a plumber, who lived just across the street, but drove over anyway. Next arrived Peter and Alma, the owners of L’Auberge. They were a few minutes behind L’Auberge’s opening time, but were right on schedule according to “Glen Sutton time.” For lunch, Darrin chose a chicken fajita from L’Auberge’s Mexican-themed menu written in French with English subtitles. The fajita was very tasty, an experience which could probably be attributed to Alma’s Costa Rican ancestry.

Next Darrin met Jerry, a retired schoolteacher, with whom Darrin talked at length about paddling, climbing, and biking. At about 5 p.m., Darrin met Tanya. She had arrived to begin her shift of tending bar with Shane. Twenty minutes later, Darrin ordered an item from the pub menu - the fabulous “super burger.”

As the evening wore on, talk of American politics, as well as the history of “the Glen,” echoed off L’Auberge’s wood-paneled walls, and through its stained glass fixtures. Other local faces joined the crowd, including Shane’s mother. She was a descendent of the original Loyalists, British settlers who, out of loyalty to the crown, left the English colonies during the Revolutionary War. After this day of stimulating conversation, Darrin bedded down at L’Auberge for just $30 Canadian.

Sunday, August 26th, 2007. Tanya graciously agreed to shuttle Darrin for Sunday’s paddling. She drove him to a put-in just north of Mansonville, on the River Missisquoi du Nord. From there, Darrin would paddle DOWNriver back to Glen Sutton. After laboring through upriver sections for days, Tanya’s willingness to shuttle Darrin was a golden opportunity to enjoy downriver current.

Without the rigor of upstream maneuvering, Darrin could focus on enjoying the riverside scenery. The Missisquoi du Nord, and the Missisquoi, are relatively non-descript, but pastoral nonetheless. In a way, they reminded Darrin of Wisconsin’s Baraboo, a river which cuts through pretty, yet undramatic, scenes of farms and rolling hills.

After two miles of paddling, he reached Mansonville, Quebec, a larger town than Glen Sutton, with a mix of stores, restaurants, and churches. To avoid a daunting class five rapid, Darrin executed an efficient and publicly viewable portage through downtown Mansonville. From there, he paddled down to a valley called “High Water,” where the Missisquoi du Nord meets the main Missisquoi. The valley is named as such because it floods as the Missisquoi swells its banks with spring rain.

Along this section, Darrin saw an unusual sight - a log that looked as if it had been wedged in the riverbank forever. Water ran out the tip, so smoothly that the log was like a faucet. Orange sediment encrusted the end, implying that it had been there a long time, perhaps deposited during a spring flood decades ago.

By lunchtime, Darrin took out at a bridge in Glen Sutton, and headed back to L’Auberge to enjoy another pleasant afternoon and evening of socializing, eating, and drinking.


Lunch was a beef fajita that was just as tasty as the previous day’s chicken fajita. He followed it with hours of reading and journaling in the pub. Beer and a good book carried him into dinnertime, at which point he tried L’Auberge’s fish and chips.

As the evening progressed, he met more of the residents of Glen Sutton. First, there was Don Johnston, who was retired from serving as the Finance Minister of Canada. Don had also worked in a senior position for the United Nations, directly under Kofi Annan, and had met decade’s worth of U.S. presidential candidates. Next, Darrin met Eddie and Dawn. They lived in the Glen, but Dawn commuted to Montreal for work each week. Eddie and Dawn ended up emailing me to say that they’d just met Darrin, that he was healthy and happy, and to ask if I could send them Darrin’s blog address. (I eagerly obliged and sent them the link.) Darrin bedded down for a second comfortable night at L’Auberge.

Monday, August 27th, 2007. Glen Sutton, Quebec. Tanya picked Darrin up again. This time she drove him to the Grand Portage between the River Missisquoi du Nord and the picturesque Lac Memphremagog.

Darrin said farewell to Tanya, and started pulling his canoe up a mountain - literally. The Grand Portage involves a 700-foot climb. A portage on his second day brought Darrin to the highest point he would reach over the course of the whole NFCT, but this Grand Portage involved the greatest elevation change he had endured thus far, making it significantly more challenging than a typical portage. Thankfully, a great vista of mountaintops awarded him for his efforts.

Lac Memphremagog was at the other end of the Grand Portage. On the shore sat a boat-washing stand where Darrin was required to pressure wash his canoe to ensure that no “hitchhiking” invasive species, such as zebra mussels, clung to his canoe.

Lac Memphremagog was pristine. The Canadian end of the lake looked like a scene from Switzerland, with mountains rising out of the lake. It was almost fjord-like, and the mountains had fairytale names like “Sugarloaf” and “Owl’s Head.”

After about seven miles of pleasant paddling on Lac Memphremagog, Darrin crossed the U.S./Canadian border, an imaginary line in the middle of the Lake. As he paddled along the American shore of Lake Memphremagog (so called “Lake, rather than “Lac” in the U.S.), Darrin made another observation regarding differences between the U.S. and Canada. Properties on the Canadian side had homes tucked away in the trees, with natural vegetation all around. In the U.S., lakefront vacation properties had hundreds of feet of lawn between house and lake. Darrin wondered why people buy vacation homes so that they can mow the lawn.


After about five more miles, Darrin pulled ashore in Newport, Vermont, where he would spend two nights and one layover rest day. In Newport Harbor, Darrin stopped at the immigration office. It was closed, so he used the videophone to call and check in. The device was strange; Darrin was required to look into a large lens that reflected his own image back at him. On the other end, an immigration official could see Darrin clearly, down to every last hair on his no-doubt stubbled checks. At first, the officer was concerned because she couldn’t find Darrin in her computer. After a clarification of the spelling of his name, the disembodied voice cleared Darrin to proceed into town.

He checked in at the Newport City Motel and passed the time by doing all the “town” things one does on a trip like this: laundry, grocery re-stocking, bookstore browsing, newspaper reading, restauranting, and generally catching up with reality.

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Comments

[Helen (Bullock) Jorgensen]

Glen Sutton
Yes I agree Glen Sutton is a very freindly and beautiful place. I grew up there and now live in Alberta. Your story brought back old memories of a cherished place.