I try to not mention climbing in my blogs, if only because I don’t want wish to be identified solely for the fact that I happen to climb rocks. However, this past weekend was one of those magical times when all the elements conspired to produce beautiful memories. Friday night, a group of us left Montreal and headed up to Quebec City, which would serve as a pit stop on our way to Kamouraska. I hadn’t been to Quebec City in over 15 years, when I had spent a weekend there with my gf at the time, Maureen. Crashing at a fellow climber’s place, (Denis, with whom I climbed on Saturday) we stayed up until 4 in the morning, shooting shit, insulting each other, and drinking heavily. Just a typical evening among climbers.
We awoke on Saturday, expecting rain, but instead stepped outside to only cloudy skies and a warm breeze. Headed off to the cliffs, and spent the day enjoying ourselves. Later that night, we rented a motel cabin in town, cracked open the booze and repeated the previous night’s festivities. Woke up early on Sunday to even more brilliant weather: blue skies, a breeze coming off the St-Lawrence, and the smell of salt water in the air. Headed off to the cliffs and spent another amazing day on the mountain, with very few other people there, flocks of geese constantly flying overhead, the St-Lawrence river and its valley spread out below us.
Something unexplainable transpires when friends are together in a beautiful spot; competition wanes, the jokes are more light-hearted, and folks just seem to be more generous. Perhaps it’s the fact that we’re engaging in a potentially dangerous activity, I don’t know. These are simply moments that I live for.