Birds, Nature and Winter Arrival on the Trans Canada Trail in Eastern Quebec

“In order to see birds it is necessary to become a part of the silence.”
 
Robert Lynd
 

Edmundston, New Brunswick to Rivière-du-Loup, Quebec

 

When we crossed from Edmundston, New Brunswick into Quebec in early November of this year, we were already walking at the very edge of the fall season. For more than five months we had been moving westward from Cape Spear, Newfoundland, across the Atlantic provinces, watching summer slowly become autumn as we went. By the time we reached Quebec, the colours were fading, the leaves were already on the ground, the days were noticeably shorter, and frost had become part of every evening. Our first stretch through the province of Quebec would be brief, but it would also be unlike anything we had experienced so far on our #Hike4Birds across the nation on the Great Trail (formerly Trans Canada Trail).

 

With that said, in terms of bird watching and wildlife, it must be clearly understood that our arrival in Quebec was not a journey defined by spring song or nesting activity.  Nor would it give way to long lists of migrating warblers. Instead, our walk from Edmundston to Rivière-du-Loup was shaped by cold, quiet forests, increasingly frozen waterways, more sightings of animal tracks in the snow, and the few birds that remained after most migrants had already moved south. Our travel journals and memories note that our first trek in Quebec was amid a landscape “between seasons,” and that is probably the most accurate way to remember it. Migration had largely passed, yet winter had not quite taken full control – though it has certainly begun to push.

 

It was also the closing chapter of our first season on the Trans Canada Trail.  We did not yet know what future progress through Quebec would look like next spring.  And to be honest, for the moment our concern was much simpler. Snow was coming, the temperatures were dropping, and Rivière-du-Loup ultimately became the place we sought to reach before winter finally overtook us.

 

Onto Le Petit Témis

 

After leaving Edmundston, we joined Le Petit Témis, the interprovincial rail trail that would carry us north through Dégelis, Notre-Dame-du-Lac, Cabano, and eventually toward the St. Lawrence. Having spent so many days on roads during the latter part of New Brunswick, returning to a dedicated trail immediately felt like a relief. In fact, the difference was noticeable almost at once. The trail was generally well graded, with picnic areas, shelters, washrooms, and other amenities that suggested how actively the route was used during the warmer months. Rock cuts rose beside the pathway, forests enclosed long stretches, and rivers and streams appeared repeatedly alongside us. Even in November, when so many seasonal facilities were already closed, we quickly became impressed with the quality of the trail itself.

 

At the same time, nature had begun to shift into more of a state of hibernation. The deciduous trees were largely bare, giving us nearly panoramic views through woods and across lakes that only weeks before would have been filled with leaves and colour. Conifer trees, of course, remained green against the increasingly grey skies.  In addition, the forest floor was beginning to harden under frost. The upshot to this, however, was that the few remaining small flocks of birds moving through the forest became more noticeable precisely because there were fewer obstacles to impede our views of them. Chickadees and other resident forest birds provided movement and sound where the summer forests had once been much busier. In addition, there were corvids (crows, ravens, etc.) and woodpeckers who also remained and whose red crests stood out all the more given the season. 

 

While there may have been more to spot, the reality at the time was also that we were birding while walking thirty or forty kilometres a day – day in and day out - in November, not conducting formal surveys. Sometimes the most accurate record of a place is not a long checklist, but the realization that familiar summer sounds are suddenly missing and that things are changing around you.

 

The Natural World in Late Autumn and Early Winter

 

In the earlier months of our hike, birds had often called out and flitted past well before we began looking for them. Warblers moved through roadside vegetation, sparrows sang from shrubs, flycatchers called from forest edges, and waterfowl occupied lakes and marshes across the Atlantic provinces. The result was that we spent a great deal of time scrambling for our binoculars and cameras - before we learned simply to keep them clipped on at all times.   With that said, Eastern Quebec felt very different. The forest and life in it were settled for the year.

 

What remained was more intermittent: a few birds moving through the trees, a call from somewhere deeper in the woods, or the tapping of an unseen woodpecker carrying through bare branches. The absence of bird song and wildlife we had become accustomed to both hearing and spotting was itself noticeable. Warblers, flycatchers, and many of the birds that had accompanied us since Newfoundland were now gone for the year.

 

Long-distance walking makes these seasonal absences unusually obvious because there is no sharp boundary between one landscape and another or one season and the next. We did not suddenly wake up one morning and discover that autumn had ended. Instead, we watched the change happen gradually over hundreds of kilometres. Birds moved in flocks overhead and at the same time became fewer on the ground. Leaves changed in colour and then disappeared. Mornings grew chilly, then colder, then very cold. The sun began to set earlier. Water that had been flowing freely only days before began to freeze, and heating it became an increasing challenge.  All of which is to say that while the landscape was still clearly alive – the rhythms of nature and of our days had also clearly changed.

 

Dégelis, Lakes, and the Approach of Snow

 

After crossing into Quebec, our first serious challenge was not wildlife but distance. We were exhausted from the long days through northern New Brunswick (and the months of trekking since leaving Cape Spear, Newfoundland), yet the forecast suggested that a significant snowfall was only a few days away. That created an uncomfortable calculation. We needed rest, but slowing down might leave us walking through increasingly difficult winter conditions that we were neither prepared for nor had the gear for.

 

Between Dégelis and Cabano, Le Petit Témis continued through forest and beside water. Much of this section was beautiful, and for several hours we walked in relative quiet, enjoying the landscape and well-maintained trail. At other times we passed logging operations, cleared areas, and places where development reached right to the edge of the trail. The smell of freshly cut wood brought back memories, even when the sight of large piles of processed timber and sawdust reminded us that these forests – as many in Canada are - were also working landscapes. Even so, the trail repeatedly returned us to rock faces, water, forest, and beautiful views. Rain came and went, and the possibility of snow remained constantly in our minds. At Notre-Dame-du-Lac we had hoped to stop early, but seasonal closures meant that campgrounds, restaurants, and accommodations were increasingly difficult to find. And so, instead of resting, we continued onward toward Cabano.

 

This became another reminder of how the season affects both nature and travel in ways that extend well beyond weather. Trails that feel welcoming and highly serviced in summer can become very different places in November. Washrooms close, water is shut off, campgrounds are closed, businesses reduce their hours, and finding somewhere warm (and dry) becomes part of the day's planning.

 

Grouse in the Cold

 

The cold intensified dramatically as we continued north.  Leaving Cabano, we stepped outside expecting to walk in sweaters and mittens, only to discover almost immediately that the wind cut straight through our clothing. Rain gear went on over everything else, not because it was raining, but simply to block the wind.  While conditions made it challenging to trek, we were surprised to discover that along the trail we began finding increasing signs of wildlife. Deer tracks crossed the pathway. Tiny vole tracks appeared near the edges of the route.

 

Perhaps most memorable were the grouse – which seemed to be everywhere.- repeatedly exploding out of the undergrowth as we approached. After so many months of being startled by Ruffed Grouse across the country, we should perhaps have become accustomed to it, but a grouse erupting from almost beneath your feet never becomes entirely routine. These encounters also suited the character of this stretch. The birds we were seeing were no longer concentrated along beaches, marshes, or obvious migration stopovers. They were creatures that stayed year-round in the forest itself, often revealed only because we disturbed them.

 

The surrounding landscape on that day remained beautiful under brilliant blue skies, but the wind was brutally cold. Fallen trees occasionally blocked the path, trail amenities had begun to be removed or boarded up for winter, and by the time we reached Parc du Mont Citadelle we had been walking for hours without much opportunity to stop and still stay warm.  Needless to say, that evening we were deeply grateful for a warm place inside.

 

The Snow Arrives

 

We woke the following morning to snow falling against the skylight of our yurt. From inside, tucked beneath blankets beside the warmth of the stove, it was beautiful. Outside, it represented something more serious. The season had changed, and we had run out of time to get through this stretch and head back south in Quebec before the snows had hit.   

As a result, instead of continuing immediately, we decided to remain at Parc du Mont Citadelle for another day. Snow settled across the hills and forests around us, turning a landscape that only days earlier had still looked like late autumn into something unmistakably wintry. We walked briefly through the snowy grounds, took photographs, and then retreated to the warmth to write in our travel journals, edit some photographs, and catch up on the seemingly endless collection of tasks that accompanied our trek.

 

Looking out through the windows that day, it became obvious that our first season was reaching its natural conclusion. Yet the fact remained that we still had to get at least to Rivière-du-Loup, the shores of the St. Lawrence River and the end of the Petit Temis trail first.  Even then we wondered that if the shift in the weather was only temporary, perhaps we could still push on to Quebec City.  That decision was not a disappointment – instead it was simply an acknowledgment of the frigid conditions and the fact that our winter hiking gear was in a storage locker far away. 

 

Walking Through a Winter Landscape

 

When we left the following morning, the trail had changed completely.  The roads had been plowed into sheets of ice, and when we returned to the Trans Canada Trail itself, we discovered that the snow was deeper than expected. Our summer hiking shoes disappeared into it, snow spilling over their tops and quickly soaking our socks. The pathway beneath us may have been perfectly smooth, but much of the time we could no longer see it.

 

Still, it was extraordinarily beautiful. For days Le Petit Témis had led us through rock cuts, forest, and beside streams. Now those same streams were frozen, and the trail lay under a soft blanket of snow.  The realities of this, however, meant that while birds still called from the trees and small animals periodically crossed the trail, we increasingly found ourselves looking down and watching our footing. With that said, we did have encounters – at one point a deer crossed the trail before suddenly disappearing into the forest. 

 

Toward the St. Lawrence

 

As we continued toward Rivière-du-Loup, another transition was taking place. The forests and inland waterways of Le Petit Témis were gradually bringing us toward the enormous St. Lawrence waterway, which has a number of Important Bird Areas along its shores and islands.  The ecosystems influenced by the St. Lawrence are known for supporting huge gatherings of Snow Geese, ducks, gulls and Double-crested Cormorants.

 

While we did not experience or see the abundance of bird life this year on the Great Trail, the fact remained that arriving at the shores of the St. Lawrence was pretty exciting nonetheless.  For months we had been walking away from the Atlantic coast at Cape Spear. Now, after crossing Newfoundland and the Maritime provinces, we were approaching another enormous body of water connected to that same ocean. The scale of the journey suddenly became tangible again.

 

The Final Kilometres

 

Our final approach toward Rivière-du-Loup was not particularly romantic. The trail mixed with ATV and snowmobile routes, crossed roads and railway lines, passed power corridors and industrial areas, and at times ran very close to and alongside the highway. After so long spent walking through extraordinarily beautiful landscapes, it might have seemed an anticlimactic way to finish our first year.

 

Instead, it felt strangely appropriate.  It felt as though the seasons had come “full circle.” We had begun our preparations for this journey on Newfoundland's East Coast Trail – where we spent our first full night on the Trans Canada Trail a year ago…caught in a late-season snowstorm.   Now we were finishing our first full season walking through snow again. We had begun beside the Atlantic Ocean, and we were ending beside the St. Lawrence, still connected to that same vast ocean system. We had spent enormous stretches of Newfoundland on an old railbed, and now Le Petit Témis had brought us to the end of our first year along another former railway corridor.

 

Birding Eastern Quebec in November

 

Looking back on this short journey through eastern Quebec, it would be easy to describe the birding as poor simply because we saw fewer species than we had during summer.  But I think that would miss what this section taught us.

 

Birding is seasonal. A forest in June is not the same forest in November, even when the trees and trails have not moved. The chorus of nesting birds gives way to scattered calls in the fields and forests. Migrants have disappeared, but resident birds become more conspicuous because there are fewer voices surrounding them. Grouse remain hidden until they explode from the undergrowth. Woodpeckers and chickadees continue working through forests that can otherwise appear empty. Tracks in snow begin revealing animals that we rarely see.

 

In fact, if anything, these brief encounters and evidence of things now seen remind us that silence is not the same as emptiness.

 

The End of Our First Season

 

Reaching Rivière-du-Loup marked the end of our first season on the Trans Canada Trail.  When we left Cape Spear in June, it had been difficult to imagine what five months of continuous walking would feel like. By November we had crossed Newfoundland, Nova Scotia, Prince Edward Island, New Brunswick, and this first portion of Quebec. Summer had become autumn and autumn had finally become winter around us.

 

For now, it was time to stop. Quebec – a province we had once hoped to complete and share this year was unfinished.  But spring is not far away, and with it the return of migrating birds, which will fill this province once more.  And so, when we return next year, we will pick up in Riviere du Loup and continue on from here westward. 

 

See you on the trail!