By Will Van Alstyne

I gazed through my window as the bundle of trees turned into a wide patch of grass. I was on holiday at my cottage in Quebec, and my family and I were headed to Bon Desir to see some whales. I have been going to my cottage and Bon Desir my whole life, just as my Granny and Dad did before me. It was a tradition.

When I got there, I hopped out of my family’s car, and my excitement quickly shifted. Looking through my window in our air-conditioned car, I saw the bright yellow sun high in the sky. The sun looked like the makings for a wonderful day, but four seconds out in the heat, I felt myself sweating. I tried to make a break for the pathway to avoid carrying any extra sweaters, but I was stopped by my mom who placed a large, heavy backpack into my arms. I slouched to the pathway.

As I entered the wooded pathway, the trees above provided much-needed shade from the deadly, beaming sun’s rays.  It was a steep decline down the hill, so naturally, I started running. My loud thumping down the hill was drowned out by the sounds of water flowing. It was a cool feeling hearing the water flowing but not knowing where it was coming from. I let my 10-year-old mind wonder, What if it’s underground? What if I’m going into a waterfall?! It was like I was in a rainforest only without the deadly animals. I made it to the bottom of the hill. I knew that I was close due to the sudden change in temperature. The cold breeze blew a shiver down my spine, and I reacted with a sudden twitch of my body. Three or four more twists and turns later, I stopped and stared at an opening between two bushes. I looked at the red rock and thought about all of the traditions that they represented. “Time to have some fun.”

I approached the big red rocks, where the sound of crashing waves and blowing winds filled my ears as I inhaled the fresh sea air. I distanced myself from my family and searched for the optimal place to sit. When I sat down, all I could see for miles was water, an oddly shaped cargo ship, and a lighthouse. As I stared into the freezing cold, menacing river, I found that time seemed to slow down. The collage of wind and waves blended together as if there was no sound at all. I wasn’t bored, excited, or tired, I was just there with nothing but my thoughts. I was staring out at the St. Lawrence River, which is used as an aquatic pathway for whales trying to get to the ocean. This generally meant that I got to see a few whales. I scanned the curved river and saw a jet black humpback whale emerge from the water roughly one kilometre away from the rock I was sitting on. I tracked its path trying to pinpoint its next breach. Sure enough, it came back up more or less 12 feet away from its original breach. I  have sat in that exact same spot, on those same red rocks, and seen the same whales a thousand times before, but it’s interesting how I never–and don’t think I ever will–get tired of it. I am thankful to say that I have seen over 100 different whales in their natural habitat in my lifetime and each time I get more excited than the last. I recalled all the different whales I have seen. I think about each time I was here. This was my spot. It wasn’t the fake whale watching you get from a place like “Sea World” where you pay $100 to watch a whale get whipped like a show pony. It was my spot, for me only.   

Once it seemed like all the whales left, my family and I decided to go on a walk. I stood up and started walking onward. The big red rocks didn’t exactly form a path, so we had to maneuver our way through like a parkour course. That was the best part about walking through a place like that: because there was no path, we had to make our own. It turned an ordinary walk into an adventure.

Once we maneuvered through the bumpiest part of the rocks, we could see a large opening that seemed endless. As I made my way through the big red rocks, I searched for a walking stick worthy of carrying. My perfect stick was big, dead, and smooth. After searching for five minutes, I finally found the perfect one: a four-foot smooth piece of black driftwood that looked like it just fell off a tree. The only problem was that it seemed to be wedged under a rock. I tried and tried to pull out the stick, but it didn’t budge. I finally squatted down after four minutes of constant yanking, placed both my hands on the stick, and gave it one last tug. “Poof!” The stick was free. I placed it down and took my first step with my newly obtained stick of glory and continued on my walk. I caught up with my family and saw that my dad had a walking stick too. I guess some things never change.

My time spent at my cottage has not only shaped my identity but has taught me about the importance and comfort of traditions. Because this place has been intertwined into my life, I feel as if it is a big part of my identity–the part that loves whales, the outdoors, and the importance that family and tradition play in my life. When we go to my cottage once a year, which is a twelve-hour drive away, we stay there for two weeks, and each time we end up doing the same 5 outings just as my ancestors did, Bon Desir being one of them. There are definitely more things to do, but we never bother because it would break the tradition, and I wouldn’t want to change that. My life is constantly changing, so there is something comforting about having a place where everything seems familiar and routines do not change.