What would Sammy Champlain do?

A warm, Sunday summer morning, pockets hella stacked from a previous days beaver pelt trade, high spirits – might as well jump in the canoe and head downstream to Hochelega to tear up the town.

Fast forward 400 years, swap the canoes for logs, the portaging with velo and you have a modified route for a cross-town urban ride, slide and paddle.
L’Anglais and I set out early from the industrialized side of Griffintown, rolled through Verdun and ended up in the La Salle riverside.
Another 15 minutes of walking and we waded in to slide the gentle tumble of Vague a Guy.  Despite its macho name, it can hardly be considered a wave, then again, it is something and we had it all to ourselves.

Drifted aimlessly for few more minutes, then I hooked into El Punto, but was ejected before being able to pop up. L’Anglais scoffed at my feeble effort.

Next up, we sessioned the various waves of Tsi Kahnawá before breaking for tea.  A sweet, nutty rooibos heated us to the core as we prepared for our paddle into the unknown.  A crash off my last wave resulted in my boardies’ crotch being ripped apart at the seams.
Des Choix!
Half drifting, half paddling, fully floating, we eventually entered the canal running along the Verdun shores.  The sides were lush due to this summer’s near record rainfall, but the shoreline was scattered with rubbish.  Among other brokedown structures, several concrete docks litter the shore.  Perhaps this is where Frank “Dunie” Ryan brought bad debtors when it was time for a cinder block chained swim to sink.

Although, the cerveza’s were long gone, the pisco was still plentiful, along with some marshmallow strawberries and guimauve bananas.  I heard that is what Eddy used.

The sun popped out, there was not a gust of wind to be seen and the water quality began going downhill.  The punchbowl of PCB’s, raw and untreated sewage and more recently discovered cocktail of drugs are all things you try to forget when you surf dans la ville.
The bridges we passed don’t seem to have names and yes, they are that forgettable.

Reaching the mouth of the flueve, we chanced upon a well-constructed beaver dam.  Why would a beaver build anything less than perfect?  Whether it was siesta time or he was out gathering, we will never know, but I would still like to note his exceptional property and location.
The level was too high to experience the waves at the base of Pont Victoria and this was about the same time we ran out of camera battery and drifted into the abyss of Habitat 67.
The delta
Making landfall on the shores of parc du havre was the end of our 14 mile loop, but we managed to ride a few more at the never-breaking wave.

Wide eyed, pie eyed, ripped boardies, clanking empties – end of session.
this is the end


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