The bus hits a pothole and the jolt tosses me from my seat. The young girl sitting beside her mother in front of me sees it happen and starts to giggle. I join her chuckle with one of my own as I right myself upward, a little embarrassed.
It is a 45-minute, vibrating bus ride to Lake Matane, where we finally stop. The driver says a few sentences in French, then levers open the doors and departs. A family of four skitters out behind him and I am the last to leave. If I understood correctly, we will be stopping here for about half an hour to have a look around, and perhaps be joined by others.
At this end of the lake is a spill-way or fish ladder draining the main body of the lake into a smaller collection pond. A grated bridge is over top of it and…
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