SHIPPAGAN GRAN FONDO

(voir la version française ci-dessous)

We’d all been three times around the sun since our last Gran Fondo in Baie-Sainte-Marie in 2023. For a variety of reasons, the Over The Hill Gang (OTHG) missed out on 2024 and 2025 out-of-province rides. It was time to get back on the circuit and the Gran Fondo Véloroute Péninsule Acadienne was our choice for this year.

We drove five hours from Charlottetown in two vehicles stuffed with bikes and gear and arrived at the Motel Brise Marine in Shippagan. Those who have followed our Gran Fondo adventures will know that we have very low accommodation standards. While the Brise Marine is listed as a two-star facility, it turned out to be well above our usual benchmark, with nice clean rooms and a good location.

Once settled in, we made our way to the event registration at the Centre des congrès de la Péninsule acadienne¸ an impressive facility that would serve as home base for the Fondo. The place was hopping, with 350 participants and dozens of volunteers. We picked up our jerseys, had a snack and headed to Pizza Delight for some carb loading.

OTHG has had a number of members over the years with the core consisting of five of us: Ira Birt, Russ Melanson, Richard Birt, John MacQuarrie and myself. This year, we picked up a sixth member, Marc Périard, retired RCMP dog handler, and he’s quickly become a valued member of the team, mostly because he owns a really nice truck! Actually, Marc, who just turned 60 and is our youngest member, was looking to join a group of experienced riders, and he’s adjusted well to our pace, often challenging us to pick it up a bit.

Coach Ira sets the training schedule for our annual out-of-province event and, this year, the target was 120 kilometers. Marc and I had decided to try the long version of the Fondo at 145 kilometers while the other four tacked on 30 km or so to the 90-km Medio course. The event website showed that there wouldn’t be many hills, a situation that suited me just fine.

Marc and I were up early for the 7:00 sendoff, riding from the motel to the start line at the Shippagan Aquarium. I love the feeling of excitement at the start of a long-distance group ride. Riders and volunteers are full of anticipation. The event photographer caught Marc and I at the start line, and soon we were off, following the pace bike at a steady 15 km/hr on the seaside promenade, with me hoping like hell my 28 mm tires wouldn’t slip on the slick boardwalk. After a nervous 2 km, we hit the road and were soon on the paved Véloroute.

It wasn’t long before the fast guys zipped past us, some coming dangerously close to me on the inside of tight curves. We stayed with a fast group for 15 km or so before deciding we’d slow down a bit. Marc and I rode alone for most of the way through Caraquet and toward the turnaround at Maisonette, picking up a couple of riders who had fallen back from the élite groups. The first 40 km were on the Véloroute, an impressive paved circuit that covers 610 km on New Brunswick’s Péninsule Acadienne.

Rather than stop at Maisonette, we did the 180-turn and made our way north toward the Baie-des-Chaleurs. We fought a stiff headwind for 12 km or so until we reached Grande-Anse and headed inland toward Saint-Léolin. It was smooth sailing along a sheltered stretch of decent road until we came across a guy from Stratford, PEI, who’d stopped due to leg cramps. After making sure he was OK, we noticed a group of five barreling toward us, and decided to hitch onto their train to see if we could match their pace.

At the 92 km mark, still hanging on to the fast group, we stopped at a refueling station at Trudel, took in a little food and topped up on Gatorade. Marc said: “We only have about 50 left!” Easy for him to say; he’s 13 years younger. Actually, I felt pretty good as we headed toward Bertrand, climbed a few hills and took a right at the roundabout that put us back on Route 11, a beautiful stretch of two-meter-wide shoulder. The group of seven worked very well together, although the other five were, I’m guessing, about 35 years younger than me. They were good riders and pushed me to my limit.

We turned east at Village-Blanchard and were soon back on the Véloroute, barreling along and passing riders who were doing the Medio and Piccolo routes. One of the guys had us doing 40 km/hr, and I ran over my tongue a couple of times trying to keep up. I took a turn on the front just before we crossed Route 113, and the boys turned up the heat yet again! "Let's go, les boys!" We had about 10 km to go at that point, and it was every man for himself. One guy jumped off the front; the rest of us struggled to keep up, then just let him go. The rider in front of me died, so I dug in and pulled what was left of the bunch as hard as my old carcass would allow.

Five of us rode the last stretch across the marsh and along the shoreline at about 38 kph, arrived back in town and made our way to the finish line. My Garmin read 144.69 km and 4:25 moving time for an average speed of 32.7 km/hr, a lot faster than I expected.

There’s no better feeling than finishing an event and being satisfied with your ride, and I’ll never get tired of it. There were high fives all around, and Marc and I couldn’t wipe the smiles off our faces. We took in a bit of food and drink, and I got myself a massage from a local masseuse who had me nearly in tears as she quickly worked out all the sore spots. We waited for the other four OTHG members and had a rider take a group photo before heading back to the Brise Marine for well-deserved and well-needed showers.

After a visit to the NBLC store and supper at Pizza Delight, we headed back to the motel and gathered in a room to tell a few tall tales, reminisce about past Fondos, and watch CBC’s replay of The Tragically Hip’s last concert before Gord Downie passed away from brain cancer. Ironically, we’d been in Drummondville for a Gran Fondo in 2016, and had watched it on TV there. I remember shedding a few tears as Downie sang their last number, “Blow at High Dough”, and said goodbye to his adoring audience. This is what I wrote then:

“I could feel his pain and his joy and, like everyone at that concert, including the band I’m sure, didn’t want it to end.  After three encores, he finally made his way off the stage, a tragic end to an iconic career.”

The Gran Fondo Véloroute Péninsule Acadienne is a first-class event. I’ve done 19 Fondos so far, in Ontario, Québec, Maine, Nova Scotia, Italy, Prince Edward Island, and New Brunswick, so I have something to compare it to. And for anyone looking for an active vacation experience with beautiful scenery, excellent trails, and friendly locals, the Véloroute is a gem. Thanks to the organizers of the Fondo and to all the volunteers who welcomed us into their communities. It is an experience I’ll treasure.

GRAN FONDO DE SHIPPAGAN 

Cela faisait trois ans que nous n'avions pas participé à un Gran Fondo depuis notre dernier à la Baie-Sainte-Marie en 2023. Pour diverses raisons, le groupe « Over The Hill Gang » (OTHG) n'a pas pu participer à une randonnée hors province en 2024 et 2025. Il était temps de reprendre l’habitude et le Gran Fondo Véloroute Péninsule Acadienne s'est imposé cette année.

Nous avons roulé cinq heures depuis Charlottetown dans deux véhicules chargés de vélos et d'équipement pour arriver au Motel Brise Marine à Shippagan. Ceux qui suivent nos aventures Gran Fondo savent que nos exigences en matière d'hébergement sont plutôt modestes. Bien que classé deux étoiles, le Brise Marine s'est avéré bien au-dessus de nos critères habituels, avec des chambres propres et agréables et un emplacement idéal.

Une fois installés, nous nous sommes rendus à l'inscription au Centre des congrès de la Péninsule acadienne, un bâtiment impressionnant qui allait servir de camp de base pour le Fondo. L'endroit était animé, avec 350 participants et des dizaines de bénévoles. Nous avons récupéré nos maillots, pris une collation et filé chez Pizza Delight pour faire le plein de carbos.

L'OTHG a compté plusieurs membres au fil des ans, mais le noyau du groupe est composé de cinq personnes : Ira Birt, Russ Melanson, Richard Birt, John MacQuarrie et moi-même. Cette année, nous avons accueilli un sixième membre, Marc Périard, maître-chien retraité de la GRC, qui est rapidement devenu un membre précieux de l'équipe, notamment grâce à son magnifique camion ! En fait, Marc, qui vient d'avoir 60 ans et est notre benjamin, cherchait à intégrer un groupe de cyclistes expérimentés. Il s'est parfaitement adapté à notre rythme, nous encourageant souvent à accélérer.

L'entraîneur Ira établit le programme d'entraînement pour notre événement annuel hors province et, cette année, l'objectif était de 120 kilomètres. Marc et moi avions décidé de tenter la version longue du Fondo, soit 145 kilomètres, tandis que les quatre autres ont ajouté une trentaine de kilomètres au parcours Médio de 90 kilomètres. Le site web de l'événement indiquait peu de montées, ce qui me convenait parfaitement.

Marc et moi nous sommes levés tôt pour le départ à 7 h, et avons pédalé du motel jusqu'à la ligne de départ à l'Aquarium Shippagan. J'adore l'excitation qui règne au départ d'une longue randonnée cycliste en groupe. Cyclistes et bénévoles sont impatients. Le photographe de l'événement nous a immortalisés sur la ligne de départ, et nous voilà partis, suivant le vélo meneur à une allure régulière de 15 km/h sur la promenade du bord de mer. J'espérais de tout cœur que mes pneus de 28 mm ne glisseraient pas sur le trottoir glissant. Après deux kilomètres d'appréhension, nous avons rejoint la route et nous sommes rapidement retrouvés sur la Véloroute goudronnée.

Très vite, les coureurs les plus rapides nous ont dépassés, certains frôlant dangereusement mon vélo dans les virages serrés. Nous sommes restés avec un groupe rapide pendant une quinzaine de kilomètres avant de décider de ralentir un peu. Marc et moi avons roulé seuls pendant la majeure partie du trajet à travers Caraquet et jusqu'au point de demi-tour à Maisonette, rattrapant quelques cyclistes distancés par les groupes d'élite. Les 40 premiers kilomètres se déroulaient sur la Véloroute, un impressionnant circuit asphalté de 610 km qui traverse la Péninsule acadienne au Nouveau-Brunswick.

Plutôt que de nous arrêter à Maisonette, nous avons fait demi-tour et pris la direction du nord vers la Baie-des-Chaleurs. Nous avons lutté contre un fort vent de face pendant une douzaine de kilomètres avant d'atteindre Grande-Anse et de nous diriger vers l'intérieur des terres en direction de Saint-Léolin. La route était agréable et bien abritée jusqu'à ce que nous croisions un gars de Stratford, à l'Île-du-Prince-Édouard, qui s'était arrêté à cause de crampes. Après nous être assurés qu'il allait bien, nous avons aperçu un groupe de cinq cyclistes qui arrivaient à toute vitesse et avons décidé de nous joindre à eux pour voir si nous pouvions suivre leur rythme.

Au kilomètre 92, toujours accrochés au groupe de tête, nous nous sommes arrêtés à un ravitaillement à Trudel, avons grignoté un morceau et fait le plein de Gatorade. Marc a lancé : « Il nous en reste seulement une cinquantaine ! » Facile à dire pour lui, il a treize ans de moins que moi. En fait, je me sentais plutôt bien en route vers Bertrand. Après quelques côtes, nous avons pris à droite au rond-point qui nous a ramenés sur la Route 11, une magnifique bande d'accotement de deux mètres de large. Le groupe de sept cyclistes fonctionnait à merveille, même si les cinq autres avaient, je dirais, 35 ans de moins que moi. C'étaient de bons cyclistes, et ils m'ont poussé vers ma limite.

À Village-Blanchard, nous avons tourné vers l'est et avons rapidement retrouvé la Véloroute, filant à toute allure et dépassant les cyclistes qui empruntaient les itinéraires Médio et Piccolo. L'un des nôtres nous a fait rouler à 40 km/h, et j'ai failli craquer à plusieurs reprises en essayant de le suivre. J'ai pris la tête juste avant de croiser la route 113, et les gars ont de nouveau accéléré ! « Let's go, les boys ! » Il nous restait environ 10 km, et c'était chacun pour soi. Un coureur a lâché prise ; on a eu du mal à le suivre et on l'a laissé filer. Le cycliste devant moi ayant cédé, j'ai puisé dans mes réserves et j'ai tiré sur ce qui restait du groupe de toutes mes forces.

À cinq, nous avons parcouru la dernière portion à travers le marais et le long du rivage à environ 38 km/h, puis nous sommes arrivés en ville et avons rejoint la ligne d'arrivée. Mon Garmin affichait 144,69 km et 4 h 25 s de temps de déplacement, soit une vitesse moyenne de 32,7 km/h, bien plus rapide que prévu.

Il n'y a rien de mieux que de terminer une épreuve et d'être satisfait de sa performance, et je ne m'en tannerai jamais. On s'est tous tapé dans la main, et Marc et moi, on affichait un sourire radieux. On a grignoté un peu, et je me suis offert un massage d'une masseuse du coin qui a manqué me faire pleurer en dénouant toutes mes douleurs. On a attendu les quatre autres membres de l'OTHG et un cycliste a pris une photo de groupe avant que nous retournions au Brise Marine pour une douche très nécessaire et bien méritée.

Après un passage au magasin d’Alcool NB et un souper chez Pizza Delight, on est rentrés au motel et on s'est retrouvés dans une chambre pour raconter des anecdotes, se remémorer les Gran Fondos passés et regarder la rediffusion sur CBC du dernier concert du groupe The Tragically Hip avant le décès de Gord Downie des suites d'un cancer du cerveau. Ironie du sort, on avait participé à un Gran Fondo à Drummondville en 2016 et on l'avait regardé à la télé. Je me souviens avoir versé quelques larmes lorsque Downie a chanté leur dernier morceau, « Blow at High Dough », et a fait ses adieux à son public conquis. Voici ce que j'ai écrit à l'époque :

« Je pouvais ressentir sa douleur et sa joie et, comme tous les spectateurs de ce concert, y compris les membres du groupe, j'en suis sûr, je ne voulais pas que cela se termine. Après trois rappels, il a finalement quitté la scène, une fin tragique pour une carrière emblématique. »

Le Gran Fondo Véloroute Péninsule Acadienne est un événement exceptionnel. J'ai participé à 21 Fondos jusqu'à présent, en Ontario, au Québec, au Maine, en Nouvelle-Écosse, en Italie, à l'Île-du-Prince-Édouard, et au Nouveau-Brunswick, j'ai donc des points de comparaison. Et pour quiconque recherche des vacances actives dans des paysages magnifiques, avec d'excellents sentiers et des habitants chaleureux, la Véloroute est un véritable joyau. Merci aux organisateurs du Fondo et à tous les bénévoles qui nous ont accueillis dans leurs communautés. C'est une expérience que je chérirai.

 

GREENLAND – PART 2 

After two full days ashore in Qaqortoq and Qassiarsuk, the Captain sailed the Fridtjof Nansen into a fjord called Qaqertarsuup, the first time an HX ship had gone there. We boarded the zodiacs on a perfect morning, bright, sunny and dead calm, and were treated to a very special experience, getting up close and personal with icebergs and a glacier. We spent an hour sailing back and forth among the bergs and bergy bits and made it to within a few hundred meters of the face of the glacier.

In the afternoon, the Nansen sailed into another uncharted fjord where the expedition crew had found a place for us to land. We walked from the shore up to the foot of a glacier and then … it was my chance to take a polar dip and I was not about to waste it! According to my "Polar Plunge Certificate", the water temperature was 1.2 C but the air temperature was a balmy 12 C so I got myself good and wet. One runs out of superlatives to describe a day like today. The photos tell the story better than words can.

Day 5 of our Greenland adventure took us to the abandoned mining village of Ivittuut, one of the few places in the world known to have naturally occurring cryolite, once an important agent in the production of aluminum. The Ivittuut mining operations were a major factor in the American occupation of Greenland during World War II. The American Navy founded a base nearby to protect the highly strategic cryolite quarry. The mine operated from 1859 to 1987 and was abandoned when a process was developed to synthesize cryolite at a much-reduced cost.

We went ashore early in the afternoon and took a five-kilometer hike through the town and up into the hills. There was no trail to follow, so we scrambled over low-growing willow and along a dry, rock-strewn streambed. It was tough going, and I was glad to hit the gravel streets in Ivittuut when we got back. 

We did see three species of animals I’d never seen before: muskox, reindeer and the magnificent white-tailed eagle, Europe’s largest bird of prey. The musk ox was grazing on grass growing in the town but was chased away by the guides. We saw it again later making its way along a hillside. The reindeer, what looked like a mother and calf, were grazing in the valley between the town and the hillside. 

Our guides always carry rifles, to be used only as a last resort in the event of a dangerous encounter with a polar bear. The one atop the rock is acting as a sentinel and each of the hike leaders carried a rifle as well.

I saw something in Ivittuut I didn’t expect to see above 60 degrees N latitude: decent-sized trees. The ones shown in the photo are a species of European larch and were growing to about 15 feet in height; nearby was a spruce about 20 feet high. We were told that they were probably brought here by miners and managed to thrive in a few sheltered spots. With the climate warming as it is, Greenlanders living in the southwest may one day see trees established in a few places.

Day 6 involved an exploration of Ikka Fjord by zodiac. It’s best known for the presence of hundreds of pillars of the mineral ikaite, which was named after the fjord, and is found in formations not known to exist elsewhere. The ikaite tufa pillars of the fjord rise from the bottom and are located in a "garden" where highly alkaline freshwater seeps into the bottom of the fjord and interacts with the cold seawater to form what are essentially stalagmites. While sailing on the zodiacs and the Nansen, we saw dozens of musk oxen feeding on nearby hillsides, some of them solitary males, others in small groups of females with calves. I copied the photo below from the internet, but it's a very good representation of musk oxen like the ones we saw along fjords wherever we sailed.

Life onboard has a certain rhythm to it. There are lectures to attend, workshops in the science center for those interested, a small gym, a spa, a pool, a couple of big hot tubs, and three restaurants. Each one of our expedition guides has a particular area of expertise: birds, whales, geology, history, photography, Greenlandic culture, etc. One is a storyteller/historian with an extensive knowledge of the Vikings and a Masters Degree in Theatre. The guides deliver the lectures, decide where we’ll go and what we’ll do on a particular day, and they’re the ones who pilot the zodiacs, lead the walks and carry the rifles.

A feature of expedition cruising with HX that we love is not knowing where we’ll be or what we’ll do on a particular day until the evening before or the morning of. For most of the days, our program showed simply “exploration day”. Decisions are made by the ship’s Captain and the Chief Expedition Guide based on weather and ice conditions. On the afternoon I went for a dip at “Nansen Beach”, two guides spent the morning looking for a landing spot while the others toured us through icebergs and up to the face of a glacier. Our landing that day had never been used by guests from a cruise ship and we may have been the first humans to set foot and swim there.

On Day 7, we sailed into the fjord called Kvanefjord and began with a shore landing and hike up to several burial sites from the Thule Inuit period, likely some 500 years old. They stood on a point of land giving a panoramic view in both directions as well as the glacier at the head of the fjord. I remarked to Elva that I wouldn’t mind having my ashes buried there when the time comes, but my wish fell on deaf ears. The photo below shows three graves in the foreground running diagonally from left to right. After that, we took a spin around the fjord to get a better look at the glacier. We finished the day with a Greenlandic-themed five-course dinner, our best since we boarded the Nansen.

After three days of not seeing a Greenlander, our visit to Paamiut was a welcome change. The small town is visited by some 30,000 tourists annually, almost all of them arriving by cruise ship, and the locals turned out to make us feel welcome. We walked most of the streets on a cold morning, took in a karaoke performance by a young man in the community hall, and visited the local museum and church. Prices for staples in the two grocery stores were eye-watering!

I tried to imagine what it must be like to live in Paamiut, caught between the old ways and the modern world, and wondered how small communities like this will face the future. It’s in places like these that you realize just how important the Danish-supported social system is and how difficult it would be to maintain a standard of living which offers free education and health care if Greenland were to become an independent country.

Sailing out of Paamiut harbour, I saw this grounded trawler, a sad reminder of the heyday of the cod fishery during the period from the 1950s to the collapse of the stocks due to overfishing in the early 1990s. The town’s population rise to as high as 4,000 during the boom years but is now struggling to maintain a stable 1,200.

On our last full day aboard the Nansen, we visited the abandoned settlement known as either Kangerluarsoruseq in Greenlandic, Færingehavn in Faroese, or by its commercial name, Nordafor. Having preferred to spend the day in the capitaI city, Nuuk, I can’t say we were that excited about a trek through a second ghost town, but we did our best to enjoy outdoor time on a nice day touring this photogenic industrial archaeology site. It is yet another example of Arctic industrial boom-and-bust and post-colonial European economic development. We were told that as many as 1,000 people worked in the settlement at its peak but that it never lived up to the promise of employment for Greenlanders. This experience helps explain why the locals don’t and probably never will trust outsiders’ advice on how to develop their economy.

We took a too-short city bus tour of Nuuk and got a glimpse of downtown. It's a city on the move, with construction everywhere and a brand-new international airport.

On the way back to Reykjavik, we flew over the massive Greenland Ice Cap and I took this photo from the plane. The ice sheet itself is in the top right of the photo, and a glacier runs from top right to bottom left, emptying into the ocean

Tomorrow, we hope to make it back home, ready for all that an Island summer has to offer. A few closing comments on my experience:

1. HX Explorations offers a top-notch adventure cruise experience. We knew this from our earlier journey with them in 2022, from Tromso, Norway, to Lisbon. The Nansen is much bigger than the ship we sailed on that first time, the Spitzbergen, and therefore has much more to offer onboard.
2. The guides were, as expected, knowledgeable, experienced and very helpful. We watched the crew expertly handle a gentleman confined to a wheelchair, and they made sure he was able to participate in every activity, including wet zodiac landings. It’s obvious that they’ve been highly trained and that the company hires only the best.
3. I got to see Viking sites, bucket list for me, and to meet Greenlanders where they live, and I got a small taste of what it must be like to live on the edge. I’ve always been fascinated by people who choose to live and manage to thrive in harsh environments, and Greenland was no exception.
4. As for the weather, it could not have been better. During the 10 days we spent on land, the temperature ranged from 4 to 14 C. There were only 2 cloudy days, and we never felt a drop of rain. Except for a few waves as we rounded Cape Farewell, seas were calm.
5. No one mentioned the elephants in the room, which I found kind of disappointing. I did ask our local Greenlandic guide, a woman in her early 30s, whether she thought she’d see an independent Greenland in her lifetime, and she answered hesitantly: “Maybe…” Her explanation was long and well reasoned. As for the other elephant, President Donald J. Trump, it was as if he doesn’t exist. People here have more important things to think about, I suppose. And that’s as it should be.

 

GREENLAND – PART 1 

It took us 21 hours to get from Charlottetown to downtown Reykjavik. We’d been to Iceland’s capital once before in 2022 on a cruise with Princess. On that occasion, the ship was docked in the city for a full day, and we’d rented a car to drive the Golden Circle, taking in three of the island’s signature attractions. This time, we had three hours to kill before boarding the MS Fridtjof Nansen, and we spent it strolling around old Reykjavik on what one local told us was a very fine day for early June. We sipped on coffee and tea on a courtyard overlooking a nice square and winced a bit when the bill arrived: $20.47 Canadian!

The population of Iceland is about 400,000 with Reykjavik being home to about 140,000. We walked up to Reykjavik’s most famous landmark, the towering Lutheran church called the Hallgrimskirkja. The statue out front of Leif Erickson was donated by the United States of America to mark the thousandth anniversary of the first meeting of Iceland’s Parliament in the year 930, making it one of the world’s longest running parliaments. Historians believe the first settlement in Iceland was in Reykjavik in 874 by a Norwegian chieftain named Ingolfr Arnason.

In Grade 5, I moved from la petite école to la grande école in my native village of Wellington and there discovered two subjects new to me, history and geography. I was fascinated by both. We learned that Christopher Columbus “discovered” the Americas in 1492. But we also heard of the Norse sagas, those that spoke of Erik the Red and his son Leif Ericson, also called “Leif the Lucky”. I couldn't help imagining that the Norse sagas were true and, in the early 1960s, when archaeologists discovered the remains of a Norse settlement in L’Anse-Aux-Meadows, they did become very real and changed our view of how Europeans first came to know what is now Canada.

The Fridtjof Nansen is an expedition-class cruise ship with a passenger capacity of 650, and she spends most of her time in the Arctic and Antarctic regions. Only 283 guests were onboard. Not long after our cruise ends, she’s scheduled to cross the Northwest Passage from east to west, head down the east coast of the Pacific and spend our fall and winter months running back and forth between South America and Antarctica. The Nansen is one of the nicer vessels we’ve been on and our room, the cheapest on the ship, is quite a step up from what we’re used to.

Our first full day aboard a new ship involves an orientation to our new surroundings, adjusting to the time change and lack of sleep, getting used to the pitch and roll of the ship, and taking in as much information as we can about experiences the cruise has to offer. The first two were sea days spent sailing across the Denmark Strait on generally calm seas before we rounded the southern tip of Greenland, Cape Farewell.

While the southwest part of the island is suitable for limited farming, 81% of Greenland is covered by an ice sheet the thickness of which averages more than 1.5 kilometers. To put that into perspective, if the Greenland ice sheet were to melt, sea levels around the world would rise by about 7.5 meters or 24 feet, something to ponder in our age of global warming.

Greenland, an autonomous territory with its own Parliament, is part of the Kingdom of Denmark and is home to 56,000 people. A bit of trivia: Greenland shares a 1.2-kilometer border with Canada on Hans Island, a small speck of land located in the far north. The principal source of wealth, accounting for 20% of GDP, is financial aid from Denmark. (By comparison, federal transfers to our province account for 11% of GDP.) The most important local industry is the fishery, with shrimp being the primary species caught and exported. While the island has extensive reserves of minerals, oil and gas, virtually none of these resources have been exploited. The main reasons for this are extreme weather conditions, the high cost of extraction and a very strong environmentalist movement.

Greenland has been inhabited at intervals over at least the last 4,500 years by Inuit peoples, the Thule, whose forebears migrated there from what now Canada. Today, Greenlandic Inuit make up 90% of the population.

Erik the Red, exiled from Iceland with his father, Thorvald, crossed the Denmark Strait with a group of followers in open boats powered by sails and banks of oars, carrying livestock and all the supplies they would need to start a new life. They settled the uninhabited southwestern part of Greenland in about 986, and their descendants lived in Greenland for over 400 years until they disappeared in the late 1400s.

Many years ago, I picked up a book called The Greenlanders, a historical fiction epic written by Jane Smiley. It describes the daily affairs of Nordic settlers living in South Greenland in the 13^th and 14^th centuries, including marriages, births, deaths, famines, epidemics, trials, church affairs, land feuds, seal hunts, military invasions, and encounters with Greenland’s aboriginal inhabitants. In an accurate description of the book, one reviewer called it a "bleak, stirring picture of the slow slouch towards the death of a civilization". It was the first I’d heard of a European settlement in Greenland, and I was fascinated.

After almost three full days at sea, we saw our first land and our first icebergs. The Nansen sailed up a scenic fjord called Tasermiut and came to a stop just off the tiny community of Tasiusaq, population about 40. As it was fairly late in the day by the time we got there, it was decided that we wouldn’t go ashore, but our zodiacs took us on a run up towards a glacier to give us a better view of the spectacular surroundings. Although we will not reach the Arctic Circle on this trip, the days are long: sunset is at 11:30 pm and sunrise is at 4:30.

We first set foot on Greenlandic soil at the town of Qaqortoq, population 3,000, the only place I know of that has three “q”s in its name. The setting is gorgeous, with multi-coloured houses climbing up the hillside from the shoreline. A nearby lake drains into a small stream that flows through the old colonial harbour district of town, past the Lutheran Church built in 1832. 

Elva and I went into town twice on the ship’s tender, the first to get our bearings and the second to attend a concert in the old church. A drummer from Nuuk had come down for the occasion and a father-daughter duo sang several songs with the MC who was dressed in her finest sealskin jacket. The young woman in the photo is dressed in the traditional Greenlandic costume, much of it made from sealskin. They sang Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah” as their closing piece in Greenlandic; such a beautiful rendition, it gave me shivers. Following the concert, I walked up to the highest point I could find to take in the view, then finished off a near-perfect day with a delicious evening meal featuring reindeer.

The first photo below shows a line of older houses. Notice the trees in front of the second one. They must be introduced ornamentals since Greenland has no native trees to speak of except some scrubby willows and birch. The second photo shows a typically quaint house in the local style and the third shows a showy carpet of Alpine azalea I found growing on thin soil at the highest point in the town. How do I know it's Alpine azalea: ChatGPT of course!

Our next stop was the tiny hamlet of Qassiarsuk, population 90. There’s a special reason why we landed there. It became the home of Erik the Red and his clan when they first settled South Greenland in the year 986. They called the place Brattahlid. Today’s settlement consists of a collection of sheep farms, 25 houses or so, a hostel, a church, a primary school, and a store complete with gas pumps and an ATM! According to ChatGPT, the farms here are the most northerly in the world.

The Qassiarsuk area, called Kujataa, is a sub-arctic farming landscape that is the first known example of agriculture in the Arctic. The Viking history, together with the unique combination of farming, hunting and fishing that occurred in the region from the 10^th through 15^th centuries and from the 18^th century to today, explain why it was listed a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 2017.

Elva and I walked from one end of the settlement to the other, taking in the sights, including the ruins of a Viking-era church shown in the first photo. We visited the Lutheran church and the sheep farm as well as the reconstructed Viking long house, then climbed to Leif Erikson’s statue which overlooks the valley and fjord below. We even saw a humpback whale cruising past between the ship and the village. In the afternoon, I joined an organized hike to take in a bit more of the spectacular landscape. It was a sunny day, 10 degrees or so, and we were most grateful for our good fortune.

 

THE ELEPHANTS IN THE ROOM

(Trying to talk to Americans)

In the fall of 2019, Elva and I visited six countries that were once part of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics: Kirghizstan, Kazakhstan, Tajikistan, Uzbekistan, Turkmenistan and Azerbaijan. While all six declared their independence after the fall of the USSR in 1991, one cannot compare their systems of government to ours. Simply put, some are more democratic than others, but none as democratic as ours in Canada.

After visiting the first four countries named above, a new guide joined our group before we crossed into Turkmenistan. He explained that our previous guide was not allowed into the country and he outlined in great detail what would happen at the border crossing. Then he said this: “Please don’t ask me too many questions about our country and how it functions. All you need to know is that Turkmenistan is a great country and our President is a great man.”

This is Year 2 for us in Florida since Donald J. Trump began his second term in January of 2025. When we arrived here on February 28, one day after the War in Iran began, gas was $2.90 a gallon. It has gone to as high as $4.30 a gallon since then, an increase of almost 50%.

During our visit in March and April of last year, I made it my mission to understand why a majority of Americans voted for such a major change on November 4, 2024. I watched and listened and was able to put it all together. The best explanation for the change in direction is one I heard from one of the talking heads on a TV newscast: “Too much woke and too many broke!”

We’ve spent time in Ft. Myers most years since 2016 and have learned that four topics of conversation with our American friends are to be suppressed or avoided at all costs: religion, politics, health care and gun control. Since Trump 2.0, the list of too-sensitive-to-talk-about topics has grown to include affordability, tariffs, the Epstein files, the Iran War, Greenland, and Canada as the 51^st state. It doesn’t leave us much to discuss besides bikes, cycling and the weather! The division is so deep that Americans are not even speaking to one another about these things, and the silence is deafening.

We watched Mark Carney’s recent “fireside chat” where he cited the example of Sir Isaac Brock, a hero of the War of 1812-1814, and how he is inspired by the story of how a vastly outnumbered British-Canadian force managed to suppress an American invasion. Canada was part of British North America at the time, many battles were fought on our soil, and our side even set fire to the White House on April 24, 1814. Carney’s historical reference is a thinly veiled metaphor for the tense situation between our two countries and the need for Canada to defend itself from America by, this time, going its own way. I have never heard a Canadian Prime Minister use this type of language before when speaking of America, and it shows just how serious this threat is to our sovereignty and collective well-being.

2026 will be a critical year in Canada-US relations because of the scheduled renewal of the Canada-US-Mexico free trade agreement (CUSMA). President Trump signed the deal with panache five years ago calling it: “The best and most important trade deal ever made by the USA”. He now calls it “irrelevant” and “a bad deal”, saying that “the US doesn’t need it”.

His Secretary of Commerce, Howard Lutnick, says that CUSMA is structurally flawed because it does not prioritize US-based production. In recent testimony before a Senate committee, he used aggressive and undiplomatic language, calling Canada “insulting” and “disrespectful”. That alone tells me we’re on the right track. President Trump may have done Canada a favour by inciting us to diversify our trading patterns and to remove barriers to interprovincial trade. The time will come, maybe sooner than Americans think, when they’ll need our natural resources.

Everything this President and the sycophants that surround him do is transactional. Relationships mean nothing to them, only deals. When our Prime Minister spoke in Davos, Switzerland, in January, he described a new world order, one that would require nations like ours, the so-called “middle powers”, to move away from the US and find other dance partners. That is exactly what Carney has done by signing deals with other countries, some of whom are not considered to be our allies. We’re being driven away from our long-time trading partner because of the flawed vision of one man.

I sincerely hope Canadians will continue to support our government’s strategy. I’m prepared to pay whatever it takes to free us from the clutches of our former best friend. I want to see our natural resources move East to West and North, rather than towards a southern neighbour that claims to not need anything we produce. I want us to invest in defense and to take our Arctic sovereignty more seriously. These are things we’ve neglected far too long under previous administrations, particularly that of Justin Trudeau.

I’ve learned more about geopolitics in the past two years than I have through the rest of my life, and I’m grateful for that. I feel sorry for those who choose only to judge, rather than opening their minds to try and understand what’s really going on and why. I’m encouraged by the sense of urgency Trump 2.0 has prompted, particularly in Europe. They’ve moved past being judgmental and have accepted the reality of the new world order. President Alexander Stubb of Finland, a nation of only 5.5 million people, has become Europe’s most articulate spokesperson. I’ve listened to him many times, and he has a lot to teach Canada about how to survive in this new world order.

A majority of Americans voted for change, believing their country was headed down the wrong path, and that everything they’d work so hard for would be lost if they didn’t bring everything into question. Trump has done that and much more, maybe more than his supporters bargained for.

I laugh when I hear experts talk about the President’s supposed cognitive decline. The term is used to describe a gradual loss of one’s mental abilities, including memory, thinking, reasoning, attention, and the ability to learn and make decisions. They point to instances they believe demonstrate that the man is losing his marbles. I don’t buy it for one second. I believe what we’re seeing and experiencing is the real Donald J. Trump, the man he’s always been and the President he’s forever dreamed of being.

Our American friends may find it uncomfortable to talk about the big four – religion, politics, health care, and gun control – but they’d better soon start addressing the other elephants in the room before it’s too late. True democracy requires that we debate difficult issues. The November mid-terms should paint a clearer picture of what will come next. If the current polls are any indication, President Trump’s last two years in office may be a lot less enjoyable than the first two.

Americans believe they live in the greatest country in the world and that western society would not be what it is if not for American political and cultural leadership and guidance. While both may be true, this President has severely damaged relationships that have enabled America to grow and stay strong. And the damage will not easily be undone.

Elva and I have travelled to 102 countries thus far, 104 if you count Palestine and Taiwan. Our next trip in June will be to Greenland. We’re going there to learn about the history of the Greenlandic people, to visit Viking sites, and to experience the Arctic landscape. While we’re in the capital, Nuuk, we’ll make sure to have our picture taken in front of the Canadian consulate. Before I pass from this world, I hope to count Greenland as sovereign country number 103.

We’ll be back in Florida in 2027, as long as our health permits us to, and we’ll cherish time spent with our American friends. We’ve accepted the limits of our relationship with them. We come for the weather and to avoid the worst months of our winters. We’ve met many good people here, just as we have everywhere we’ve travelled in the world. And we won’t allow one man to decide how we spend the good years we have left.

 

PRESERVING OUR WETLANDS

(The Sad Saga of Gilles Arsenault) 

I was born and raised in downtown Wellington in the house my grandfather built in 1914 on a wetland beside the Ellis River, and I lived there with my young family until 1990. Much of Wellington lies on what is now defined in the law as either “wetland” or watercourse “buffer zone”. In the early years of European settlement, the village was known as “Quagmire”. Residents voted in 1862 to change the name in honour of the Duke of Wellington, war hero and Prime Minister of Great Britain, no doubt to make the area more attractive to potential settlers.

I remember watching as the village’s sewer system was installed along Mill Rd. in the early 1960s. A cross-section of the trench showed several layers below the asphalt: gravel, shale, logs laid out as a corduroy road and, just above the black muck that marked the original ground level, spruce and fir branches with their needles still intact! The trenches filled with water almost as soon as they were dug. I once hit water at 40 inches when digging a post hole in my yard!

My grandfather kept a few cows on a swampy pasture on the opposite side of the Ellis from where his house stood. He’d walk them across the river every day to be milked. Since the 1960s, a house has stood on that spot on dry ground, raised four feet or so thanks to hundreds of truckloads of fill. Old Mills Park stands on the site of the former Barlow Mills. Old photos show that the dam built across the Ellis to power the mills is the only thing that kept the mill yard relatively dry.

And Wellington is not the only Island municipality to have been built on wetland. Any that lie along a river or on salt water have filled in marshes and wetlands to build wharves, roads, houses and businesses. Three centuries ago, my Acadian ancestors installed dikes to drain marshes and create arable land to help feed their families.

The recent controversy around permission by verbal approval for a change in a development permit granted under the Environmental Protection Act Watercourse and Wetland Protection Regulations to a Summerside golf course has caused me to reflect on my own experiences with preserving wetlands both as public servant and private citizen.

I served in a support role to the Round Table on Resource Land Use and Stewardship in the mid-1990s. The 16 members, under the able leadership of the late Elmer MacDonald, spent much of their time debating issues around water and the protection of watercourses and wetlands. There is a direct connection between the Round Table’s recommendations and the rules in place today.

Arriving at the recommendations was not easy, as members, particularly those who were farmers, had a much different view. To them, water was not a public resource, it “went with the land”, meaning it was a right guaranteed by the deed. They believed the deed granted them the right to draw whatever groundwater they needed to irrigate their crops, cultivate to the edge of a stream or wetland, water their cattle in a stream, and fill in a wet area to make farming the land easier.

Thankfully, we’ve learned a few lessons since then and the regulatory framework now in place has been administered and tested in court. Staff of the Department of Environment refer to Wetland Inventory maps when reviewing an application for a permit to change the use of a wetland or watercourse buffer. They walk the area to determine where the wetland and watercourse boundaries lie.

The Wetland Conservation Policy states that where developments are proposed on or adjacent to a wetland, mitigation must come first:

1. Avoidance: Development proposals will avoid wetlands. In cases where wetlands would be infringed upon, wetlands will be avoided or alternate sites chosen.

2. Minimization: In the rare case where, after all avoidance options are exhausted and impacts on the wetland are unavoidable, potential negative impacts on the wetland will be minimized to the extent possible.

3. Compensation: The developer (proponent) will compensate for any and all loss of wetland area, function and value resulting from development.

Anyone familiar with the area north of MacKenzie Drive and south of the Summerside Golf Club course knows it’s very low land. The lower sections of the original farms south of the Linkletter Road ran to the shore of Summerside Harbour. While they may have been cleared once, 1935 aerial photos of the area show a mixture of pasture that had already been abandoned and wet forest running to the shore. The construction of MacKenzie Drive and the proposed hotel and resort have interrupted natural drainage patterns, making inland areas even wetter. The area outlined in blue from the 1935 aerial photo corresponds roughly to the area being developed.

That government and the developer tried to find a way around the Regulations by invoking the “Compensation” clause strikes me as kind of fishy. The developer had to have deep pockets to pay over $400,000 in compensation, and a not insignificant amount of political “pull” to receive permission to destroy several acres of wetland in direct contravention of the Policy and Regulations. Yet even that was not enough, as we’ve learned recently from the sad saga of Gilles Arsenault.

Not satisfied that his staff had done their duty to uphold the Policy and Regulations, the then-Minister consented in a meeting with the developer to their request to “tweak” the wetland development agreement. That he got caught because his Deputy Minister blew the whistle is a good thing since he is surely not the first nor would he be the last to bend or break government’s own rules. The agreement may have been “verbal” but it was enough to get dozers and backhoes working away and carving up a wetland.

As if that wasn’t enough, the then-Minister put the developer in touch with a non-incorporated organization in his riding that would be only too happy to receive a no-strings-attached grant of $100,000 for watershed improvement work. While he claims there was no quid pro quo, many find that hard to believe, and the truth will come out eventually. The so-called Évangéline area watershed improvement group is not recognized by the PEI Watershed Alliance, the provincial entity that oversees local groups, including the Harmony and Area Watersheds Enhancement Group Inc. The former Minister should have known this and that it would make the developer’s donation look even more suspect.

I watched the April 3 episode of a podcast called “Because Life Is Local”, hosted by Paul MacNeill, publisher of the Eastern Graphic and one of the best home-grown journalists we have. He interviewed former Minister of Environment, Stephen Myers, about the development in question. Myers said basically that what his successor did broke the important rule of including senior staff in meetings such as the one between the former Minister and the golf course developer. He also stated that the then-Minister should have known there are ways to support local watershed improvement initiatives through existing Department programs. He implied it was yet another example of the former Minister’s carelessness and poor judgement.

Wetlands and watercourse buffers must be preserved and protected against development. I’ve been on the Board of the Winter River - Tracadie Bay Watershed Association for the past 13 years. Like so many who serve on the 25 local watershed associations across the Island, I care about the environment and want to see the rules followed so that we can hang on to what we have. I trust those in power to uphold the law.

As an Acadian whose mother tongue is French, I suffered a second disappointment when Gilles Arsenault was removed from Cabinet and the PC Caucus.

We have not had a French-speaking Minister since Léonce Bernard in 1991, a quarter century ago! And we must go back another quarter century to the time of Henry Wedge in 1966 to find another one! M. Arsenault was certainly well qualified for the positions he held. The francophone community rejoiced at his appointment, and we had high hopes that he would make the best of the special opportunity he was given. To see him mired in a public controversy where his personal integrity is questioned affects us all. He’s one of us but, through his carelessness, he has disappointed us all.

Many francophones do not appreciate how important it is for our community to be represented at the Cabinet table where government decisions are made. Being a Minister is a heavy responsibility, for sure, but it also provides an opportunity to deal with long-standing issues of interest to us. A minister can influence what happens in other departments because he’s in direct and frequent contact with the Premier and other ministers. An MLA does not have that advantage, certainly not one who is no longer a member of Caucus.

Arsenault says he will continue to represent the people of Évangéline-Miscouche, but what does that really mean? He has no research or administrative staff. Unlike Liberal and Green MLAs, he’s not guaranteed time during Question Period. And, perhaps most importantly, will any Minister return the phone calls of an exiled MLA? Through all of this, he seems oblivious to the damage he’s caused and maintains that he has been falsely accused and did nothing wrong. Time will tell.

March 28, 2026, was a sad day for all Island francophones and for those who continue to fight to preserve the health of our wetlands and watercourses. I cannot put into words how disappointed I am that this has happened.

PRÉSERVER NOS BASSES TERRES

(La triste saga de Gilles Arsenault) 

Je suis né et j’ai grandi au cœur du village de Wellington, dans la maison que mon grand-père avait bâtie en 1914 sur une basse terre en bordure de la rivière Ellis ; j’y ai vécu avec ma jeune famille jusqu’en 1990. Une grande partie du territoire de Wellington repose sur ce que la loi définit aujourd’hui soit comme une « zone humide », soit comme une « zone tampon » de cours d’eau. Au tout début de la colonisation européenne, le village était connu sous le nom de « Quagmire » (Bourbier). En 1862, les résidents votèrent pour en changer le nom en l’honneur du duc de Wellington, héros de guerre et Premier ministre de Grande-Bretagne, sans doute dans le but de rendre la région plus attrayante aux yeux de colons potentiels.

Je me souviens avoir observé l'installation du système d'égouts du village le long de Mill Road, au début des années 1960. Une coupe transversale de la tranchée révélait plusieurs couches sous l'asphalte : du gravier, du « shale », des troncs d'arbres disposés en chemin de rondins et, juste au-dessus de la boue noire qui marquait le niveau original du sol, des branches d'épinette et de sapin dont les aiguilles étaient encore intactes ! Les tranchées se remplissaient d'eau presque aussitôt qu'elles étaient creusées. Il m'est même arrivé de tomber sur de l'eau à une profondeur d’à peine 40 pouces en creusant un trou de poteau dans la cour chez-nous !

Mon grand-père élevait quelques vaches dans un pâturage marécageux situé de l'autre côté de la rivière Ellis, face à sa maison. Chaque jour, il leur faisait traverser la rivière à pied pour les traire. Depuis les années 1960, une maison s'élève à cet endroit, sur un sol asséché et surélevé d'environ quatre pieds grâce à des centaines de chargements de terre. Le parc Old Mills occupe l'emplacement des anciens moulins Barlow. De vieilles photographies indiquent que le barrage construit à travers la rivière Ellis pour alimenter les moulins était le seul élément permettant de maintenir la cour devant les moulins relativement au sec.

Et Wellington n'est pas la seule municipalité de l'Île à avoir été bâtie sur des basses terres. Toutes celles qui sont situées le long d'une rivière ou en bordure d'eau salée ont rempli de terre, de gravier et de roche des marais et des basses terres pour y construire des quais, des routes, des maisons et des commerces. Il y a trois siècles, mes ancêtres acadiens ont érigé des digues pour drainer les marais et créer des terres arables afin de subvenir aux besoins de leurs familles. Ceux de la génération de mon père appelaient les endroits bas, mal drainé et non cultivable des « bas-fonds », un terme rarement entendu de nos jours.

La récente controverse entourant la délivrance, par simple approbation verbale, d'une modification à un permis d'aménagement, accordé en vertu du Règlement sur la protection des cours d'eau et des milieux humides de la Loi sur la protection de l'environnement à un terrain de golf de Summerside, m'a amené à réfléchir à mes propres expériences en matière de préservation des zones humides, tant en ma qualité de fonctionnaire que de simple citoyen.

Au milieu des années 1990, j'ai occupé un rôle de soutien auprès de la Round Table on Resource Land Use and Stewardship. Les 16 membres, œuvrant sous l’habile direction du regretté Elmer MacDonald, ont consacré une grande partie de leur temps à débattre des questions relatives à l'eau ainsi qu'à la protection des cours d'eau et des basses terres. Il existe un lien direct entre les recommandations formulées par la Table ronde et les règles actuellement en vigueur.

Parvenir à ces recommandations ne fut pas chose facile, car les membres, et tout particulièrement ceux issus du milieu agricole, nourrissaient une vision bien différente de la question. À leurs yeux, l'eau ne constituait pas une ressource publique ; elle était plutôt considérée comme un droit garanti par le titre de propriété. Ils estimaient, en effet, que ce titre leur conférait le droit de puiser dans les eaux souterraines toute la quantité nécessaire à l'irrigation de leurs cultures, de cultiver leurs terres jusqu'en bordure d'un cours d'eau ou d'une zone humide, d'abreuver leur bétail directement dans un ruisseau, et de drainer une basse terre afin de faciliter l'exploitation agricole du terrain.

Heureusement, nous avons tiré quelques leçons depuis ces années-là, et le cadre réglementaire désormais en place a été mis en œuvre et éprouvé devant les tribunaux. Les agents du ministère de l'Environnement consultent les cartes de l'Inventaire des basses terres lorsqu'ils examinent une demande de permis visant à modifier l'affectation d'une zone humide ou d'une zone tampon de cours d'eau. Ils effectuent une inspection sur le terrain afin de déterminer l'emplacement exact des limites du bas-fond et du cours d'eau.

La Politique de conservation des milieux humides stipule que, lorsque des projets d'aménagement sont proposés sur une basse terre ou à proximité immédiate de celle-ci, les mesures d'atténuation doivent être appliquées selon l'ordre de priorité suivant :

1. Évitement : Les projets d'aménagement doivent éviter les milieux humides. Dans les cas où un projet empiéterait sur une basse terre, celui-ci devra être évité ou un autre site devra être choisi.

2. Minimisation : Dans les rares cas où, une fois toutes les options d'évitement épuisées, les impacts sur la basse terre s'avèrent inévitables, les impacts négatifs potentiels devront être minimisés dans la mesure du possible.

3. Compensation : Le promoteur (auteur du projet) devra compenser toute perte de superficie, de fonctionnalité ou de valeur de la basse terre résultant du projet d'aménagement.

Quiconque connaît la zone située au nord de MacKenzie Drive et au sud du parcours du Summerside Golf Club sait qu'il s'agit de terres très basses et mal drainées. Les parties inférieures des fermes originales situées au sud de Linkletter Road s'étendaient jusqu'au rivage du havre de Summerside. Bien qu'elles aient pu être défrichées par le passé, des photographies aériennes de la région datant de 1935 révèlent un mélange de pâturages déjà abandonnés et de forêts humides s'étendant jusqu'au bord de l'eau. La construction de MacKenzie Drive, ainsi que le projet d'hôtel et de complexe touristique, auront perturbé les schémas de drainage naturels, rendant les zones intérieures encore plus humides. La zone délimitée en bleu sur la photographie aérienne de 1935 correspond approximativement à la zone en cours de développement.

Le fait que le gouvernement et le promoteur aient tenté de contourner la réglementation en invoquant la clause de « compensation » me semble pour le moins louche. Le promoteur devait disposer de moyens financiers considérables pour verser plus de 400 000 $ en compensation, ainsi que d'une influence politique non négligeable pour obtenir l'autorisation de détruire plusieurs acres de basses terres, en violation directe des politiques et règlements en vigueur. Pourtant, même cela n'a pas suffi, comme nous l'avons appris récemment à travers la triste saga de Gilles Arsenault.

Insatisfait que ses propres fonctionnaires aient accomplit leur devoir en faisant respecter les politiques et règlements, l’ancien ministre aurait consenti, lors d'une réunion avec le promoteur, à accéder à leur demande de « remanier » l'accord relatif à l'aménagement des baissières. Le fait qu'il ait été pris la main dans le sac, grâce à la dénonciation de son sous-ministre, est une bonne chose. Il n'est assurément ni le premier, ni ne sera-t-il le dernier à contourner ou à enfreindre les règles établies par le gouvernement lui-même. Cet accord avait beau être « verbal », il a suffi à mettre en branle les bulldozers et les backhoes, qui se sont alors attelés à défigurer ce terrain humide.

Comme si cela ne suffisait pas, l’ancien ministre a mis le promoteur en contact avec une organisation non-incorporée de sa circonscription, laquelle serait plus qu'heureuse de recevoir une subvention sans conditions de 100 000 $ pour des travaux d'amélioration d’un bassin versant. Bien qu'il prétende qu'il n'y a eu aucune contrepartie, beaucoup ont du mal à le croire, et la vérité finira par sortir. Le soi-disant groupe d'amélioration du bassin versant de la région d'Évangéline n'est pas reconnu par l'Alliance des bassins versants de l'Î.-P.-É. (PEI Watershed Alliance), l'entité provinciale qui supervise les groupes locaux, y compris le Harmony and Area Watersheds Enhancement Group Inc. L’ancien ministre aurait dû le savoir, tout comme il aurait dû savoir que cela rendrait le don du promoteur encore plus suspect.

J'ai écouté l'épisode du 3 avril d'un podcast intitulé « Because Life Is Local », animé par Paul MacNeill, éditeur de l'Eastern Graphic et l'un de nos meilleurs journalistes locaux. Il y a interviewé l'ancien ministre de l'Environnement, Stephen Myers, au sujet du développement en question. Myers a déclaré essentiellement que les agissements de son successeur enfreignaient une règle fondamentale, à savoir l'obligation d'inclure des cadres supérieurs dans des réunions telles que celle qui a eu lieu entre l’ancien ministre et le promoteur du terrain de golf. Il a également affirmé que l’ancien ministre aurait dû savoir qu'il existe des moyens de soutenir les initiatives locales d'amélioration des bassins versants par l'entremise des programmes existants du ministère. Il a laissé entendre qu'il s'agissait là d'un nouvel exemple de la négligence et du manque de jugement de l’ancien ministre.

Les basses terres et les zones tampons riverains doivent être préservées et protégées contre le développement. Je siège au conseil d'administration de la Winter River - Tracadie Bay Watershed Association depuis 13 ans. À l'instar de tant d'autres personnes bénévoles au sein des 25 associations locales de bassins versants réparties à travers l'Île, j'ai à cœur la protection de l'environnement et je souhaite que les règles soient respectées afin que nous puissions préserver ce patrimoine que nous possédons. Je fais confiance aux personnes au pouvoir pour faire respecter la loi.

En tant qu’Acadien dont la langue maternelle est le français, j’ai subi une seconde déception lorsque Gilles Arsenault a été écarté du Conseil des ministres et du caucus progressiste-conservateur.

Nous n’avons pas eu de ministre francophone depuis Léonce Bernard en 1991, soit il y a un quart de siècle ! Et il nous faut remonter encore d'un quart de siècle, à l'époque de Henry Wedge, en 1966, pour en trouver un autre ! M. Arsenault était assurément bien qualifié pour les postes qu’il a occupés. La communauté francophone s’était réjouie de sa nomination, et nous avions bon espoir qu’il tirerait le meilleur parti de l’occasion privilégiée qui lui était offerte. Le voir embourbé dans une controverse publique où son intégrité personnelle est remise en question nous touche tous. Il est l’un des nôtres, mais, par son imprudence, il nous a tous déçus.

Beaucoup de francophones ne saisissent pas à quel point il est important pour notre communauté d’être représentée à la table du Conseil des ministres, là où sont prises les décisions gouvernementales. Être ministre est certes une lourde responsabilité, mais cela offre également l’occasion de s’attaquer à des enjeux de longue date qui nous tiennent à cœur. Un ministre peut influencer le cours des choses avec d’autres ministères, car il entretient des contacts directs et fréquents avec le premier ministre et ses collègues ministres. Un député ne bénéficie pas de cet avantage ; certainement pas un député qui ne fait plus partie du caucus.

M. Arsenault affirme qu’il continuera de représenter les citoyens d’Évangéline-Miscouche. Mais qu’est-ce que cela signifie réellement ? Il ne dispose d’aucune équipe de recherche ni de personnel administratif. Contrairement aux députés des partis Libéral et Vert, il n’a aucune garantie de temps de parole durant la période des questions à l’Assemblée législative. Et, fait peut-être encore plus important, y aura-t-il un seul ministre qui retournera les appels d’un député exilé ? À travers tout cela, il semble inconscient des dommages qu’il a causés et maintient qu’il a été faussement accusé et qu’il n’a commis aucune faute. Le temps le dira.

Le 28 mars 2026 fut une journée triste pour tous les francophones de l’Île, ainsi que pour celles et ceux qui continuent de lutter pour préserver la santé de nos basses terres et de nos cours d’eau. Les mots me manquent pour exprimer à quel point je suis déçu que cette situation se soit produite.