AT LAND'S END

Reaching out from Canada's eastern shore, the rocky, remote Gaspé Peninsula is a region of beguiling coastal towns and stunning national parks. Nina Caplan dives into its bounty, from flowers to fish to fresh salt air.

MY FIRST TASTE of the Gaspé Peninsula was a mouthful of flowers: a spoon piled with petals was offered to me when I visited five years ago. Quebecers are surprised when I tell them about it. That's partly because the fertile eastern hunk of Canada, jutting out into the Gulf of St. Lawrence as if it were trying to visit Newfoundland, is where much of the population of Quebec went for their childhood holidays without being much disturbed by international tourists like me. It's also because, while the Gaspé is famous for a type of food, it isn't flowers. It's fish.

When I went back last September with my husband, Craig, to make a full circuit of the peninsula, I discovered that, even in our age of disappearing resources, that is still the case. There are 22 salmon rivers on the peninsula, their clear water fringed with trees. Fantastic fresh seafood is served everywhere, from small island shacks to stylish waterside restaurants. But the fish have always been more than just dinner. The history of the peninsula could be written in fins and scales.

The Indigenous people whose ancestral territory this is, the Mi'kmaq, probably migrated east up the St. Lawrence River, past what is now Montreal and Quebec City, then stayed because the food was so plentiful. Around the year 1000, the Vikings showed up to fish cod, then dry and salt it for transport across the Atlantic. In 1534, Jacques Cartier arrived, planted a large crucifix in what is now the town of Gaspé, and claimed the entire country for France. Gaspésie, the French name for the peninsula, comes from the Mi'kmaq name Gespeg, meaning "land's end." But given that the Atlantic was the medieval equivalent of a highway connecting North America to Europe, “land's beginning" might be just as appropriate.