Baie Comeau

Fishing in Quebec's Manicouagan Reservoir isn't just any fishing trip-you're casting your line into what's essentially a cosmic bullseye carved out by a colossal meteorite roughly 214 million years ago. Known locally as the "Eye of Quebec," this strikingly circular lake teems with northern pike, lake trout, and salmon, swimming unsuspectingly in a crater of apocalyptic origin. Plan a couple of months ahead and aim to visit in the early morning hours, when mist dances like smoke over water still pretending it didn't once witness planetary violence. Budget at least $100 CAD for permits, tackle, and snacks-plus extra funds for the inevitable celebratory beer or existential rumination over your tiny place in this universe. Pack layers, bug spray powerful enough to repel Jurassic-sized mosquitoes, and decent whiskey to toast the meteorite that thoughtfully decided not to eradicate all life on Earth. Even if the fish aren't biting, you'll return with an unbeatable story about fishing in the watery scar of an ancient cosmic sucker punch.

Standing at the foot of the Manic-5 Dam, staring upward at this colossal monolith of concrete and ambition, you can't help but wonder if you've stumbled upon the secret lair of a Bond villain. Nestled deep in the wilds of Quebec's Manicouagan region-where the wilderness defiantly refuses to be civilized-this behemoth isn't just one of North America's largest dams; it's a towering tribute to humanity's stubborn quest to bend nature to its whims. Book your tour at least a week in advance, and arrive early in the morning when the mist still hangs dramatically over the reservoir, enhancing your photos and creating an appropriately cinematic sense of scale. Bring sturdy shoes, a warm jacket even in summer (because Canada loves keeping tourists humble), and driving snacks aplenty-you're looking at a solid few hours from civilization. Budget-wise, expect to part ways with around 20 bucks per person, a small price to pay for awe, bragging rights, and the chance to smirk knowingly whenever someone mentions Hoover Dam. Sure, exploring hydroelectric turbines and spillways might not scream "vacation antics," but trust me, just mentioning casually at your next dinner party that you moseyed around the bowels of a giant Canadian dam named "Manic-5" makes it all gloriously worth it.

There are two ways to witness fjords: politely, at a distance, nodding appreciatively from a lookout point-or brazenly, aboard a rumbling boat slicing through dramatic cliffs that seem personally offended by your intrusion. The fjords of Riviere-aux-Outardes in Quebec's rugged Outardes region make no apologies for their jaw-dropping grandeur, fashioned by glaciers who clearly had anger issues and an obsession with drama. For the ideal jaunt, aim for mid-morning when the mist still clings theatrically to the cliff faces, but budget extra for waterproof gear and a pair of binoculars-you'll thank yourself when spotting seals lounging indifferently, as though they just binge-watched the entire David Attenborough box set. Book your excursion at least a week in advance, and set aside around $80 to $120 per person, depending how luxurious your maritime tastes are. Pack snacks, a sturdy windbreaker, and your sense of wonder-and maybe a flask of something warming to toast nature's sheer audacity. Even if fjords aren't exactly your natural habitat, you owe yourself this story: standing defiant against the wind, salt sprayed on your face, realizing with giddy irreverence that nature really doesn't care what you think, it just goes right on being astonishing.

If you've ever dreamed of camping without the indignity of wrestling with tent poles or waking up to a rogue pinecone stabbing you in awkward places, then an overnight yurt stay might just be your speed. Picture yourself nestled deep in a forest retreat, wrapped snugly in a circular structure whose lineage can be traced back thousands of years to Central Asian nomadic tribes-nomads who cleverly understood the joys of portability, coziness, and avoiding awkward neighbors. Arrive late afternoon armed with a trusty flashlight, a good bottle of wine (or whiskey-your call), and provisions hearty enough to make Genghis Khan proud. Booking your yurt a couple months ahead is wise, especially if you prefer weekends, and expect to pay roughly $80-150 per night for the privilege of glorified glamping. But be warned: nights in the woods can turn chilly faster than your optimism fades at an airport security checkpoint, so pack layers and a robust sense of humor. Is it worth it? Absolutely. Because one day you'll casually drop into conversation the night you spent huddled by a wood stove in a genuine yurt, communing silently with nature, in a futile attempt to channel your inner Mongolian warrior-poet.