The East’s Answer to the Powder Skier’s Bucket List

The legendary Mount York.
Photo: Felix Rioux

“How much do you think I bought this duplex for?” asks Charles Mompain, a skier, real estate investor and all-around good guy from Stoneham—a lux ski destination north of Quebec City—who is currently enjoying a fine craft beer with this journalist at his pied-à-terre in the Gaspé Peninsula town of Murdochville, Que.

When someone asks you that question, you know they got a smoking deal. But social etiquette obliges you to play along.

“A hundred thousand?” I ventured.

Mompain’s smile turned to smug victory.

“Guess again,” he said, barely able to contain his exuberance.

“Fifty thousand?” I knew I was making his day. But the suspense was more than he could bear. He mouthed the words slowly:

“Five…. Thousand.”

Even though Mompain tempered my disbelief with assurances that he had invested a minor fortune fixing it up—most materials had to be transported from far away due to the lack of hardware stores in this small maritime town—this duplex was a beauty. Big windows looked onto the ski resort, mountains and wilderness of this, the Chic-Choc region, in the farthest-easterly grasps of the Appalachian Mountains—the highest peaks in Quebec.

This duplex also happened to be the one that this group of journalists and photographers were staying at in Murdochville, a defunct mining town recently resurrected as the mecca of powder skiing in Quebec (think seven metres of annual snowfall refreshed daily due to the prevailing winds). It’s also home to eastern North America’s only cat- and heli-skiing operation. The ski resort, Mont Miller—walking distance from the town—boasts 280 metres (919 feet) of vertical, accessed by one lonely T-bar. It’s the kind of place where the only other tracks in the champagne powder are your own. All. Day. Long.

In town, the young, hip and cultured crew of local skiers—most of them guides for Chic-Chac, the visionary company that owns the ski hill and runs the ski touring, cat and heli operation—gather in a repurposed church where a resident DJ from France spins rad tunes and everybody drinks incredible local craft beer.

This is a place where winter is still winter. While Ontario may be mired in plus 10 degrees Celsius and rain, in Murdochville, it’s -20 C and snowing two feet in 24 hours. Meanwhile wind turbines on the mountain peaks are constantly churning above the vast, frozen, snow-laden landscape—where endangered woodland caribou roam freely and many mountains are above the treeline. In short, it’s a remote Gaspé Peninsula wilderness and skier’s paradise.

Wait. Did we mention the real estate prices?

“But that was 2021,” says Mompain referring to the year he bought the duplex. However a quick look at the town hall’s website (after the mine shuttered in 1999, much of the real estate is now managed by the municipality) confirms there are still deals out there. Building lots for $1,000 anyone?

The cat awaits to take you quickly back to the top
for another of one of the best ski runs of your life.
Photo: Felix Rioux

But here’s the catch. Murdochville is hard to get to. It’s a 16-hour drive from Toronto—six hours from Quebec City—on a good day.

“If it’s not on your bucket list, it should be,” says Mompain, a fiftysomething, got-it-all-together A-type who has skied all over North America and calls Murdochville his favourite. “And it’s time to check it off your bucket list.”  

For Mompain, he’s living his best life. “Here, I have the snow to myself. I have the mountain to myself. There’s no panic for powder. You let the snow dictate. If the snow is good, you ski. If not, you don’t.”

The scenery is breathtaking. In the summer, the rivers—“the most beautiful you’ve ever seen,” says one of the guides—make the region a magnet for whitewater rafting fans. And Chic-Chac, the outdoor adventure company that has revitalized the town, is always adding to their extensive network of mountain bike trails. But it’s the skiing that makes it so special and that’s because of the way that the snow falls: due to prevailing westerly winds, huge amounts of snow collect in eastern-facing bowls, resulting in a never-ending cycle of refreshed pockets of champagne powder—daily.

But when Mompain is asked if he’s worried the place will soon be overrun by speculators and die-hard ski aficionados looking for the next Revelstoke, he shrugs and laughs. “You want to drive 16 hours from Toronto?”

All this was enough for Guillaume Molaison, a local outdoor guru who by the early 2000s had traveled extensively around North America garnering experience and certifications in the outdoor recreation industry. Molaison saw potential for a ski mecca, rounded up investors and founded Chic-Chac, the we-mean-business backcountry ski operation that now sees more than 10,000 visitor-days annually for cat skiing, on-resort skiing, and guided backcountry touring.

“Here, in this part of Gaspé, recreational tourism is a brand new thing. My grandfather did not know what it was to have fun,” says Molaison, who, on this day, is relaxing with a journalist at one of the rental units that Chic-Chac provides—among the 400 beds available in town for visitors. “My father was starting to see that coming and we, my generation, built the fun. So we are late in the game compared to other industries that developed the region (mining, forestry, power generation). But I think that we are the lights in the winter tourism potential for the east region of Quebec.”

Chic-Chac is headquartered in Murdochville, run out of that old church that Molaison purchased a couple years ago despite a bit of community opposition to a more revelrous vision for the sacred institution.

“The church brought the community together before, and it brings the community together now,” smiles Molaison. Albeit, now the church brings the community together in a much more fun manner.

Molaison has invested his life in building this ski paradise. Indeed the process of clearing the gladed ski runs accessed by the cat—world-class 350-metre vertical masterpieces—consumed more than 20 years and a million dollars.

Deep, dry champagne powder snow is just the beginning.
Photo: Felix Rioux

However, “The best guides are the ones who cleared the ski runs,” advises Molaison. “They know the best runs.”

The next day we load into the cats, and bump and grind out to Mount York, the showpiece of Chic-Chac’s tenure. Untouched, perfectly pitched runs, deep snow, cliffs and perfectly spaced trees fill our morning. All of that complemented by Steve, our French  guide, whose excitement for skiing here is palatable. He takes us safely to the best spots, the most interesting terrain, and we are completely satisfied. We stop for a tasty lunch provided by Chic-Chac in a rustic old cabin, and then head out again to a new face on the mountain, where we exhaust ourselves all afternoon before heading back to the church for a gourmet dinner, live entertainment, and a helluva party with the locals.

Molaison has plans to add two new mountain peaks to his tenure in the near future, and build out a mini resort on York Lake, the headwaters for whitewater rafting in the summer, which will be Chic-Chac’s new home base with a lux lodge.

Molaison’s determined, serious, smart and calm demeanor tells this journalist that all this is just the beginning. If this place isn’t on your bucket list, it should be. And if it is? Well, it’s time to take Mompain’s advice and check it off.

And did we mention the real estate prices?

Chic-Chac by the numbers

Cat skiing visitor days per season: 2,000
Visitors in summer: 500
Number of beds for accommodation: 400
Average annual snowfall: 7 metres

Getting there:

The regional carrier PAL Airlines (palairlines.ca) offers almost-daily flights from most of the maritime provinces and certainly Quebec City. It’s a short flight—a tad over an hour to the funky town of Gaspé (right on the Gulf of Saint Lawrence), on board with some of the friendliest flight attendants and pilots you’ll ever meet.

From there, rent a car at the airport and drive an hour up to Murdochville. Once in Murdochville, everything is walking distance. Or, if you’re up for the drive, load it into Google Maps! It’s 16 hours from Toronto.

The beer:

We were sitting in the cat with our guide, Steve, and of course the classic question arose: “What’s the best microbrewery in the area?” In his rich and excited French-Gaspé accent, Steve instantly answered, “The Auval.”

He went on to explain that people will drive 10 hours to buy a four-pack; that the grocery store, when it gets fresh batches in, limits quantities per customer. “That’s the beer I want,” I said. Next thing I knew I was drinking it all night. Full. Healthy. Orange. Nutrient-rich. Just when I thought this place couldn’t get any better.