by Sharon Bloyd-Peshkin photos Alec Bloyd-Peshkin
by Sharon Bloyd-Peshkin photos Alec Bloyd-Peshkin
20 ocean paddler
Eastern Lake Superior: Wind southeast 10 knots becoming southeast 15 this evening, then increasing to southeast 20 tonight. Wind becoming south 20 Saturday morning with showers and a risk of thunderstorms.” As we paddled from Hattie Cove into Lake Superior, we knew the calm conditions wouldn’t last. Soon we’d be out on waters that were as changeable and challenging as they were remote and pristine: the 195 km shoreline along Pukaskwa National Park and the Lake Superior Highlands in Canada. The shoreline from Hattie Cove to Michipicoten Bay is especially attractive for its rich history and its present isolation. This route was well travelled by Native Americans, voyageurs, explorers, traders, trappers, miners, loggers and missionaries over the course of several thousand years. Since 1978, the first 100 km of the journey have been protected through the efforts of Parks Canada; the next 95 km remain largely wild. We were drawn to this coastline because it provides a glimpse of what the Great Lakes were like before industry and development altered them irrevocably. It is truly remote: one road in at Hattie Cove, another one out at Michipicoten Bay, and nothing between them but wilderness and pristine water. This coastline requires complete self sufficiency. Paddlers must bring everything they need and be able to solve problems that arise without assistance from others, because they are unlikely to find anyone else around.
Lake Superior
Given the tempestuous nature of Lake Superior, a problem-free journey is far from guaranteed. As we set out on a sunny afternoon with our friends Keith Wikle and John Fleming, the words penned by Thomas L. McKenney (Superintendent of the Bureau of Indian Affairs) in 1827 rang in our heads. In Sketches of a Tour to the Lakes he described this area as “one vast ocean of transparent water, over which air as pure as ether perpetually hovers in stillness, or blows in tempests. Variety is the character of this region. The elements appear to have nothing else to do but amuse themselves.” McKenney must have realised, without the benefit of modern measuring devices, that Lake Superior is the ‘everythingest’ of the Great Lakes. It’s the largest, measuring 560 km east to west and 260 km north to south, and contains three quadrillion gallons of water (one-tenth of the world’s fresh surface water). It’s the clearest, with visibility of as much as 8 m. It’s also the coldest, with an average water temperature of 7°C, and the deepest, plunging to 400 m in places. It’s the cleanest - clean enough that many paddlers drink from it without filtering the water. Finally, it’s the deadliest. Storms kick up quickly, generating waves of up to 10 m. The wrecks of 350 ships attest to Lake Superior’s violence, and every year a handful of paddlers lose their lives to her waters. Paddling past massive outcroppings of Precambrian rock – slumbering giants from a volcanic age, scoured by glaciers and battered by waves – we could only be grateful that this place was accessible to us. To the east was a boreal forest of jack pine, black spruce, white birch, balsam fir and trembling aspen, a place of rare Arctic alpine plants as well as moose, black bear, otter, beaver, grouse, lynx, wolves and a few remaining woodland caribou. Overhead and on the beaches were gulls, herons, peregrine falcons, loons, sand pipers and bald eagles. And to the west was nothing but water for hundreds of kilometres.
Many landing opportunities along the Pukaskwa coast are steep, cobbled beaches.
This stretch of shoreline is best approached as a meandering trail, not a highway. Every sandy river mouth, natural bay and craggy inlet offers opportunities for exploration and discovery. The first such detour is at the White River, where a 4.5 km paddle takes you to Chigamiwinigum Falls, a dramatic whitewater cascade spanned by a new suspension bridge. We paddled up to the base of the falls, left our kayaks ashore and hiked up to and across the bridge. We watched the water plunge through the gorge and imagined how difficult it would be to negotiate in a ocean paddler 21
creek boat. As we paddled back, a river otter poked its head above the water, checked us out and swam away. Near the mouth of the river, we landed on the cobbled beach of one of the park’s developed primitive campsites to cook our first meal of the trip. Pukaskwa National Park offers more than two dozen backcountry campsites along its length. Developed sites feature an outhouse, a fire ring and a bear box, but camping is permitted everywhere along the route. Tides are not an issue when choosing a site, but seiches are; the shoreline water level can rise or fall a dozen centimetres or more in an unpredictable fashion as winds and atmospheric pressure cause Lake Superior to slosh from side to side, as though it were a large bathtub.
Mafor code
“Forecast in Mafor code: 12516, 19519, 11510, 11730, 12746, 11740, 12730.” We awoke to the sounds of wind in the trees and waves breaking on the shore outside the river mouth. A quick check of the marine weather on our VHF radios confirmed that the previous day’s forecast had been correct. Updated three times a day (at 03:30, 10:30 and 18:30), the forecasts are given in five-digit codes that express the time during which they are valid, the wind direction, the wind speed and the overall conditions (see sidebar). A ‘3’ in the second-to-last position means Beaufort Force 6, or 22–27 knots. A ‘4’ means Beaufort Force 7, or 28–33 knots. Today would begin with 11–16 knot winds out of the southwest, with rain and a chance of thunderstorms, and then shift to the northwest at 22–27 knots. It was predicted to increase to 28–33 knots the next day. With one eye on the sky, we ate breakfast, broke camp, packed our boats and headed out onto the lake, which was transformed from the previous day. The placid, turquoise waters had been replaced with steely grey heaving waves that loomed larger as they came towards shore and crashed onto the granite and basalt rocks. We marvelled at the tenacious trees that clung to the rocky shoreline and withstood the battering of wind and waves in all seasons. Playing it safe with our heavy, loaded boats, we stayed far enough offshore to avoid the breaking waves but close enough to enjoy watching them collide with the rocks. As we paddled south, the waves built from 1 to 2 m, with occasional sets of 3 m mountains. “Outside!” we shouted each time the largest waves came into view, and we paddled into them rather than risk riding them closer to shore. The headwind and waves slowed our progress to 1–2 knots and shifted our focus from the land to the water. All the intriguing shoreline features would have to wait for another day. We reached Shot Watch Cove by mid-afternoon, named for a pocket watch with a bullet hole found here in the 1970s, and gratefully landed in the protected waters behind an island. From the comfort of another developed primitive campsite, we were able to watch the mayhem out on the lake.
Weather day
“Strong wind warning in effect. Forecast in Mafor code: 13740, 11720, 12630, 13630, 19630.” We didn’t want to take a weather day so soon in our trip, especially given the short distance we had covered the previous day. But after a discussion about the impulse to break camp and slog at least a few miles in order not to feel stuck, and the wisdom of staying put and making up the mileage another day, we chose the latter. This is why the recommended length of time for this trip is 10–12 days. The distance is only 195 km, but between the inevitability of at least two weather days and the desirability of poking into interesting places, that’s a reasonable amount of time. In fact, a weather day during the first 60 km is an opportunity to explore the coastline on land, either by trekking part of the hiking trail or scrambling 22 ocean paddler
along the rocky coastline beaches. Here, the notion that there are no straight lines in nature is defied by veins of quartz in granite rocks and sheer splits through basalt boulders, induced by cycles of thaw and freeze. It’s also a chance to see some of the plants that thrive in this anomalous microclimate: bird’s-eye primrose, blueberries, black crowberry, northern twayblade and Franklin’s ladyslipper, along with ferns and all kinds of lichen. Along the trail, we saw bear scat but (thankfully) no bears; sightings of bears are unusual and encounters extremely rare. Still, it’s wise to store food in a bear box or bear bag or hang it from a tree, and avoid cooking near your sleeping area.
Earliest paddlers
Watching the waves crash ashore, we thought about the people who had passed through this area in the past: the prehistoric Paleo-Indians who lived here 9500 years ago, of whom little evidence remains; the Anishinabe, whose pictographs and pits still dot the shoreline; the Ojibwa First Nation people, who still live along the shore and provide cultural interpretation of the area for visitors; the 17th century explorers who set up French and English trading posts; and the 18th and 19th century loggers, miners, hunters, fishermen and trappers who followed them, some of whose shacks remain in shambles throughout the park. Without the benefit of marine forecasts or boats as suitable to big seas as our sea kayaks, they plied these waters in pursuit of food and fortune. Many no doubt foundered and sank as a result of Lake Superior’s utter indifference to little people who fail to defer to her power. Alec and Keith ventured out briefly in unloaded boats to explore that power. The wind was almost too forceful to paddle into; waves crashed ashore, creating massive clapotis when they rebounded and collided with incoming waves. Boomers exploded over submerged rocks. Our decision to take a weather day was affirmed. That evening we huddled under our tarp as the rain fell and the wind whipped through our camp, hoping the next day would bring better paddling conditions.
Chaotic remains
“Forecast in Mafor code: 13510, 11520, 12520, 19529, 12900.” Overnight, the rain stopped and the winds diminished to 17–21 knots. In the morning, we poked out past our protective island to find the chaotic remnants of the previous day’s waves. Omni-directional waves 2 m high and occasionally larger rose in broken mounds under an ominous sky and broke over shoals as they swept toward the shoreline. After 20 km (hard-earned), we savoured the silence of White Spruce Harbour, where we enjoyed two hours of sunshine before we heard thunder rumbling in the distance. We retreated again underneath our tarp until it was time to climb into our tents.
A tailwind!
“Forecast in Mafor code: 15710, 11710, 12100, 14911.” We sailed south, sometimes quite literally, with our paddles perched on our heads. We felt the contrary tugs of the pressure to make miles and opportunity to explore the shoreline at last. Exploration won out. We tucked into several of the natural harbours where camping is permitted and landings are protected. Sailors and other boaters are grateful for the shelter these natural harbours provide during storms; we were grateful for the way they enabled us to avoid surf landings with our loaded boats. At North Swallow harbour, we bid farewell to the coastal hiking trail. We had been out of range of any roads for 60 km; now we would be out of range of even a hiking trail for the rest of the trip. We soon reached Cascade Falls, made famous by local painter, canoeist and conservationist Bill Mason. The large cobble beach beside the falls was distinctively terraced, with piles of driftwood shoved
up several metres by large waves. We were told that these characteristic terraces were caused by ‘isostatic rebound’, the recovery of the Earth’s crust from the weight of the glaciers that carved this area 10,000 years ago, along with storms and changes to the lake’s level. The rebound initially was as much as 15 m per 1000 years, though it slowed to just 3 m per 1000 years in recent centuries. Despite the recent drought, the falls were still impressive and the pools of deep, clear water beneath them were perfect for jumping into from the rocky shore.
Pukaskwa Pits
At last, we found our first Pukaskwa Pits. These lichen-covered structures are one of the mysteries of the park. Round or oblong, 1–2 m in diameter, they are flat or depressed spots found on cobble beaches, sometimes with short walls surrounding them. Archaeologists believe they were built as early as 1000 BC, but their purpose remains unknown. They might have been storehouses, fire pits, duck blinds, sacred spaces, shelters or something else altogether. There are more than 250 known Pukaskwa Pits in the park; visitors can explore them but are requested not to disturb them. Our day ended at Bonamie Cove, where we settled on a sand beach and enjoyed the suddenly still air. Bonamie (‘good friend’) Cove is believed to have been named by grateful voyageurs who appreciated its refuge after paddling around Pointe La Canadienne to the south. Many features on this coast have several names: Ojibwa names, maritime names, park names and local names. Some seem to have no known names, so we chose to name them ourselves. We called one lunch spot Dragonfly Bay for the large number of prehistoric winged insects we found there. Like the names conferred by the Anishinabe millennia ago, ours will also be lost to history.
Half way
“Forecast in Mafor code: 13900, 13700, 12100, 15210, 11210.” The sixth day began with sunshine and light winds, the weather we had imagined when we pictured our trip, but would have been disappointed to have had every day. We had come to paddle Lake Superior, and we wanted it to behave like Lake Superior. We passed Pointe La Canadienne on calm seas, when the ‘reflection wave danger’ note on our topography map did not apply. A few kilometres later, we reached the mouth of the Pukaskwa River and then Pukaskwa Point, the end of the Pukaskwa National Park shoreline and the start of the Lake Superior Highlands. We were half way through our trip, and we had seen one group of hikers on the coastal trail and one fishing boat far out on the lake. Our concerns about our early slow progress were now allayed; the challenge would be to relax and explore while the possibility of another bout of bad weather remained. We tried not to think about the section considered treacherous in all but calm conditions: the cliffs at Point Isacor.
Le Petit Mort
We landed at Le Petit Mort, a river mouth with a lovely sandbar and a large stone engraved with the name Frank Kushick and the date November 7 1920. Who was he, we wondered? And how did this spot get its name? Did Petit Mort refer to death, or was it a sexual reference? The place exuded mystery. In the woods behind the beach we found a derelict trapper’s cabin, a large stone chimney and an assortment of barrels, vessels, pots and pans. We chose to camp on the beach instead of in the woods, which were just a little too creepy. The composition of the forest had changed. In place of the black spruce, jack pine, white birch and aspen to the north, we were now seeing white pine, red pine, sugar maple, black ash and eastern white cedar. The direction of our travel also changed. After rounding Pointe La Canadienne, the shoreline bent eastwards. If the wind shifted
Essential information Rules and regulations: Paddlers must register their trip in advance with Pukaskwa National Park and pay for park and backcountry camping permits. They must also complete a backcountry orientation before embarking on their trip. For reservations, call 1.807.229.0801 ext. 242 or email [email protected] Information: Dave Wells and his staff at Naturally Superior Adventures offer a wealth of local knowledge. NSA also offers fully outfitted trips as well as guides who can accompany paddlers who are otherwise independent. Call 1.800.203.9092 or visit www.naturallysuperior.com
Allow time to explore rocky islets and grottos along the coastline.
Cascade Falls is one of three major waterfalls along the route.
Logistics: This journey can be done in either direction. To avoid running your own car shuttle, take advantage of the shuttle service offered by Naturally Superior Adventures. NSA also offers camping, a lodge, meals and a well-stocked paddling shop that emphasises kit, books and maps for trips. Call 1.800.203.9092 or visit www.naturallysuperior.com Marine forecasts: Canadian marine forecasts are updated three times daily. They include a regional synopsis as well as local forecasts at specified time increments. For forecasts and more information about them, visit www.weatheroffice.gc.ca/marine Resources and reading Superior: Under the Shadow of the Gods by Barbara Chisholm (Lynx Images Inc., 1998). Stories of people who’ve lived and earned a livelihood on Lake Superior over the past two centuries. The Greatest Lake: Stories from Lake Superior’s North Shore by Conor Mihell (Natural Heritage, 2012). Stories of the people and places along the lake’s Canadian shore. Guide to Sea Kayaking on Lakes Superior and Michigan: The Best Day Trips and Tours by Bill Newman, Sarah Ohmann and Don Dimond (Globe Pequot, 1999). Descriptions and maps for 49 trips of varying lengths. Teasing the Spirit: A Comprehensive Guide to Paddling Pukaskwa National Park’s Coastal Waters by Craig S. Zimmerman (Words for Wildlands, 1996). A descriptive guide to the paddling route. Download from www.mastersswimmingontario.ca/TTS0001.PDF
A typical, sheltered campsite provides a respite from wind.
Coastal Paddling Route Trip Planner (Pukaskwa National Park, 2012). Information about reservations, campsites, gear and leave-no-trace practices for the Pukaskwa National park coastline. Download from www.pc.gc.ca/pn-np/on/pukaskwa/activ/ activ3/c.aspx The Adventure Map: Pukaskwa National Park (Chrismar). Waterproof topo map with historical information and campsites. Buy from www.chrismar.com/P05zPUK1.htm Canadian topo maps: Download and print from atlas.nrcan.gc.ca/site/english/maps/topo/map
About the author and photographer
Alec and Sharon Bloyd-Peshkin are paddlers and coaches from Chicago. They work for Geneva Kayak Center in Chicago, Adventure Crafters in Maryland and Body Boat Blade in Washington State, and also coach at symposia in the US and Canada. They chronicle their paddling and coaching, observations and lessons learned on their blog Have Kayaks, Will Travel (bloyd-peshkin.blogspot.com). They also write and shoot photos for paddling magazines and other publications. They are ambassadors and team paddlers for Werner and Snapdragon. ocean paddler 23
Gazing up, we considered those stars, which have shined above this place for millennia. They’ve cast their light on volcanoes and glaciers, on the Anishinabe and the voyageurs, on traders and trappers, on loggers and fishermen. And now they shined above us.
Far from cities and other sources of light, the night sky emerges.
and blew out of the east or northeast, we would no longer be protected by the land. Of course, that’s just what happened. We battled headwinds on our seventh day, joking about the cosmic justice of our situation. Did we have to pay back every mile of tailwind with a headwind, we wondered, or every hour? As we headed into shore to set up camp, we saw what appeared to be a tent in the woods. Other paddlers? Competition for campsites? Drawing nearer, our suspicions were confirmed: three kayaks sat on the beach and the one protected site was occupied. We landed down the beach from them, where we found boot prints and paw prints in the sand. Wolf, we wondered? Our neighbours didn’t appear to be home so we set up our tents, watched one of them blow away in the wind, then secured both tents with large rocks and tethered them to our boats.
Thunder boxes
Soon one of our neighbours appeared. Shirley, a nurse who lives in nearby Long Beach, was paddling a portion of the route with two of her friends. She came to this part of Canada for a year, fell in love with it, and moved here permanently. That was 37 years ago. She told us that the boot prints we had seen belonged to Joel Cooper, a local conservationist and peregrine falcon monitor who is responsible for installing and maintaining the ten P3s (prefabricated portable privies, better known as ‘thunder boxes’) along this coastline. These simple wood boxes topped with toilet seats keep visitors from adorning the shoreline with wads of toilet paper. The paw prints were not those of a wolf, but of Cooper’s dog. We had met Cooper earlier through David Wells, the owner of Naturally Superior Adventures in Wawa, Ontario. When we asked Cooper what he thought about this stretch of coastline, he spoke about the balance between making the shoreline accessible and keeping it wild. “If you make it too attractive and easy, then you lose the attraction,” he told us. But, he noted, “The coastline isn’t really paddler-friendly for the average paddler.” The exposure, the distance and the inability to communicate all keep people away. Fewer than 200 paddlers a year travel on the coastal paddling trail; of those, fewer than 50 travel all the way from Hattie Cove to Michipicoten Bay. 24 ocean paddler
Dog River
“Forecast in Mafor code: 16120, 14120, 13720.” Northeast winds of 17–21 knots for the next 36 hours. Ahead of us lay Point Isacor with its sheer cliffs for five miles. “Be very wary of Isacor. It is a place wrought with evil ready to suck the life out of inattentive paddlers,” wrote Craig Zimmerman in Teasing the Spirit: A Comprehensive Guide to Paddling Pukaskwa National Park’s Coastal Waters. Wary or not, we packed up and headed back onto the lake. We were rewarded for another day of slogging into the wind and waves when we arrived at False Dog Harbour, which had a far more protected beach than the windy one of the previous night. This was the perfect jumping off point for the following day’s excursion to the Dog River, a detour worth the better part of a day. Depending on the water level, it’s possible to paddle upstream for about a kilometre. There are pictographs on the rocks at the river mouth, which you will only find if you know exactly where to look, and a hiking trail that leads up to Denison Falls, the most dramatic and accessible of the waterfalls on this trip. We hiked the trail to the first set of falls, scaled a sheer wall of rock with the aid of ropes left by previous hikers, and continued hiking to the top of the tall, dramatic cascade. There, we were mesmerised for more than an hour, climbing the blocky basalt slabs to the top of the falls and watching the water plunge down to the rocks and pool below. The river level was low enough that we were able to walk along the shore back to our kayaks. The variety of rocks along it was stunning. We recognized basalt, granite, gneiss and quartz, but knew from reading about this area that we were likely seeing greywacke, siltstone, slate, diabase, gabbro and Precambrian rocks. To us, they provided a visual feast as we clambered back to our kayaks. To those who seek mineral wealth, however, they have long promised profit. This coastline has drawn gold, iron and copper prospectors since the 1800s, and today is threatened by the possibility of trap rock mining for building roads. Superior Aggregates Company obtained permission from the Ontario Ministry of Natural Resources to blast in a quarry near Michipicoten Bay, a plan that Cooper and others oppose because of the
impact it would have on water and air quality as well as wildlife and people in the area. Gravel Watch Ontario, an environmental advocacy group, argues that “Ontario’s aggregate policies and regulations are inadequate to protect our communities, farmland, water, heritage resources and environment.” Local opponents of the mine have received extensive support from environmental organizations in Canada and the United States. So far, blasting has not begun.
Great Lynx offering
As we paddled east from Dog River, we saw paddlers on the horizon again. But this time, as we drew closer, we recognized them. Ray Boucher, a coach at Naturally Superior Adventures, and his wife Patty had been following our progress on our SPOT Satellite GPS Messenger. They had come out to spend the last night with us before accompanying us on our final miles to Michipicoten Bay. They, of course, had enjoyed a tailwind the whole way; we were still pushing into a headwind and beginning to wonder if we’d ever see calm seas. But shortly after Ray and Patty joined us, the wind diminished. Patty explained that she had given an offering to Mishipeshu, the ‘great lynx’ that the Anishinabe credited with causing waves, whitewater and whirlpools, and whom they appeased with offerings of tobacco before setting out on the water. I’m not superstitious, so I attributed the change of weather to good luck (hers, not ours). That afternoon, I realised I was hearing the sound of my paddle for the first time since we left Hattie Cove. At last, the wind had died down. We landed on a sand beach, where we set up camp and cooked our last meal of the trip. Ray provided the first cold beer we’d had in more than a week, and we shared stories around a driftwood bonfire until the sun dropped below the horizon and the Milky Way glowed in the inky black sky. Streaks of light crossed the constellations: the Perseid meteor shower was in full force. Gazing up, we considered those stars, which have shined above this place for millennia. They’ve cast their light on volcanoes and glaciers, on the Anishinabe and the voyageurs, on traders and trappers, on loggers and fishermen. And now they shined above us. So many years have passed and yet this place, like those stars, remains largely undisturbed.
20 ocean paddler
Eastern Lake Superior: Wind southeast 10 knots becoming southeast 15 this evening, then increasing to southeast 20 tonight. Wind becoming south 20 Saturday morning with showers and a risk of thunderstorms.” As we paddled from Hattie Cove into Lake Superior, we knew the calm conditions wouldn’t last. Soon we’d be out on waters that were as changeable and challenging as they were remote and pristine: the 195 km shoreline along Pukaskwa National Park and the Lake Superior Highlands in Canada. The shoreline from Hattie Cove to Michipicoten Bay is especially attractive for its rich history and its present isolation. This route was well travelled by Native Americans, voyageurs, explorers, traders, trappers, miners, loggers and missionaries over the course of several thousand years. Since 1978, the first 100 km of the journey have been protected through the efforts of Parks Canada; the next 95 km remain largely wild. We were drawn to this coastline because it provides a glimpse of what the Great Lakes were like before industry and development altered them irrevocably. It is truly remote: one road in at Hattie Cove, another one out at Michipicoten Bay, and nothing between them but wilderness and pristine water. This coastline requires complete self sufficiency. Paddlers must bring everything they need and be able to solve problems that arise without assistance from others, because they are unlikely to find anyone else around.
Lake Superior
Given the tempestuous nature of Lake Superior, a problem-free journey is far from guaranteed. As we set out on a sunny afternoon with our friends Keith Wikle and John Fleming, the words penned by Thomas L. McKenney (Superintendent of the Bureau of Indian Affairs) in 1827 rang in our heads. In Sketches of a Tour to the Lakes he described this area as “one vast ocean of transparent water, over which air as pure as ether perpetually hovers in stillness, or blows in tempests. Variety is the character of this region. The elements appear to have nothing else to do but amuse themselves.” McKenney must have realised, without the benefit of modern measuring devices, that Lake Superior is the ‘everythingest’ of the Great Lakes. It’s the largest, measuring 560 km east to west and 260 km north to south, and contains three quadrillion gallons of water (one-tenth of the world’s fresh surface water). It’s the clearest, with visibility of as much as 8 m. It’s also the coldest, with an average water temperature of 7°C, and the deepest, plunging to 400 m in places. It’s the cleanest - clean enough that many paddlers drink from it without filtering the water. Finally, it’s the deadliest. Storms kick up quickly, generating waves of up to 10 m. The wrecks of 350 ships attest to Lake Superior’s violence, and every year a handful of paddlers lose their lives to her waters. Paddling past massive outcroppings of Precambrian rock – slumbering giants from a volcanic age, scoured by glaciers and battered by waves – we could only be grateful that this place was accessible to us. To the east was a boreal forest of jack pine, black spruce, white birch, balsam fir and trembling aspen, a place of rare Arctic alpine plants as well as moose, black bear, otter, beaver, grouse, lynx, wolves and a few remaining woodland caribou. Overhead and on the beaches were gulls, herons, peregrine falcons, loons, sand pipers and bald eagles. And to the west was nothing but water for hundreds of kilometres.
Many landing opportunities along the Pukaskwa coast are steep, cobbled beaches.
This stretch of shoreline is best approached as a meandering trail, not a highway. Every sandy river mouth, natural bay and craggy inlet offers opportunities for exploration and discovery. The first such detour is at the White River, where a 4.5 km paddle takes you to Chigamiwinigum Falls, a dramatic whitewater cascade spanned by a new suspension bridge. We paddled up to the base of the falls, left our kayaks ashore and hiked up to and across the bridge. We watched the water plunge through the gorge and imagined how difficult it would be to negotiate in a ocean paddler 21
creek boat. As we paddled back, a river otter poked its head above the water, checked us out and swam away. Near the mouth of the river, we landed on the cobbled beach of one of the park’s developed primitive campsites to cook our first meal of the trip. Pukaskwa National Park offers more than two dozen backcountry campsites along its length. Developed sites feature an outhouse, a fire ring and a bear box, but camping is permitted everywhere along the route. Tides are not an issue when choosing a site, but seiches are; the shoreline water level can rise or fall a dozen centimetres or more in an unpredictable fashion as winds and atmospheric pressure cause Lake Superior to slosh from side to side, as though it were a large bathtub.
Mafor code
“Forecast in Mafor code: 12516, 19519, 11510, 11730, 12746, 11740, 12730.” We awoke to the sounds of wind in the trees and waves breaking on the shore outside the river mouth. A quick check of the marine weather on our VHF radios confirmed that the previous day’s forecast had been correct. Updated three times a day (at 03:30, 10:30 and 18:30), the forecasts are given in five-digit codes that express the time during which they are valid, the wind direction, the wind speed and the overall conditions (see sidebar). A ‘3’ in the second-to-last position means Beaufort Force 6, or 22–27 knots. A ‘4’ means Beaufort Force 7, or 28–33 knots. Today would begin with 11–16 knot winds out of the southwest, with rain and a chance of thunderstorms, and then shift to the northwest at 22–27 knots. It was predicted to increase to 28–33 knots the next day. With one eye on the sky, we ate breakfast, broke camp, packed our boats and headed out onto the lake, which was transformed from the previous day. The placid, turquoise waters had been replaced with steely grey heaving waves that loomed larger as they came towards shore and crashed onto the granite and basalt rocks. We marvelled at the tenacious trees that clung to the rocky shoreline and withstood the battering of wind and waves in all seasons. Playing it safe with our heavy, loaded boats, we stayed far enough offshore to avoid the breaking waves but close enough to enjoy watching them collide with the rocks. As we paddled south, the waves built from 1 to 2 m, with occasional sets of 3 m mountains. “Outside!” we shouted each time the largest waves came into view, and we paddled into them rather than risk riding them closer to shore. The headwind and waves slowed our progress to 1–2 knots and shifted our focus from the land to the water. All the intriguing shoreline features would have to wait for another day. We reached Shot Watch Cove by mid-afternoon, named for a pocket watch with a bullet hole found here in the 1970s, and gratefully landed in the protected waters behind an island. From the comfort of another developed primitive campsite, we were able to watch the mayhem out on the lake.
Weather day
“Strong wind warning in effect. Forecast in Mafor code: 13740, 11720, 12630, 13630, 19630.” We didn’t want to take a weather day so soon in our trip, especially given the short distance we had covered the previous day. But after a discussion about the impulse to break camp and slog at least a few miles in order not to feel stuck, and the wisdom of staying put and making up the mileage another day, we chose the latter. This is why the recommended length of time for this trip is 10–12 days. The distance is only 195 km, but between the inevitability of at least two weather days and the desirability of poking into interesting places, that’s a reasonable amount of time. In fact, a weather day during the first 60 km is an opportunity to explore the coastline on land, either by trekking part of the hiking trail or scrambling 22 ocean paddler
along the rocky coastline beaches. Here, the notion that there are no straight lines in nature is defied by veins of quartz in granite rocks and sheer splits through basalt boulders, induced by cycles of thaw and freeze. It’s also a chance to see some of the plants that thrive in this anomalous microclimate: bird’s-eye primrose, blueberries, black crowberry, northern twayblade and Franklin’s ladyslipper, along with ferns and all kinds of lichen. Along the trail, we saw bear scat but (thankfully) no bears; sightings of bears are unusual and encounters extremely rare. Still, it’s wise to store food in a bear box or bear bag or hang it from a tree, and avoid cooking near your sleeping area.
Earliest paddlers
Watching the waves crash ashore, we thought about the people who had passed through this area in the past: the prehistoric Paleo-Indians who lived here 9500 years ago, of whom little evidence remains; the Anishinabe, whose pictographs and pits still dot the shoreline; the Ojibwa First Nation people, who still live along the shore and provide cultural interpretation of the area for visitors; the 17th century explorers who set up French and English trading posts; and the 18th and 19th century loggers, miners, hunters, fishermen and trappers who followed them, some of whose shacks remain in shambles throughout the park. Without the benefit of marine forecasts or boats as suitable to big seas as our sea kayaks, they plied these waters in pursuit of food and fortune. Many no doubt foundered and sank as a result of Lake Superior’s utter indifference to little people who fail to defer to her power. Alec and Keith ventured out briefly in unloaded boats to explore that power. The wind was almost too forceful to paddle into; waves crashed ashore, creating massive clapotis when they rebounded and collided with incoming waves. Boomers exploded over submerged rocks. Our decision to take a weather day was affirmed. That evening we huddled under our tarp as the rain fell and the wind whipped through our camp, hoping the next day would bring better paddling conditions.
Chaotic remains
“Forecast in Mafor code: 13510, 11520, 12520, 19529, 12900.” Overnight, the rain stopped and the winds diminished to 17–21 knots. In the morning, we poked out past our protective island to find the chaotic remnants of the previous day’s waves. Omni-directional waves 2 m high and occasionally larger rose in broken mounds under an ominous sky and broke over shoals as they swept toward the shoreline. After 20 km (hard-earned), we savoured the silence of White Spruce Harbour, where we enjoyed two hours of sunshine before we heard thunder rumbling in the distance. We retreated again underneath our tarp until it was time to climb into our tents.
A tailwind!
“Forecast in Mafor code: 15710, 11710, 12100, 14911.” We sailed south, sometimes quite literally, with our paddles perched on our heads. We felt the contrary tugs of the pressure to make miles and opportunity to explore the shoreline at last. Exploration won out. We tucked into several of the natural harbours where camping is permitted and landings are protected. Sailors and other boaters are grateful for the shelter these natural harbours provide during storms; we were grateful for the way they enabled us to avoid surf landings with our loaded boats. At North Swallow harbour, we bid farewell to the coastal hiking trail. We had been out of range of any roads for 60 km; now we would be out of range of even a hiking trail for the rest of the trip. We soon reached Cascade Falls, made famous by local painter, canoeist and conservationist Bill Mason. The large cobble beach beside the falls was distinctively terraced, with piles of driftwood shoved
up several metres by large waves. We were told that these characteristic terraces were caused by ‘isostatic rebound’, the recovery of the Earth’s crust from the weight of the glaciers that carved this area 10,000 years ago, along with storms and changes to the lake’s level. The rebound initially was as much as 15 m per 1000 years, though it slowed to just 3 m per 1000 years in recent centuries. Despite the recent drought, the falls were still impressive and the pools of deep, clear water beneath them were perfect for jumping into from the rocky shore.
Pukaskwa Pits
At last, we found our first Pukaskwa Pits. These lichen-covered structures are one of the mysteries of the park. Round or oblong, 1–2 m in diameter, they are flat or depressed spots found on cobble beaches, sometimes with short walls surrounding them. Archaeologists believe they were built as early as 1000 BC, but their purpose remains unknown. They might have been storehouses, fire pits, duck blinds, sacred spaces, shelters or something else altogether. There are more than 250 known Pukaskwa Pits in the park; visitors can explore them but are requested not to disturb them. Our day ended at Bonamie Cove, where we settled on a sand beach and enjoyed the suddenly still air. Bonamie (‘good friend’) Cove is believed to have been named by grateful voyageurs who appreciated its refuge after paddling around Pointe La Canadienne to the south. Many features on this coast have several names: Ojibwa names, maritime names, park names and local names. Some seem to have no known names, so we chose to name them ourselves. We called one lunch spot Dragonfly Bay for the large number of prehistoric winged insects we found there. Like the names conferred by the Anishinabe millennia ago, ours will also be lost to history.
Half way
“Forecast in Mafor code: 13900, 13700, 12100, 15210, 11210.” The sixth day began with sunshine and light winds, the weather we had imagined when we pictured our trip, but would have been disappointed to have had every day. We had come to paddle Lake Superior, and we wanted it to behave like Lake Superior. We passed Pointe La Canadienne on calm seas, when the ‘reflection wave danger’ note on our topography map did not apply. A few kilometres later, we reached the mouth of the Pukaskwa River and then Pukaskwa Point, the end of the Pukaskwa National Park shoreline and the start of the Lake Superior Highlands. We were half way through our trip, and we had seen one group of hikers on the coastal trail and one fishing boat far out on the lake. Our concerns about our early slow progress were now allayed; the challenge would be to relax and explore while the possibility of another bout of bad weather remained. We tried not to think about the section considered treacherous in all but calm conditions: the cliffs at Point Isacor.
Le Petit Mort
We landed at Le Petit Mort, a river mouth with a lovely sandbar and a large stone engraved with the name Frank Kushick and the date November 7 1920. Who was he, we wondered? And how did this spot get its name? Did Petit Mort refer to death, or was it a sexual reference? The place exuded mystery. In the woods behind the beach we found a derelict trapper’s cabin, a large stone chimney and an assortment of barrels, vessels, pots and pans. We chose to camp on the beach instead of in the woods, which were just a little too creepy. The composition of the forest had changed. In place of the black spruce, jack pine, white birch and aspen to the north, we were now seeing white pine, red pine, sugar maple, black ash and eastern white cedar. The direction of our travel also changed. After rounding Pointe La Canadienne, the shoreline bent eastwards. If the wind shifted
Essential information Rules and regulations: Paddlers must register their trip in advance with Pukaskwa National Park and pay for park and backcountry camping permits. They must also complete a backcountry orientation before embarking on their trip. For reservations, call 1.807.229.0801 ext. 242 or email [email protected] Information: Dave Wells and his staff at Naturally Superior Adventures offer a wealth of local knowledge. NSA also offers fully outfitted trips as well as guides who can accompany paddlers who are otherwise independent. Call 1.800.203.9092 or visit www.naturallysuperior.com
Allow time to explore rocky islets and grottos along the coastline.
Cascade Falls is one of three major waterfalls along the route.
Logistics: This journey can be done in either direction. To avoid running your own car shuttle, take advantage of the shuttle service offered by Naturally Superior Adventures. NSA also offers camping, a lodge, meals and a well-stocked paddling shop that emphasises kit, books and maps for trips. Call 1.800.203.9092 or visit www.naturallysuperior.com Marine forecasts: Canadian marine forecasts are updated three times daily. They include a regional synopsis as well as local forecasts at specified time increments. For forecasts and more information about them, visit www.weatheroffice.gc.ca/marine Resources and reading Superior: Under the Shadow of the Gods by Barbara Chisholm (Lynx Images Inc., 1998). Stories of people who’ve lived and earned a livelihood on Lake Superior over the past two centuries. The Greatest Lake: Stories from Lake Superior’s North Shore by Conor Mihell (Natural Heritage, 2012). Stories of the people and places along the lake’s Canadian shore. Guide to Sea Kayaking on Lakes Superior and Michigan: The Best Day Trips and Tours by Bill Newman, Sarah Ohmann and Don Dimond (Globe Pequot, 1999). Descriptions and maps for 49 trips of varying lengths. Teasing the Spirit: A Comprehensive Guide to Paddling Pukaskwa National Park’s Coastal Waters by Craig S. Zimmerman (Words for Wildlands, 1996). A descriptive guide to the paddling route. Download from www.mastersswimmingontario.ca/TTS0001.PDF
A typical, sheltered campsite provides a respite from wind.
Coastal Paddling Route Trip Planner (Pukaskwa National Park, 2012). Information about reservations, campsites, gear and leave-no-trace practices for the Pukaskwa National park coastline. Download from www.pc.gc.ca/pn-np/on/pukaskwa/activ/ activ3/c.aspx The Adventure Map: Pukaskwa National Park (Chrismar). Waterproof topo map with historical information and campsites. Buy from www.chrismar.com/P05zPUK1.htm Canadian topo maps: Download and print from atlas.nrcan.gc.ca/site/english/maps/topo/map
About the author and photographer
Alec and Sharon Bloyd-Peshkin are paddlers and coaches from Chicago. They work for Geneva Kayak Center in Chicago, Adventure Crafters in Maryland and Body Boat Blade in Washington State, and also coach at symposia in the US and Canada. They chronicle their paddling and coaching, observations and lessons learned on their blog Have Kayaks, Will Travel (bloyd-peshkin.blogspot.com). They also write and shoot photos for paddling magazines and other publications. They are ambassadors and team paddlers for Werner and Snapdragon. ocean paddler 23
Gazing up, we considered those stars, which have shined above this place for millennia. They’ve cast their light on volcanoes and glaciers, on the Anishinabe and the voyageurs, on traders and trappers, on loggers and fishermen. And now they shined above us.
Far from cities and other sources of light, the night sky emerges.
and blew out of the east or northeast, we would no longer be protected by the land. Of course, that’s just what happened. We battled headwinds on our seventh day, joking about the cosmic justice of our situation. Did we have to pay back every mile of tailwind with a headwind, we wondered, or every hour? As we headed into shore to set up camp, we saw what appeared to be a tent in the woods. Other paddlers? Competition for campsites? Drawing nearer, our suspicions were confirmed: three kayaks sat on the beach and the one protected site was occupied. We landed down the beach from them, where we found boot prints and paw prints in the sand. Wolf, we wondered? Our neighbours didn’t appear to be home so we set up our tents, watched one of them blow away in the wind, then secured both tents with large rocks and tethered them to our boats.
Thunder boxes
Soon one of our neighbours appeared. Shirley, a nurse who lives in nearby Long Beach, was paddling a portion of the route with two of her friends. She came to this part of Canada for a year, fell in love with it, and moved here permanently. That was 37 years ago. She told us that the boot prints we had seen belonged to Joel Cooper, a local conservationist and peregrine falcon monitor who is responsible for installing and maintaining the ten P3s (prefabricated portable privies, better known as ‘thunder boxes’) along this coastline. These simple wood boxes topped with toilet seats keep visitors from adorning the shoreline with wads of toilet paper. The paw prints were not those of a wolf, but of Cooper’s dog. We had met Cooper earlier through David Wells, the owner of Naturally Superior Adventures in Wawa, Ontario. When we asked Cooper what he thought about this stretch of coastline, he spoke about the balance between making the shoreline accessible and keeping it wild. “If you make it too attractive and easy, then you lose the attraction,” he told us. But, he noted, “The coastline isn’t really paddler-friendly for the average paddler.” The exposure, the distance and the inability to communicate all keep people away. Fewer than 200 paddlers a year travel on the coastal paddling trail; of those, fewer than 50 travel all the way from Hattie Cove to Michipicoten Bay. 24 ocean paddler
Dog River
“Forecast in Mafor code: 16120, 14120, 13720.” Northeast winds of 17–21 knots for the next 36 hours. Ahead of us lay Point Isacor with its sheer cliffs for five miles. “Be very wary of Isacor. It is a place wrought with evil ready to suck the life out of inattentive paddlers,” wrote Craig Zimmerman in Teasing the Spirit: A Comprehensive Guide to Paddling Pukaskwa National Park’s Coastal Waters. Wary or not, we packed up and headed back onto the lake. We were rewarded for another day of slogging into the wind and waves when we arrived at False Dog Harbour, which had a far more protected beach than the windy one of the previous night. This was the perfect jumping off point for the following day’s excursion to the Dog River, a detour worth the better part of a day. Depending on the water level, it’s possible to paddle upstream for about a kilometre. There are pictographs on the rocks at the river mouth, which you will only find if you know exactly where to look, and a hiking trail that leads up to Denison Falls, the most dramatic and accessible of the waterfalls on this trip. We hiked the trail to the first set of falls, scaled a sheer wall of rock with the aid of ropes left by previous hikers, and continued hiking to the top of the tall, dramatic cascade. There, we were mesmerised for more than an hour, climbing the blocky basalt slabs to the top of the falls and watching the water plunge down to the rocks and pool below. The river level was low enough that we were able to walk along the shore back to our kayaks. The variety of rocks along it was stunning. We recognized basalt, granite, gneiss and quartz, but knew from reading about this area that we were likely seeing greywacke, siltstone, slate, diabase, gabbro and Precambrian rocks. To us, they provided a visual feast as we clambered back to our kayaks. To those who seek mineral wealth, however, they have long promised profit. This coastline has drawn gold, iron and copper prospectors since the 1800s, and today is threatened by the possibility of trap rock mining for building roads. Superior Aggregates Company obtained permission from the Ontario Ministry of Natural Resources to blast in a quarry near Michipicoten Bay, a plan that Cooper and others oppose because of the
impact it would have on water and air quality as well as wildlife and people in the area. Gravel Watch Ontario, an environmental advocacy group, argues that “Ontario’s aggregate policies and regulations are inadequate to protect our communities, farmland, water, heritage resources and environment.” Local opponents of the mine have received extensive support from environmental organizations in Canada and the United States. So far, blasting has not begun.
Great Lynx offering
As we paddled east from Dog River, we saw paddlers on the horizon again. But this time, as we drew closer, we recognized them. Ray Boucher, a coach at Naturally Superior Adventures, and his wife Patty had been following our progress on our SPOT Satellite GPS Messenger. They had come out to spend the last night with us before accompanying us on our final miles to Michipicoten Bay. They, of course, had enjoyed a tailwind the whole way; we were still pushing into a headwind and beginning to wonder if we’d ever see calm seas. But shortly after Ray and Patty joined us, the wind diminished. Patty explained that she had given an offering to Mishipeshu, the ‘great lynx’ that the Anishinabe credited with causing waves, whitewater and whirlpools, and whom they appeased with offerings of tobacco before setting out on the water. I’m not superstitious, so I attributed the change of weather to good luck (hers, not ours). That afternoon, I realised I was hearing the sound of my paddle for the first time since we left Hattie Cove. At last, the wind had died down. We landed on a sand beach, where we set up camp and cooked our last meal of the trip. Ray provided the first cold beer we’d had in more than a week, and we shared stories around a driftwood bonfire until the sun dropped below the horizon and the Milky Way glowed in the inky black sky. Streaks of light crossed the constellations: the Perseid meteor shower was in full force. Gazing up, we considered those stars, which have shined above this place for millennia. They’ve cast their light on volcanoes and glaciers, on the Anishinabe and the voyageurs, on traders and trappers, on loggers and fishermen. And now they shined above us. So many years have passed and yet this place, like those stars, remains largely undisturbed.
