Destination: Wild Shore of an Inland Sea
June-July 1995
This is an article from WaveLength Magazine, available in print in North America and globally on the web.
Lake Superior's Pukaskwa National Park
by Craig Zimmerman
After hours of planning, we arrived at Pukaskwa National Park to start our Lake Superior sea kayak trip. Pukaskwa (pronounced puck-a-saw) protects 1,878 square kilometres of boreal forest and Lake Superior coastline. Described as the "wild shore of an inland sea", Pukaskwa offers the sea kayak enthusiast an eight to ten day wilderness sojourn along its Coastal Canoe Route.
The Coastal Canoe Route is a renowned paddling experience along the north shore of Lake Superior, offering a diversity of rocky headlands, impressive cobble and sand beaches, protected coves, and numerous islands to retreat behind in the event of uncertain lake conditions. The route normally begins at either the Hattie Cove Visitor Centre or the mouth of the Pic River (see map, p.24), and follows the shore line south to Michipicoten Bay, close to Wawa. The route from Hattie Cove to the Pukaskwa River lies within Pukaskwa National Park, and the remainder of the trip south of the Pukaskwa River is along designated Crown land. Although most paddlers begin at Hattie Cove, we chose to travel in the opposite direction - beginning near Michipicoten Harbour and ending at Hattie Cove.
As we drifted off to sleep that first evening on Indian Beach, our thoughts turned to the words of Reverend George Grant (1872):
"... those who have never seen Superior get an inadequate, even inacurate idea by hearing it spoken of as a lake... Superior is a sea. It breeds storms and rain and fogs, like a sea... It is cold, wild, masterful and dreaded..."
Images of the Edmund Fitzgerald sinking in a November storm raced through my mind. What will Lake Superior have in store for us?
On the morning of May 26, our Superior adventure began with frost, followed by sun and blue sky. After breakfast and packing the boats, winds gusting from the east at 15-20 kilometres per hour pushed us along. We braced occassionally, responding to the wind. As we approached Doré Point, we experienced half-metre swells with minor reflection waves, which bounce back from rocky headlands or shore causing confused seas and difficult paddling conditions. Lake Superior was toying with us, foreshadowing things to come. Around Dore Point, the lake calmed and our apprehensions lessened as we were protected from the wind.
Shortly after mid-day we arrived at Minnekona Point, which is actually two points that harbour a fantastic sand beach sheltered from the north, west and east winds. Paddling up to the beach, we were greeted by a chestnut-sided warbler flitting along the sand, searching for insects.
When we got back on the water, the winds had shifted to the west: instead of being pushed by the wind, we had to paddle into it. We stopped briefly at the mouth of the Makwa River to rest and play in its currents. Paddling another few kilometres, we stopped for the night at a tombolo (a sand bar which connects an island to the mainland). We ate dinner as the sun set and the soft light of evening accentuated the cliffs at Old Woman Bay in Lake Superior Provincial Park.
Leaving the tombolo in the morning, we continued paddling west along the Lake Superior coastline. Reflection waves bouncing off the rocky coast made paddling slightly uncomfortable and very tricky. After a few high and low braces, we arrived at the mouth of the University River.
Leaving our kayaks just above a campsite, we donned hiking boots to journey up to Denison Falls. The trail is about three kilometres over very rugged terrain, marked haphazardly with orange flagging tape. Crossing a small creek that flows in to the river, and scaling a cliff with ropes next to a waterfall, we finally reached our destination. Words cannot describe the sublime beauty of Denison Falls. As we sat there in total awe, our thoughts turned to Bill Mason - his film-making, his canoeing, his painting, and his love for the natural world. As we squinted at the waterfalls in the afternoon sun, I imagined that he was sitting on one of the rock pinacles, enjoying the magic.
We did not want to leave, but the setting sun forced us back along the trail to our kayaks. We decided to camp at the site just downriver, which appeared to be a favorite spot for fishermen. Plywood sheets were nailed up to provide a windbreak, tables and chairs were crudely built, and a sign reading "Dog River since 1763" was nailed to a tree. We hoisted our red tarp as it began to rain, and had a fairly dry evening.
Around midnight we heard a very loud "CRUNCH, CRUNCH, CRUNCH", followed by a pause and then another "CRUNCH, CRUNCH, CRUNCH". It was quite deafening. Before long it seemed we were surrounded by CRUNCHING friends. Porcupines had inundated the site in search of plywood glue. This camp offered a cornucopia of plywood delights that probably attracted porcupines from the entire north-of-Superior area. After a night of noisy symphonies, we found evidence of their plunder the next morning.
Early the next day we saw a large black bear cross the river 100 metres downstream. He was apparently not interested in us and continued on his way. Breaking camp at noon, we floated down the fast water to the mouth of the river. Rounding the last bend, we expected Superior to be as rough as the day before. To our surprise, the lake was calm.
The foreboding Point Isacor loomed in the distance: it supports a five kilometre stretch of high Precambrian cliffs where paddlers will not find any place to retreat in the advent of strong south or southwesterly winds. This is a dangerous place, breeding reflection waves and clapotis. Apprehension mounted.
We paddled into False Dog Harbour. A cabin there would provide adequate shelter in a pinch. Leaving False Dog, we noted that Dog Harbour, indicated by a white triangular navigation marker, would be an excellent camping site.
Paddling towards Point Isacor from Dog Harbour, there are very few sand beach camping locations. This eight kilometre section to the beginning of the cliffs is very rocky. The lake was still calm and the water below the cliffs looked strangely quiescent. After a short discussion and a break, we agreed to paddle as far as possible, with the primary goal of getting around Isacor before the weather changed or the sun set. When we reached the beginning of the Isacor stretch at 3:30 p.m., conditions were still ideal. After a short lunch break, we paddled close to the cliff and were dwarfed by their towering stature. We rested on a tiny boulder beach at the mouth of the Eagle River, just before the Point. A Park brochure describes Eagle River as a preferred camping location, but it looked to us as if the site could be washed away in high wind and wave conditions. Anticipation grew as we started to paddle around Point Isacor. We rounded Isacor to find similarly calm conditions and our fears subsided. Lake Superior smiled on us that day.
Paddling into the sun's glare, we passed Ghost River and landed at a small boulder beach three kilometres east of Floating Heart Bay, fatigued from our 25 kilometre paddle. After dinner, beside a roaring fire, the northern lights danced, grated and pulsated through the sky - a fitting end to a remarkable day.
The morning greeted us with light fog, calm, and overcast conditions. By the time we dipped our paddles into Superior, southeast winds had increased, the lake had become choppy, and the fog had dissipated. As we continued, we noted that many small islands in this area could provide safe refuge if conditions worsened. After passing a great blue heron colony, we arrived at Le Petit Mort Rocks and the Pipe River. Here we found another trapper's cabin and a concrete chimney and fireplace standing alone beside the cabin. Two kilometres further west lay Redsucker Cove, consisting of two long narrow bays but no prime camping spots. Locating a suitable place to erect the tent was difficult, but we finally found an excellent spot on a ledge overlooking the lake.
We awoke the next morning enveloped by thick, dense fog. Visibility was less than 100 metres. Sticking very close to shore, we paddled through the soup. Reference points were visible for only a few moments and then disappeared, only to reappear moments later. Shrouded in veil of grey, the land took on a magical medieval quality. The fog started to lift by late afternoon, revealing a rugged angular landscape. The sun warmed the land and the lake, dissipating most of the remaining fog as we arrived at Chimney Point and the Wheat Bin.
The Wheat Bin is a phenomenal sand beach that is found at the mouth of the Julia River. The beach is 80 to 100 metres wide in places: it could provide camping locations for an entire fleet of kayaks, canoes and other watercraft. The Julia River area was logged in the 1920's.
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After a late lunch and a little exploration we jumped back into our kayaks. Winds were still blowing from the southeast as we paddled in the lee of Pukaskwa Point. Now officially in Pukaskwa National Park, we entered the Pukaskwa River and paddled up to Schist Falls. Returning to the large gravel bar the marks the river's mouth, we paddled out into the lake and stared at a north-facing rock where a large chunk of ice still remained, a clinging testament to winter's icy grip. We camped just north of the Pukaskwa River on a sand beach protected by a cluster of small islands.
The lake had become strangely quiet. In the distance, rumbling indicated that Superior might be mixing up a thunderstorm. On the beach, we quickly set up the tent and tarp in anticipation of what was to come.
Lightning flashed. Winds blew. Sand raced. The tarp fell. We cowered under the tarp, holding it tight to the ground so it wouldn't blow away. The rain pelted so hard that we could feel it in our bones. Looking out from underneath the tarp, we saw our tent doing a rather involved dance. It twisted down the beach, rhumba'd back and then jumped into the air and disappeared. We continued to cook dinner, wondering where we were going to sleep.
The storm passed as quickly as it had begun and we slowly came out from under the tarp to inspect the damage. We did a quick search for the tent and found it within minutes, upright in a protected area surrounded by spruce trees - an idyllic campsite. The sleeping bags were a bit damp but we were delighted to still have a tent. After all this excitement, we crawled in and fell asleep.
The next day we slept in and then spent most of the morning and early afternoon drying sleeping bags and other gear. Everything we owned now had sand in it. We diligently tried to brush, sweep and blow the sand away but were only partially successful. For the remainder of the trip we were plagued by those tiny grains.
The morning fog gave way to sun and we proceeded to paddle around a point into Imogene Cove. The winds had shifted to the northwest and lake swells were rolling to a height of 1.5 metres. We made it around the point and landed on the protected beach at Pukaskwa Depot after paddling only two kilometres. Soon after we landed, the skies clouded over and it began to rain. We set up the tarp again and slept and read for the rest of the day.
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Pukaskwa Depot was a logging community run in the late 1920's by the Lake Superior Paper Company. Trees were felled in winter, and in spring log booms were constructed on Lake Superior and rafts were towed to Sault Ste. Marie for processing. There are still a few remnants of this era: Fletcher's Cabin, made famous by A.Y. Jackson's painting "Bear Cabin", is partially standing, holding on by a thread. Rotting logs mark other foundations, and a grave site remains.
The next morning we attempted to paddle around Point La Canadienne. The sun, blue sky, and calm water around the Depot fooled us into believing Lake Superior was smiling on us again. But as we rounded the Point, we were hammered with strong northwest gusts and large breaking waves that might delight sailors but terrified us. Reflection waves tossed our kayaks like tiny corks on the ocean. We sought shelter behind a very small rock island, and shortly after landed in surf on the windward tip of the point. So far we had paddled three kilometres. We spent the rest of the afternoon waiting for Lake Superior's boisterous mood to quiet.
At 6:00 p.m. the winds calmed and swells were no longer breaking, so we ventured out. Swells were constant at two metres. We slowly made our way along Point La Canadienne. At a predetermined spot, we turned our kayaks into the wind and waves and managed to make it to the calm waters of Bonamie Cove, with a sigh of relief and congratulations all around. We paddled the shoreline of the cove leisurely, to calm ourselves, and camped that evening on Richardson Island at a Park-designated site.
As the sun peeked over the horizon on June 2nd, a snowshoe hare peeked into the tent, nose-to-nose with us. By 8:30 a.m. we were paddling out of Richardson Harbour. Conditions were ideal, with an occasional northwest gust of wind. Following the coastline north, we were often in the lee of the land. As we approached Deep Harbour, wind gusts increased and the lake became choppy again. We made frequent stops to rest and finally landed on the lee of the island that marks the entrance to Deep Harbour.
Following lunch and a quick nap, we surveyed the channel to Otter Island. Hesitantly, we chose to use the wind and waves to our advantage and ferry across the entrance of Deep Harbour to its northernmost point, then dash across the remaining kilometre to the island. Taking our time and sticking close together, we made the crossing with relative ease.
The relentless northwesterlies made paddling difficult up the eastern shore of Otter Island. We landed in a partially protected bay, left the boats, and hiked one and a half hours along the shoreline to spend the night at the Otter Island Light Station. There we cooked dinner, signed the log, and put in a special request to Gitche Gummee (the spirit of Lake Superior) to have the northwest winds blow at someone else.
Our prayers were answered, and the winds shifted gently to southwest in the morning. With the wind at our backs, we made the crossing to the mainland and spent some time at Cascade Falls. One of Bill Mason's favorite painting subjects, the Falls are comprised of three fingers that dangle into Superior.
Under the glare of an immature bald eagle, we paddled away from Cascade Falls and north to Swallow River. Lining our kayaks up the Swallow's small rapids, we heard a distant booming. Given the cloudless sky, a thunderstorm seemed unlikely. Around the next bend, it became very clear what we were hearing - Swallow River Falls, plummeting 30 metres in a relatively unbroken chute of roaring water.
Turning north again we kayaked past Trapper Harbour and Newman's Bay to arrive at the North Swallow River. There lies the southern terminus of the Coastal Hiking Trail, which skirts 60 kilometres of the rugged Superior coast. We paddled the scenic inside route through the islands of English Fishery Harbour and Simons Harbour, and camped for the night at White Spruce Harbour.
Leaving the beach the next day at 2:00 p.m., the winds were still southwest and pushed us north once more. As we approached Nichols Cove and Oiseau Point, a cloud front from the south started to overtake our kayaks, and we worried that the weather would deteriorate. But as we reached the far side of Oiseau Bay for lunch, the sun returned and the front moved south.
North of Oiseau Bay in Gids Harbour, we searched unsuccessfully for a pictograph known to be in the area. Thunder threatened again, so we camped at Fish Harbour. Juxtaposed against a storm raging in the distance, the setting sun provided a remarkable end to the day.
A cloudy day 11 of our wilderness sojourn had turned sunny by the time we reached the Willow River, but the wind was starting to build again. Paddling with metre swells and reflection waves, we finally decided to seek the protected waters of Picture Rock Harbour. We positioned ourselves on an island in view of Campbell Point and ate dinner while waiting for the winds to subside.
Campbell Point is very tricky to paddle around in high wind and wave conditions. A long spine of Precambrian rock that sticks out into the lake, it breeds confused sea conditions that are difficult for any paddler or lake traveller.
At 7:00 p.m. the lake had calmed enough to make the dash around Campbell Point. Superior felt like it was getting ready for a long sleep. The setting sun and undulating swells had a very calming influence. The fading evening light transformed Superior's surface into an artistic palette of soft greys, blues and pinks. We paddled up the mouth of the Pic River to leave Lake Superior and the Coastal Canoe Route a distant memory that we will cherish forever.
Craig Zimmerman is the former Assistant Chief of Visitor Activities at Pukaskwa National Park and is an avid sea kayaker. Catherine Kurucz was his paddling partner on this trip.
This article was reprinted courtesy of Kanawa Magazine. Published four times a year, subscriptions are $15 plus 7% GST per year in Canada, U.S.$15 for USA and international subscriber. Call 519-473-2109.
IF YOU GO
The water is very cold: be prepared. |
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