Just a few weeks hence, it will be time to return Skipper Sam II to the waters of Lake Superior. 

Anticipation for each new season can sometimes be momentarily satisfied by remembering adventures and misadventures of seasons past, like our 1999 cruise to the top of the lake …

It was well into August when we cleared Ontario’s Thunder Bay Harbour and started for Sleeping Giant, the rugged cliffs forming the eastern side of Thunder Bay. 

Reflecting on the lateness of the season and our goal of Rossport, we discussed thanking the legendary lake spirit - called Michipeshu, the Great Lynx, by the Ojibway - for continued safe passage. Those not properly respectful of Michipeshu, it is said, risk a thrashing of its tail. 

Passing Thunder Cape, the lake remained amiable to Skipper Sam II’s crew … but not for long.

And we were in for a thrashing, but I’ll hold that story for a moment. On our 1999 cruise we dealt with significant weather again and again, enjoying quite a bit more time on the beaches. Skipper Sam II got under way in early August, a full month late for top-of-the-lake cruising. 

By the time we reached Thunder Bay, the weather turned in our favor, at least briefly. A couple of days later, as the grandeur of Thunder Cape - the Sleeping Giant’s full name - fell behind us, discussion of respecting Michipeshu was brief in the light of a beautiful day. We passed Lighthouse 10, a fabled link to the past, and found it freshly painted with the distinctive bright white and red characteristic of Canadian aids to navigation. 

Before long the entrance to sheltered Loon Harbour greeted us. Formed by Spain, Borden and Lasher islands, this anchorage has been used and noted in logs and diaries for hundreds of years. Surrounding islands enhance the safety and bear names like Helen, Sweetland, Gordeau and, of course, Swede.

Many are the tales of the hopes and dreams of long departed inhabitants. You feel the almost real presence of ghosts. Yes, ghosts … you are never really alone in Loon Harbour. As sleep beckoned, eerie silence pervaded our darkened boat.

Leaving this group of islands, many boaters move northwest into Otter Cove, a sheltered anchorage. Since our goal was Rossport, we moved northeast to use the good weather. Approaching Fluor Island, on the eastern side of the beginning of Nipigon Channel, the incredible, almost vertical cliffs drew notice from all of us, though one comment did nag at me: Why aren’t we seeing any other boaters?

To many this is the most impressive part of Lake Superior for as many reasons as colorful words can express. The real magic lies in seeing a grandeur that few of us are privileged to visit. With sobering realization my imagination goes wild. I see canoe loads of voyageurs drinking in the sights, steamboats hauling supplies and picking up fish, and a stream of prospectors knowing they were but days and a few miles from “striking it rich!” 

As the passing islands generated constant comment, the weather reports on the radio confirmed the value of heading toward the sheltered “CPR Slip” on St. Ignace Island. Named for the Canadian Pacific Railroad, this was a fishing outpost for favored visitors to the railroad lodge in Nipigon in the early 1900s. 

We’ve been there several times, and the entrance requires great care. The chart shows visible and barely submerged rocks with limited depths between. Unfortunately, I’d forgotten the safety automatically provided by past higher water levels. 

We approached slowly, seeking the usual tight but safe path. I realized that the bottom was clearly visible all around us as Lake Superior - or Michipeshu - asserted itself. We were moving sideways! The bottom rising toward us was bad enough, but having no control was spooky. We were going aground, so I put the engines in neutral. After obvious contact with the rocky bottom, we began moving - sideways again - away from the rocky beach but toward the shore!

Charts and log pages like these make longtime membership in the Great Lakes Cruising Club invaluable to Jim Marshall.

Special mate Stan Salmi and I looked at each other in shocked surprise; we were in the clutches of a significant Lake Superior seiche (SAYSH). These are very real - but often spoofed - relatively local movements of water. We gained the inner harbor and tied up, knowing that at least one of the propellers had been damaged.

As we regained composure, Stan and his mate Sally pointed at the adjacent beach. More and more of it was exposed as the water dropped. The seiche ran 9 to 12 inches up and down, every 20 minutes. 

This peculiar activity on Lake Superior has been noted in diaries and reports for hundreds of years. It is thought to be activated by divergent barometric pressures over areas of the lake. One well-documented report describes the river at the Sault Ste. Marie locks suddenly draining for several hours back into the lake, leaving a strange propeller exposed at a point normally 12 feet under water. This remnant from the first propeller-powered boat on Lake Superior is now displayed at the locks.

We would watch “our” seiches in amazement on the way to Rossport, where we encountered three sailboats whose crews reported a seiche in excess of 36 inches in the Slate Islands. 

But first, proceeding at reduced power, we enjoyed both the rugged beauty of Simpson Island and the shelter of Battle Island, where the lighthouse appeared in excellent condition. 

Reaching our goal and finding that the fully sheltered inside of the Rossport dock was open was special. Finding fuel, power and water on the dock was extra special. For more than 30 years we’ve hauled fuel cans from Schreiber 12 miles away.

Seeing two old friends, Lynda Blanchette and Greg Richard and their fine yacht, Ogima II, across the dock was frosting on the cake! This wonderful couple spends summers offering three-hour scenic tours out of Rossport. After I described my propeller problem, Greg donned his scuba suit. In a few hours our spare port-side propeller was installed. A significantly bent one was stowed for the long trip home. 

Soon the lake tossed another, more positive, lesson to us. It sent our way a fine teacher, one fellow who’s really “seen it all.” Old friend Ray Kenney is just about everything any of us would admire. As he walked down the dock toward us this August day 1999, he was enjoying the fifth month of his 91st year!

At 91 years young, teacher Ray Kenney has a lot to offer about the history of the Ontario north shore.

Ray inquired whether we needed to visit the Schreiber grocery - and would we like a tour of the area? Well yes, you bet! And then we spent a wonderful afternoon with Ray and some of his memories.

It was 1930 when Ray took his new bride to Rossport, where he had his first full-time job - teaching in a one-room school with 35 kids, kindergarten to grade eight. The closest high school was 12 miles away, in the railway town of Schreiber. As author Larry Sanders described Ray Kenney: “Every morning before teaching … he’d drive a carload of high school kids to Schreiber down a dusty cow path that would someday be called ‘the Trans-Canada Highway.’ After teaching all day in Rossport, he’d drive back to Schreiber and pick everyone up for the ride home.”

On summer days and weekends, Ray ran his charter boat Yennek (“Kenney” spelled backwards). 

What a privilege to know this wonderful man! We didn’t really mind when the weather again asserted its dominance and kept us at Rossport for two more days. 

As we finally started for home, we agreed that it is good sometimes to let the lake guide you to what is really important. I’ll remember that this season, too.

A selection of Jim Marshall’s columns of lake lore and his inland sea voyages has been published as Lake Superior Journal: Views from the Bridge by Lake Superior Port Cities Inc. Follow this link for more information.

Feedback: jrm@lakesuperior.com