by Jerry Harpt

Observations from a Kayak
Paddling Our Magnetic North

‘In the event that one of us capsizes, stick together, face into the waves and paddle in place while we complete the rescue.”

The words came from Conor Mihell, our Naturally Superior Adventures kayak guide, as we prepared to cross a channel that was producing 3- and 4-foot waves plus strong winds. It was both an exciting and an exhilarating moment, one of many during my favorite week of kayaking - ever.

No experienced kayaker should miss the thrills and beauty of Ontario’s side of Lake Superior. Its basalt outcrops, pristine islands, sea otters, arctic vegetation, old fishing villages, lighthouses, pictographs, quiet coves, caves, sea swells and crashing waves all captivate you, big time.

After battling 5-foot waves, kayakers on a guided wilderness trip in Ontario were picked up by the Iron Lady, a trawler moored in a cove. The author, in the foreground, awaits his turn. Photo by Dave Bates.

I hooked up with Naturally Superior Adventures, a highly professional outdoor guiding group whose headquarters are based on a basalt outcrop that juts into Lake Superior at the mouth of the Michipicoten River near Wawa, Ontario. It offers a variety of outdoor activities, including eight one-week sea kayak wilderness trips that envelop virtually all of Ontario’s Lake Superior shore.

During my chosen portion of the adventure - Leg No. 2 - two guides and eight guests covered the waters from Sleeping Giant’s Sibley Peninsula to Rossport. We toured Canada’s first National Marine Conservation Area, covering 25,000 square kilometres; 733 islands, 600 of which will always be left in their virgin state, were part of the décor. We couldn’t even bathe or brush our teeth near the water.

Our group had home bases in Germany, Columbia, Canada, Minnesota and Michigan. Besides our youthful guides, most of us were beyond age 50. Two of us tipped the scales at 71 and I’d bet money on either.

We started our venture by ferrying 4 miles, into 2- and 3-foot chop, from Sibley Peninsula across Black Bay in the direction of two major hills on Black Bay Peninsula.

We soon rounded Black Bay Peninsula and experienced our first Lake Superior swells, those gentle lifts and drops that mesmerize. Eventually, we found a small protective cove on Island No. 10. We spent the night there, nurtured by an old wooden, red-and-white lighthouse known as Shaganash Island Light. Twenty islands shared our little piece of heaven. We found agates and geodes among the beach pebbles.

The next morning we woke up to glassy water. Before we departed, we followed an Ojibway custom by placing tobacco into the water to show respect for Mishipeshu, the Great Lynx of the lake who can cause waves and whirlpools. We needed a benign mood from Mishipeshu; we were encased in fog.

Kayaking Lake Superior is surreal under any condition. We had gourmet lunches within the confines of volcanic coves or on gentle island rises that overlooked Isle Royale, other islands and the few additional kayakers who journeyed into the magnetism of Lake Superior. One lunch took place on Paradise Island where massive patches of arctic lichen resemble fields of mature cauliflower. Its gravel bank has several levels or terraces, a product of “isostatic rebounding,” the steady rise of the land, (about 4 feet per century), since the mile-high glaciers receded some 10,000 years ago.

During a guided kayaking trip on Lake Superior in Ontario, provided by Naturally Superior Adventures, Tom Mack takes time to do some reading at the first island campsite. Photo by Jerry Harpt.

As each day progressed, we became more comfortable handling waves, chop and winds. On our fourth day, we found a protective cove on St. Joe’s Island and pitched our tents. Fifty yards over the rise from our kitchen site, Lake Superior was threatening to rock.

We never left our cove the next day as the Big Lake unleashed its fury, crippling our plans with dense fog and roaring waves. After lunch, our third day on St. Joe’s, we packed our kayaks. The weather was supposed to start bleeding. It was imperative that we make a channel crossing, a channel loaded with whitecaps.

During the next 40 minutes, we encountered 5-foot waves, chop, and side winds at 25 knots. Waves washed across our decks and slapped our chests while wind gusts pressed against our bodies and paddles. We popped about the chop and swells like rubber duckies in a kid’s bathwater.

“Concentrate. Concentrate,” I kept telling myself.

We arrived safely on the leeward banks of an island and rested while Conor scouted out our next passage. When he came back, he said, “It ain’t gunna happen.”

We followed him in the direction of a protective cove where a 15-ton trawler, the Iron Lady, was moored. To our good fortune, the trawler encountered 15-foot seas and decided to turn back to the safety of Rossport Harbor.

In no time, our 10 kayaks were safely on board.

During our two-hour trawler ride to Rossport, I asked the first mate where we could buy a bottle of wine for our evening’s dinner. He said that there was no such place.

Well, when we got to Rossport and finished taking our kayaks off the trawler, Conor came up to me and gave me a bottle of wine.

“Compliments of the Iron Lady,” he said.

How’s that for a fairy tale ending?

This issue’s Journal writer: Jerry Harpt is a retired schoolteacher and coach who has been doing travel, adventure and human interest writing for about 15 years. He enjoys cross-country skiing, kayaking, biking, in-line skating and hiking and, lucky for him, lives on the Menominee River, which separates Upper Michigan and northeast Wisconsin. He calls Wallace, Michigan, home.