JENNIFER JOHNSON
Peninsula exits the Thunder Bay harbour for the final time on its journey home to Marathon, Ontario.
It started earlier this year with a phone call from Stan Johnson, president of the Marathon & District Historical Society in Marathon, Ontario.
Would I be interested, he wondered, in a nautical adventure on Lake Superior in early July?
That caught my attention. I grew up in Marathon and have spent the better part of 50 years living within sight of the Big Lake. It has always drawn me to it, and any chance to get on it sounded like a good idea to me.
What Stan had in mind was a tugboat voyage from Thunder Bay along the north shore to Marathon, a long one-day trip of about 185 miles by road and a bit shorter by water.
This would not be an ordinary voyage because the 111-foot tugboat, Peninsula, was no ordinary tug.
Built for the Royal Canadian Navy in a Montréal shipyard during World War II, Norton-W31 was launched November 29, 1943, with a mission to rescue damaged or disabled ships in the north Atlantic Ocean. It was a perilous time with German submarines active along Canada’s east coast.
NEIL McCUAIG
The crew (from left): Travis Conrad, Carl Johnson, Rob Wiebbe, Stan Johnson, Gary McInnes, Vic Kowalki, Leigh Cossey, Deke Dettbarn, George Bott, Ian bestwick, Neil McCuaig, Jim McBride, Gerald Graham, Bill Stadey, Ken Perry, Keith McCuaig and Doug Matheson with his dad’s hat on (that hat made the tug’s original voyage from Halifax).
The tug retrieved damaged frigates and battle-class trawlers, towing them into safe harbor in Nova Scotia.
Norton-W31 survived the war and in 1946 was sold to Marathon Paper Mills, a Wisconsin-based company that had begun operating a pulp mill in a lakeside town. That town, formed in the 1880s to accommodate railway workers putting in the trans-Canada tracks, had been called “Peninsula” and hosted a population of about 12,000, mainly rail workers. Once the tracks were laid, population fell to a low of 23 in the 1935 census.
By 1946, when the decommissioned Navy tug arrived for its new duty, the town’s population had come back up to 2,300 and its name had been changed to “Marathon” in honor of the paper company, which had brought in new jobs. The tug, though, was given the town’s original name of Peninsula.
For 20 years, Peninsula towed huge rafts of 8-foot pulp wood from the mouth of the Pic River to the pulp mill or occasionally as far as Thunder Bay. It became a familiar, and even iconic, sight for anyone living in Marathon during the 1950s and ’60s.
By the late 1960s, the forest industry had changed, and the plucky tug was no longer needed. In 1967 or ’68, it was sold to Western Engineering Services of Thunder Bay and in 1981 was sold again to Gravel and Lake Services Ltd. About three years ago, the tug was laid up and looked to be headed to the scrapyard.
According to Stan, Paul Lecuyer, owner of Gravel and Lake Services, preferred a better retirement for the hardworking tug. Stan, through the historical society, mounted a successful fundraising drive to raise much of the $200,000 needed to buy the tug and to sail it from Thunder Bay back to Marathon.
Before Peninsula could make the journey, Stan needed to check the aging tug’s soundness. During the weeks before the voyage, Stan, along with his brother Carl and others, made sure the tug was shipshape.
Next Stan assembled a crew of 18 (about the same as the tug’s original crew size) based on family ties to the tug or to the region.
My own connection is through my father, who was the shipping superintendent responsible for the Peninsula while it worked in Marathon for the pulp mill.
Also on crew was Doug Matheson. His father, George, was the first captain when the tug worked for the pulp mill. Doug didn’t captain the tug on this trip, but he did take over duties as head barbecue chef and kept our crew well fed with burgers and brats. He also got to wear his father’s captain’s hat as the tug pulled into Marathon. The hat is part of a display at the Marathon museum.
Joining us were Ken Perry, whose father, Percy, was a first mate on the Peninsula and later became its captain, and Jim McBride from Ottawa, whose mother-in-law, Gwendolyn Hastings, christened the tug in 1943.
The chief engineer, mechanic and electrician on this voyage were all Marathon residents, and captain duties were shared by brothers Keith and Neil McCuaig. The McCuaig family of Heron Bay had beachcombed for years along the shore near Marathon, and adopted the small community part of their own family heritage.
With the crew chosen and the Peninsula deemed lakeworthy, the morning of the departure had finally come. It was a beautiful morning as we pulled away from the dock just after 6 a.m. The tug’s former owner Paul, Stan said later, lingered a little long holding the its lines, sentimental about saying a final goodbye. In the harbor, other boats created an escort, and the tug Teclutsa, owned by Paul’s family, gave a water cannon salute.
We watched the city disappear behind Sibley Peninsula as we left Thunder Bay and entered the Lake.
Exiting the bay, we gave way to a large freighter heading toward the city. A heat warning had been issued on land, but on the water, I was glad for my warm jacket. Lake Superior truly creates its own air conditioning.
Off to our left, I could see the old mining community of Silver Islet. Many of the miners’ homes from the late 1800s are now summer cottages. Much like this tug, the hardworking homes served a more leisurely purpose in their “retirements.” Just to the south of us loomed Isle Royale; we weren’t far from the American border.
At the Trowbridge Lighthouse, cottagers came out to wave.
At the front the tug, a few us faced the wind and wondered what it must have been like for First Nations people and early explorers out on Lake Superior’s big waves.
BECKY JOHNSON
On its journey from Thunder Bay to Marathon (the approximate route shown here), Peninsula’s final crew greeted cottagers and other well-wishers.
Up ahead appeared Black Bay Peninsula and St. Ignace Island. Tucked in behind them was Vert Island, where quarries once provided red sandstone for buildings in Thunder Bay, Duluth and Chicago.
We hit the open water. The waves increased slightly and the wind picked up. Those conditions didn’t challenge the Peninsula; it was built to ride the rough waters of the north Atlantic.
Now to our south, we saw only water. To the north, the islands off Rossport came into view. I suddenly remembered going to the fish derbies there with my father before the lamprey invaded. Today, the fishing is returning and the islands host great kayaking spots.
I went up to the wheelhouse to ask Captain McCuaig how far it was to the Slate Islands. We’d pass just south of the islands in about an hour, he let me know. The islands had always been a mysterious place for me. Their woodland caribou, sheltered coves and isolation intrigued me. When the Slate Island lighthouse, towering high on a rock, came into view, I was inspired to promise myself a visit to the Slates.
The islands of Lake Superior’s northern shore have also inspired some of Canada’s best known painters. Lawren Harris, an artist in the Group of Seven, painted many of his best-known landscapes along the Lake during the 1920s. Some of his more famous were of Pic Island, which lay just north of us as we headed for the homestretch.
Not far from Pic Island, Stan realized he needed to verify the Pizza Hut order intended for the meet-and-greet in Marathon. We were treated to a humorous exchange – done on speaker phone – as Stan ordered 12 large pizzas and proceeded to explain our “address” as about 2 miles off Pic Island.
“We don’t have a boat!” the Pizza Hut employee gamely exclaimed, then got the joke when Stan said he was with the historical society. Everyone in town knew the tug was coming.
We had been on the Big Lake for more than 12 hours when a flotilla of small boats came out to meet us as we neared the harbour.
As we got closer, I could see my childhood home up on a hill above the town. There, years ago, I had watched the Peninsula sail into the harbour many times with a boom of wood in tow. Now I was a member of the happy crew returning the Peninsula to its home.
Thinking of his dad when he was the tug’s captain, Doug had mixed feelings, explaining to Stan how great it was to be aboard but how sad “my dad is not here to witness this.” Stan assured him that from the hill above town, his late father no doubt could watch us sailing home.
It was nearly 7 p.m., about 13 hours since departure, and, after some fireworks, we neared the dock where a welcoming crowd had gathered.
Stan summed up the historic journey in two words: “Too short.”
He then elaborated. “The tug ran like a charm and the company was all good. Nobody wanted it to end.”
For Stan and his crew, the next job had just started … getting the Peninsula out of the water and set up as a historic attraction in time for Marathon’s 75th anniversary in 2019.
For me, it had been a journey of nostalgia, a rediscovery of the shore where I live and it inspired me to learn and to see even more.
COURTESY ROSS CARTON
A Tug’s Life
The Peninsula during its incarnation as a pulp mill tug and the tug this summer as it awaited to be removed from the water for its permanent display on the Marathon waterfront. The Marathon and District Historical Society has accumulated items like this scissors from the original ribbon cutting that launched the Norton-W31, the Peninsula’s original name, in 1943.
Peninsula by the numbers: Single Screw Tugboat, built by Montreal Drydock Ltd.; Gross Tonnage: 261; Length: 111 feet (37.19m); Breadth: 27 feet (8.11m); Status: Last remaining example of the Norton Class tugs.
Fundraising continues to preserve the tug at its new site. Find out how you can help at marathondistrictmuseum.weebly.com
This issue’s Journal writer, Gerald Graham recently retired from a career as a journalist with the CBC (Canadian Broadcasting Corporation). He has lived most of his life not far from the shores of Lake Superior and is actively involved in city life in Thunder Bay.