Lake Superior
July 2, 2001
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| Lake Superior |
The “First Nation” Ojibway Indian word defines Pukaskwa as “eater of fish.” Pukaskwa is a large, mostly wilderness, Canadian national park along “Ketchegummee,” as Lake Superior is known to the Ojibway. According to a Reverend Grant in 1872, “. . . those who have never seen Superior get an inadequate, even inaccurate idea of hearing of it spoken as a lake. Though its waters are fresh and crystal, Superior is a sea. It breeds storms and rain and fog, like the sea. It is cold in midsummer as the Atlantic. It is wild, masterful and dreaded . . .” It is so large that it holds one-tenth of all the surface fresh water on earth – an almost unbelievable statistic.
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| Pukaskwa National Park |
When we arrived at this Canadian park Visitor Centre at 4:30 P.M. on Saturday, someone mentioned that a boat ride was available at 10:00 A.M. on Sunday morning. So, at 9:30 on Sunday morning we were ready. Keith McCuaig appeared in his diesel-powered boat and we idled out of the calm Hattie Cove in Ontario into the turbulent Lake Superior. It was shirtsleeve weather when we arrived at the park, but out on the water, we could see our breath in the cold air. (The water temperature of Lake Superior averages about F 40 year around.) As Keith hit the throttle, the diesel engine roared, the boat hit large waves and spray came over the top of the boat. It was rough and we both wondered briefly about the wisdom of taking such a trip. We were provided with life jackets, but we had also just read a story by some fellow named Craig Zimmerman about his frightening experience in the lake:
“The canoe capsized. Gasping, we plunged into the coldest and deepest of all the Great Lakes – Superior. In mid-May, seventy-five meters from the rocky shore, we held arms across the spine of our canoe and stared at each other in disbelief, fear and uncertainty. Lake Superior’s chilling water was having an immediate effect. Our breathing was rapid, fingers and limbs were slowing and rational decisions seemed impossible. The Lake seemed to be pulling us into her dark grave.”
“Time was against us. With all of our effort we righted the canoe, drained what water we could, and climbed into what soon might become a water-logged coffin. Paddling to shore, still partly immersed, our body systems continued to deteriorate. We crashed onto the rocks and with difficulty extricated ourselves from the canoe. Lighting a fire proved impossible. We shivered convulsively. Taking most of our wet clothes off, we huddled together on sun-soaked-basalt, trying to warm up. Slowly, ever so slowly, we realized we were out of danger.”
But Pat and I were not in a canoe; we were the only passengers in a large, twenty-seven-foot, steel-hulled boat whose captain assured us that he had never been tossed into the Lake Superior waters and had no intention of ever having such an experience. We began to warm to the pounding, rolling, wet conditions and actually enjoyed the experience. “Sorta like riding a wild, unbroken horse in a cold Texas Norther,” I thought.
After about forty minutes, we entered a narrow gap in the rocky headlands into the shelter of the White River. As we idled carefully past some large, shallow rocks and a couple of miles upriver, Keith explained that his boat was something of a hobby. He lives in the nearby town of Marathon, Ontario, where he is an accountant. His dad also operates a boat chartering service that specializes in transporting park hikers, canoeists and kayakers to their favorite wilderness spots along the shores of Pukaskwa.
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| Chigamiwinigum Falls |
As we approached the boat landing, we could see the seething, foamy waters of Chigamiwinigum Falls as it crashed through a narrow rock canyon. The boat landing was composed of a large, floating log chained beside a rock cliff. Keith placed a plank from the boat to the log, we teetered down the plank and scrambled over whatever footholds we could find till we reached a small beach. “To reach the hanging bridge over the falls, simply hike up this trail and make sure to make a sharp turn at the trail intersection. I’ll return for you in two hours.” Keith said. If we missed that turn, we would be headed along the Coastal Hiking Trail, where we could travel through the park wilderness for several days. There are no stores where we can resupply water or food along this trail. We might see no other humans for days. However, we might see remnants of a woodland caribou herd that are able to survive this far south partly because of the cold climate afforded by Lake Superior.
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| Hanging Bridge |
At the trail intersection, we made the appropriate turn and soon saw the bridge hanging over the roaring falls. “I’m not going over that thing,” Pat announced. The bridge was composed of four cables, two for hand rails and two to hold the slats of wood that served as steps. Every step caused the bridge to sway, and the foaming water in the river far below could be seen through the wide spaces in the slats. “Will this flimsy-looking contraption hold me up?” I wondered when I was about half way across. Then I thought about the hikers with their large backpacks full of gear, who had successfully crossed and my mind was put more at ease. I tried not to think of those who may not have made it.
The White River serves as an old and current canoe route between White Lake and Superior. There are several falls and rapids on the river that must be portaged. According to officials of Pukaskwa Park, when water begins to speed up on the river and you suspect rapids or falls ahead, it is better to portage your canoe around the falls than to take a chance you might not survive a canoe ride over wilderness waterfalls. While swaying on the hanging bridge, I wondered if any of the old French voyageurs, who trapped beaver in this area, ever made the mistake of failing to portage these falls. If so, there might be human bones somewhere at the bottom of this river alongside some beaver traps.
After returning across the bridge, we continued on the trail up the river to the base of a second falls. We never really saw the falls, only a large cloud of mist at the bottom of the falls. To see the falls required several long jumps onto wet rocks in the rushing river. Neither of us was up to the task. A pair of Spotted Sandpipers frantically tried to lure us away from a fuzzy chick that escaped across the large rocks on the bank. Checking my watch, we had only ½ hour before Keith returned with the boat. “I almost hope that we don’t see any exotic birds on the way back, or we won’t make it in time,” I told Pat. So, as you might have guessed, about halfway back, a mother Ruffed Grouse stood in the trail ahead of us with her crest raised – as if daring us to try to pass through her brave trail block. Her six fuzzy chicks scurried out into the woods and she soon followed.
As we neared the boat landing, Pat heard a warbler beside the trail. “Keith might be here any minute, but let’s see if we can find the bird,” I said. I caught a glimpse of a yellow throat high in a Birch tree and thought it was another Magnolia Warbler – like several others we had seen recently. I went ahead down the trail to make sure that Keith had not yet arrived, then hurried back to see if I could again see the warbler. We had been searching for a Canada Warbler for several days. Canada Warblers are very inquisitive and will investigate strange noises. I made the familiar “pishing” sound that birders often use to attract sparrows, warblers and other birds. Almost instantly, a yellow and black bird flew out of the woods and landed on a limb only a few yards in front of me. The light was excellent, revealing a black necklace on a yellow chest, a gray back and yellow eye-ring. It was just like the picture in the book! Now we had found our first ever Canada Warbler. Pat also saw it clearly for a verification. We danced down the trail in time to see Keith’s boat arrive with another couple of passengers. When we announced our find, Keith and the two girl hikers seemed somewhat impressed. But, what impressed them more were blackflies.
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| Canada Warbler |
Blackflies are not all bad according to the Pukaskwa Visitor’s Guide! Yes, they have short, saw-like mouthparts that cut through the skin, then they lap up the blood. It takes three to five minutes for them to complete feeding, so you have time to swat them before they are through. But they are sneaky and can get into the hairline on the back of your neck without being noticed. They leave a sizable, bloody wound that itches when your body has an allergic reaction to their saliva. That’s the bad part! The good part is that fish, birds, bats, toads, frogs, dragonflies, and many other insect-eating wildlife depends on mosquitoes and blackflies for part of their food supply. Also, blackflies are a major pollinator of blueberries. So when you donate your blood to a feeding blackfly, just stop and think that you are doing your part for the healthy ecology of the region. A healthy ecology means more warblers. Who knows, maybe partly because of blackflies, we may be able to find the Mourning and Cape May Warblers that we still seek.
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