New Lake—New Boat
Chapter One
In the winter of 2006, our son Bill decided to go to Lakehead University in Thunder Bay. He’s an outdoor enthusiast like us and wanted to attend a university that gave him access to the great outdoors. We did a little happy dance, because for years we had been wanting to paddle on Lake Superior— the largest freshwater lake in the world by surface area and this would be our opportunity as we took Bill to and from school. Lake Superior is a natural wonder filled with a fascinating history of shipwrecks, plus absolutely the most unique, sometimes terrifying, wind and water conditions. It stretches across the U.S. and Canada with famously cold, clear waters and stunning coastal landscapes, making it one of the most intriguing lakes in the world. But this lake had to be approached very carefully. Lake Superior’s weather conditions are famously unpredictable, contributing significantly to its hazardous nature. The lake’s vast surface area allows for sudden and severe weather changes, posing a constant threat to those navigating its waters.
I shivered at I researched the lake. Apparently during severe storms waves have reached a height of up to 20 feet or more. But it’s not only the waves that make it dangerous, it also has longshore currents that move parallel to the shore, driven by waves hitting the shore at an angle and rip currents, which are strong, narrow currents, that drive the unwary out to the deep. All in all, it sounded like a pretty challenging prospect. We couldn’t wait to test our paddling skills in this exciting lake. But our investigation did bring one thing to mind— this adventure would require a different type of boat—something able to withstand sudden, gigantic waves at moments notice.
Chapter Two
It was time to switch to kayaks. Kayaks are long, low-profile boats, that can slice through any water conditions, and are close enough to the water to minimize wind affects. In addition, the cockpits can be covered with a skirt, that prevents water from filling the boat. They were the perfect solution for Lake Superior. The only problem was that we didn’t own kayaks and didn’t know how to paddle them—but how hard could it be? Afterall, paddling is paddling—or so I thought. To our delight, that winter the Espanola complex was offering beginner’s kayaking classes. The perfect solution—we signed up right away.
So, there I stood, after work one evening, on the pool deck, paddle in hand, looking at four kayaks bobbing in the pool. The instruction began with teaching us how to get in. I scoffed. “Surely, they can bypass this part—we’re all paddlers,” I mumbled to Bob.
He lifted his eyebrows, shrugging. “Shush, it must be important.”
Crossing my eyes, I turned to watch as the instructor smoothly put her hands on the combing, on each side of the kayak and neatly slid into her seat. Easy Peasy—right? Wrong!
I mimicked her technique, exactly—I thought, but somehow ended up in the water. My kayak remained upright. “Hmmm, how did that happen?” I mumbled, as a red flush surged up my face.
Bob was sitting in his kayak, grinning. “It’s really easy, Lynn.” He whistled a little tune.
I pulled myself out of the water and tried again. A similar result, except this time, I overturned the kayak. Swimming with the kayak to the shallow end, the instructor and I turned it over to mostly empty it. Perhaps paddling isn’t paddling? I never had trouble getting into a canoe.
“Perhaps you can work on your entry, later?” whispered the instructor, as she helped me to get in.
“Ya, I’ll practice.” The snickering stopped, as she moved on with her lesson. “Sure, hope this isn’t a sign, that kayaking is not for me?” I whispered.
Chapter Three
Once I was in the kayak, it wasn’t hard to paddle. With every paddle stroke, I gained confidence. The paddle was two sided, but the strokes were very similar. Before long we were all zooming around the pool, sometimes playing bumper-cars while trying to navigate the small area. I took to it pretty well, I thought, but as time ticked by, I seemed to get slower, and was unable to make the turns that I thought that I had mastered, earlier. I stopped at the edge of the pool for a breather, but pushed off when I saw the instructor coming my way. More attention, I didn’t need. Valiantly, I tried to pick up the speed, but slowly realized a strange phenomenon—I was sinking. Well, okay, I wasn’t exactly sinking, but my kayak and I were definitely lower in the water. In addition, I noticed that there was a distinct sloshing sound when I’d lean into a turn. I took a glance behind me and gasped. “Did you give me a kayak or a submarine?” My stern was totally submerged. It was suspended about six inches below the surface of the pool.
The snickers began, again. “Having trouble?” said Bob, with a sassy grin.
I tried to splash him, but fell out, instead. The sinking stern filled with water, made the kayak very tippy.
“Everyone, gather around,” said the instructor. “This is a good lesson.” She got into the pool with me, to help pull the really, really heavy kayak onto the deck, then reached down and pulled open my stern hatch. “Look, everyone, the hatch is full of water—which is why you sank. This hatch has no inner seal, so when you tipped over earlier it must have started to fill with water, gradually filling up as you paddled.” She grinned at me. “Always check your hatches, before you paddle.”
“Sure, hope this isn’t an omen—I don’t want to be the next Edmund Fitzgerald, on Lake Superior.” Everyone laughed, including me.
Chapter Four
Training was over and we were ready to tackle our first trip on Lake Superior. We had purchased kayaks of our own, but we opted to start with a guided trip. We signed up for a one-day paddle, with an adventure company from Rossport, a small town, nestled into a cove about two hours east of Thunder Bay. After dropping our son off at school, we headed back to Rossport. Our guide lived and worked in the area and was an expert on the quirks of this Great Lake. The plan was to kayak out to the lighthouse on Battle Island, a 9.3 km paddle from the Rossport Marina. This lighthouse was built in 1871, to guide boats through the dangerous rocks and currents of the area. It stood alone, unprotected against the full power of Lake Superior, with it’s unpredictable and relentless storms.
Early in the morning, we arrived at the Marina, where we were fitted with kayaks. Long, sleek seventeen-foot sea kayaks. “Hmm, these are longer than the kayaks that we bought,” I murmured. “I wonder why?” I shrugged, as my eyes roved over the sparkling water, little wavelets dancing on its surface. The lake looked like it went on forever, outlined by a jagged, rocky coastline, a few islands sprinkled randomly, here and there. It was a relatively calm morning, when we headed out, although, I was told that even on a tranquil day, you could feel the constant underswell. As we shoved off from shore, I experienced that deep, underlying swell—it left me with the uneasy feeling that things could change in the blink of an eye.
Chapter Five
We pushed off from shore and quickly fell into a steady paddling rhythm alongside our guide, who pointed out places of interest as we paddled. The kayaks ate up the kilometers as we smoothly glided into the dock at our destination, on time for lunch. We gathered our packs and started out along the winding path that led to the lighthouse. The path was like no other—moss covered the ground and the trees. Every branch had long beards of moss, dangling from it. It felt like we were walking through some fairy tale—so surreal. Along the way we passed an old truck, hidden beneath the undergrowth, like it was being reclaimed by nature. We trekked along this trail until we reached the gigantic rock outcrop, where the lighthouse towered over us.
You had to look way up to see the great light, that was blinking, despite the daylight. We were told by our guide that the night that the Edmund Fitzgerald sunk, the waves were high enough to smash the light in the lighthouse. I looked up in awe—it was fifty feet from water level to the top. Then my eyes scanned the calm water. I shivered—what if?
We sat by the shore for a while, enjoying a view that could take your breath away, but calm waters on Lake Superior are not to be wasted, so our guide directed us back to the kayaks. It was late afternoon—I was surprised that the lake was much more active than before. Small waves had started to form and the underswell had grown noticeably. Time to head back to Rossport, before wind and waves made it impossible. We headed back. Chased by ever growing waves, we made it back to shore, safely. Our first trip—a success. We left there the next day, wondering what adventures lay ahead.
