Conquering Superior and Beyond
Before very long, just over the horizon and directly north, the outline of a landform appeared. As I drew closer, I realized that it was Beaver Island. The storm had done me a favor and saved me a half-day of sailing to get to this point. In spite of the wretched night that I had, being this close to the top of Lake Michigan was a bonus. In a couple of hours, with a good tailwind, I spotted what I was looking for, the span of the Mackinac Bridge emerging from the horizon up ahead. As I passed under, the bridge was still intact, and there weren't any vehicles stranded on it. Still, with no one on the roads, it was a bridge to nowhere.
I stopped for lunch at Mackinac Island. Dropped anchor and rowed in to take a look. With the drone I quickly surveyed the island, finding it to be also partially burned, overgrown, rundown and with no one in sight. This place had been an attraction for over a century because there were no vehicles on the island except horse and buggy, so that everything operated at a slower, pre-1900, pace. But it was still a tourist attraction, and therefore suffered the fate of all of society. Alone, the island wasn't sustainable, just like everything else.
After lunch, I sailed with some urgency. First east, for about an hour, until I found a way to sail north again into a narrow passage between the lakes that was comforting because there was shoreline on both sides. I was now on the invisible US/Canada border and sailing past majestic islands northward and then, northwestward until I reached Sault St. Marie in late afternoon and knew that I was now on Lake Superior. Already, the huge waves coming in told me that I was about to challenge the big one the native Ojibway called gichi-gami or great sea. The one that I had some real concern about.
I pulled up in the shelter of Whitefish Point for the night and anchored by the quiet shore. Once again, Rocky and I went ashore and had an evening meal of salmon. It still tasted good a day old. The rest had been drying on the deck all day and I hoped I would be able to eat salted dried salmon for lunch the next day on the water. The night was uneventful and I was grateful for that. Because I knew the leg ahead would be challenging.
When I came out from the shelter of Whitefish Point in the morning at dawn, I was met with huge swells coming from all the way across the lake driven by the wind. But my sailboat was made for such water and glided up and down over those swells without the pounding that came with powerboats. Even Rocky didn't mind as I tacked into the wind northwest and hung onto the tiller for all I was worth until I was able to tie it down. We were off.
In spite of the size of Lake Superior, I figured that my destination on the North Shore was only about 100 miles away. I was doing from 10 to 15 knots and thought that I could make it across in daylight at the rate I was going. On this fourth day out on the water, the wind and the sun did a number on me and I became somewhat disoriented by midday tending to the tiller and sails. I decided to take the sails down for lunch and take a rest.
With the wind drifting us a bit off course without an anchor, Rocky and I sampled the dried salmon that had been on the deck sunning and drying for two days. It was good, but much better with added salt. After a brief rest, I raised the sails again and we got underway. I'm not a praying man, but I prayed I think that we wouldn't face a storm, and we didn't. Finally, in late afternoon, I saw Isle Royal and we passed around the north side of it, making Thunder Bay by nightfall and shelter of the coast.
My time as a sailor was over for that sailboat. But it had been one of the most enjoyable times of my life that I remember so well. Made me wish that I had tried sailing in the ocean. But the Great Lakes was as close as I would get. Rocky and I slept in the boat one last night. I knew I would miss that boat and its gentle rocking security in the mosquito and deer fly infested wilderness ahead. But I was determined to return to the hunting lodge. I had come a good way already, and nothing was going to stop me now.
Thunder Bay was full of critters of all kind. Most of them totally unafraid of me, but more so of Rocky. It was fun watching him chase otters by the Superior shore. They seemed to be playing with him, taunting and then, diving in the water just as he got to them as he chased up and down the shoreline. Seagulls and crows also gave him his exercise. I had to watch my foodstuff for sneaky raccoons, squirrels, crows and blue jays. There was claw evidence on the remaining buildings that bears frequented the place.
I spent a couple of days in Thunder Bay salvaging what I would need for my trip north. I found both a fiberglass and an aluminum canoe. Both were serviceable and could, perhaps, make the whole trip north possible. Where I found the fiberglass canoe there was also a repair kit for it. I checked, and the resin had not completely dried out because it was properly sealed. The fiberglass canoe had less space, but weighed about 50 pounds compared to the aluminum one at about 75 pounds.
I decided on the fiberglass canoe and began building a wooden frame undercarriage that I mounted four wagon wheels and axles to allowing me to pull the canoe with a harness that I fashioned. It pulled quite easily, even uphill, so I created a harness for Rocky so that he could share the duty of pulling along with me. We both tried it out and found the rig quite easy to use. Rocky was very happy to do his part. He was in his prime now, big and strong.
On the third morning just after a heavy rain overnight, we set off with the canoe piled heavy with my supplies for the long trip north--including three solar panels and two heavy batteries. In the front of the canoe was my crossbow, my shotgun, and my rifle. I never knew when I would have to use one or the other in a hurry. I also carried the last of my bear spray, Roman candles and flares, hoping that I wouldn't run out before I got to the lodge. I didn't want to kill a bear or wolves, but if it meant Rocky's life, I was prepared to.
We took Canada 17 north that first day, walking at a very good clip. After the rain, it was cool and we followed the shoreline for about 20 miles before it fell away and we were going through virgin territory with tall trees on either side of the narrow two-lane road as it wound through the wilderness north. Rocky and I took turns pulling the canoe. In both cases, I carried a rifle and stopped every hundred yards or so to scope ahead for any danger. The most eminent danger was the deer and horse flies that would land on me when I took off my jacket. I found myself swatting all day long. So was Rocky. Rocky would be turning around and biting them in kill mode. Nasty pests in bright sunlight.
There were a lot of deer and fawns that were nibbling on the young shoots next to the road. We saw beaver, rabbits, ground squirrels, many birds, some turtles, and garter snakes sunning on what was left of the asphalt road that wound through the deep forest like out of some mythical book. Occasionally, a tree had fallen across the road and required me either to take the rig into the forest around it or take it apart and manhandle the loaded canoe over the tree. But that didn't hold us up much and we made good mileage that first day. In fact, late in the afternoon, we had covered almost 40 miles and came upon an inlet to a very large Lake Nipigon where I decided to make camp for the night.
As usual, with the first cast, I caught a 30 inch northern. While cleaning it, a squirrel appeared and I dispatched it with my crossbow, allowing us to have a kind of surf and turf dinner. Rocky enjoyed it more than I. He loved cooked food over an open fire. He always waited for me to clean and cook his food. He was domesticated, after all. No, really part of my family with his brother, Charlie, missed greatly at times like this.
With the smell of cooking in the air, I quickly strung my electric perimeter and set it to working for the night. I propped up the canoe against a couple of big trees and then strung the tarp from the trees to stakes in the ground to make a lean to tent for the night. Closing off the entrance with mosquito netting, Rocky and I were all set. The exertion of the day had us sleeping quickly. I woke up in the middle of the night to a shuffling sound, but determined it was a raccoon nosing around our camp and went back to sleep. It was warm in that tent, but better than lying out in the open where the mosquitoes were mercilessly ferocious.
The next morning, I took a look at the lake, and decided that I would take it, always heading northward, until we would reach a river taking us to Hudson Bay. I couldn't wait. We were on the water early, the canoe piled high with supplies and the carriage, with a makeshift sail from the tarp already making good time, tacking northward in pristine waters.
