On and Off the Beaten Path by Carole Bell Ford

The second article in a series on a month-long trip in our new camper. 

“Adventures with Mr. Worry.”

 By Carole Bell Ford

Part II- Great Lakes: On Lake Huron, Manitoulin Island to Sault Ste. Marie

Samuel de Champlain, the 16^th/17^th century French explorer and navigator who mapped much of northeastern North America called Lake Huron La Mer Douce, the sweet sea—referring to its fresh water, not its temperament. In some places, especially on a gray and windy day, you can easily believe that it is an ocean, and that it can become ferocious. There are at least two museums that we know of along the Great Lakes, dedicated to wrecks brought about by ships that floundered in raging storms, or that were overturned by giant, 30-foot waves.

 Lake Huron on a very gray, windy day.

 But on our trip Lake Huron was well behaved and the waves were gentle. Looking out at the lake gave me the same feeling I used to have when I was a young girl looking out at the horizon from Brighton Beach, trying to imagine Europe on the other side and how big the ocean was. Although Huron is not the largest of the Great Lakes (that one is the appropriately-named Lake Superior) it seems to go on forever.

Manitoulin Island sits in the northern extremity of Lake Huron and the first campground we stayed at, on the island’s southern bay, was right on the water’s edge. Although traveling off-season has its drawbacks, one benefit is that you can get the best campsites; this one was completely and serenely beautiful.

 Camping on Lake Huron

Manitoulin is quite large for an island, particularly a fresh-water island: about 120 by 50 miles. Most of it is farmland and there are long distances—twenty or more miles—between its scattered settlements and small towns. While it’s a favorite summer destination, by October, as in the rest of Ontario, most of the resorts and many of the restaurants are closed down for the season; others were preparing to close by the end of the month. But there was much to enjoy of its natural beauty. There were some very wonderful sights to see as we drove from one end of the island to the other: the perfect half-circle of Paradise Bay; salmon swim upstream in Gore Bay (where we had fresh whitefish for lunch); Bridal Veil Falls on a perfect fall day. Mindemoya Lake,as blue as the Aegean. Views of bays and lakes, and more lakes.

A view of one of the many lakes on Manitoulin Island

Some of the small towns are interesting—mostly for their very ordinariness. One of them, which the literature calls Ontario’s prettiest village, had us driving around and around, bemused and wondering what we’d missed. It always surprises me when such natural beauty doesn’t inspire beautiful human creations. It is very similar in much of the west: spectacular natural sights contrasted with the boring, unimaginative architecture of the towns and villages.

Much more interesting is the island’s history. In the 19^th century, a treaty was negotiated by the Canadian government with a number of Indian tribes, “first nations,” to cede their lands in exchange for 100 acres upon which they could establish independent settlements.

Inevitably, European settlers came with priests eager to “civilize the heathens” But the native populations of Odawa refused. The Odawa retained their aboriginal homeland on the island and were soon joined by Ojibwe and Potawatomi.

Today there are churches of various denominations; one is the Immaculate Conception Church in one of the larger first nation communities, M’Chigeeng. The church is an intriguing blend of Christian and Indian tradition: in its design and construction (round, similar to a lodge) and in its decoration which incorporates native and Christian symbolism.

Just across the road from the church is the Ojibwe Cultural Center. When we entered, we were seated in the large entry hall by a woman who had been making dream catchers. Seating is arranged so that it’s possible to view films projected simultaneously on three screens which show and explain some important aspects of the culture of the first nations. And the cultural center has a collection of artifacts, reproductions, contemporary art, books and wonderful handcrafts made from birch bark, quills and sweetgrass. The center also hosts numerous events from May through October: nature walks; youth and elder gatherings; powwows; hoop dances; instruction in traditional crafts; and competitions of traditional dress.

On our next day on the island, we moved to a campground further north in order to be a little closer to one of the drives we wanted to take through the towns and villages of the largest un-ceded reserve.  This campground was called “Batman’s” which we thought was a joke, particularly when we saw a golf cart that had been christened the “Batmobile” near the camp office. But Mrs. Batman, the proprietor assured us that it was a real name and a common one on the island. (We guessed it might have been an English name, perhaps Bateman originally.)

Like the other towns and villages on the island, there was nothing we saw on the large first nation reserve that we found particularly attractive or remarkable. The exception was some old stone houses (not quite as interesting to look at—we couldn’t go inside—as the ones here in New Paltz, although from about the same period). There were a couple of things that were very interesting, however: native-American symbols painted on church doors; a sign on the Wikwemekong Health Center advertising western and native healing; the pow-wow grounds. Otherwise, in their homes, schools, shops, businesses, the native area of the island is pretty much indistinguishable from the others, unlike the reservations in the American southwest. Now that we found to be most interesting!

On our last morning on the island, as the leaves blowing around and landing on the camper sounded like the “pitter-patter of rain on the roof.” The lyrics of that Sondheim tune from the show Follies kept going through my head. But it was a crisp Fall day. We stopped at the farmers market and bought some local jams and vegetables, and a couple of Christmas presents, and then were headed on our way to Sault Ste. Marie, or as the natives call it, “The Soo.”

Sault Ste. Marie is a sleepy town: the buildings are low, the town is flat, the streets are wide. But it has a great harborfront which runs along the rapids of the St. Mary’s River. Sault is archaic (16^th century French) for “rapids”: thus the name of the city which harkens back to French settlements in what is now this part of Canada and the U.S.

Harborfront in Sault Ste. Marie

We arrived just in time for Canadian Thanksgiving and Steve had the good idea of checking the local paper to see if there were any community dinners being held. Sure enough, we made our way to Moose Lodge # 535, and had a feast. It was a preview of our American Thanksgiving with turkey and all the trimmings, mashed potatoes and gravy, and the best dressing I may have ever tasted. Desserts were, of course, apple and pumpkin pies.

In addition to pigging out on Canadian Thanksgiving dinner, there were a couple of other highlights to our stay in the Soo: a very enjoyable boat trip through two of the four locks that connect Lake Huron and Lake Superior by raising or lowering the ship approximately 26 feet. As a bonus, we disembarked just in time for an early dinner at a restaurant right on the waterfront. We had a view of the gently flowing river and the International Bridge to Michigan—and one of my favorite things: a pianist playing mellow music that tinkled behind us as we ate. A very lovely ending to the day.

On our last day we took a train ride through remote, almost uninhabited, but very beautiful country to a spectacular place called Agawa Canyon. There are summer cottages and a couple of campgrounds along the railroad route, very close to it. It’s the only way to get there; there are no roads, people have to be dropped off. They know the schedule well and position themselves along the tracks so the train stops to pick them up on the way back. They can hear the whistle blowing miles away in the stillness of the forests or across the many lakes. We learned that when the railroad was first built, the whistle attracted moose. After testing different tones, they found the right one, so that the moose wouldn’t plant themselves smack in the middle of the tracks.

When we arrived at Agawa Canyon we had our choice of hikes: along the river; to a waterfall, or to the Lookout which meant climbing 300 steps. I have to admit that I quit after 200 but Steve—younger, stronger and with much more stamina than I have—continued on, promising to take photos from the top.

Agawa Canyon

We had a serendipitous experience on the train. We were sitting across from a couple who were speaking, we thought, Italian. It turned out to be Catalan. We got to chatting and translating some of the guided narration to them, as best we could given my very rudimentary Spanish and their much better, but still not very good English. It happens that they are both doctors who live and work in a small town, Girona, near Barcelona.

We told them that, coincidentally, if we hadn’t found a new camper for this trip, we were planning to take our holiday in Catalonia and that it was high on our agenda for a visit in the near future. Of course they said to let them know if, and when, we planned to come so that we could visit them. And we said, likewise, let us know when you come to the states, and exchanged addresses. (If we could have communicated better I would have cautioned them, unless they really meant it, not to invite us, since I was already planning the trip.)

Since then, we’ve been connecting in cyberspace and have been told we could spend as much time with them as we liked. They’ve sent photos of their very large and elegant looking home (complete with swimming pool). We’re hoping to see them in the late spring, although we expect to keep the visit brief, not to wear out our welcome on our first trip.

With our new Spanish friends.

They were planning to leave, the next day, for Niagara Falls. And we were planning to follow the route along the northern perimeter of Lake Superior, which we’d heard was quite spectacular. But Mother Nature, in the form of lake-effect snow, had other plans for us. The October blizzard that wreaked havoc in Buffalo was already making its way across Lake Superior. Our destination, Thunder Bay, was expecting more than a foot of snow and the temperature was going to be sub-freezing. Who would have thought serious winter weather would have started so early? Actually, we learned later, it was as unseasonably cold there, in October, as it has been unseasonably warm here since we got home.

Steve said, sensibly, that we had to head south instead. After pouting about how disappointed I was to have come so far and not to be able to take that beautiful route, I got in touch with reality and agreed. That was it for Gitchi Goomi—I do sincerely hope we get back there one day soon, in the summer!

We crossed the International Bridge to Sault Ste. Marie in Michigan, stopped to check the weather in the Upper Peninsula, and were told that the southern shore (on Lake Michigan) was fine. In fact, that area is called the “banana belt” since the weather there is so relatively mild: relative, that is, to the northern U.P. (on Lake Superior) where they were having heavy snowfall and high winds. It was a balmy 27°, and there was no snow in the forecast.

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