In Search of Perfect Light...: Superior's North Shore, Revisited

Hurtling almost straight south from Lake Superior Provincial Park, the road gets easier with every passing mile as you leave the high rugged wilderness behind. Those complex comforts of civilization that you couldn't carry with you on the long trek up over the big lake are more readily available.

Then you reach the Soo. For me that's like hitting a rock wall at full speed.

All the worse, because I know it's coming.

Sault Ste. Marie, Canada

A drop of water fed Lake Superior by the Pigeon River near Grand Portage circa 1831 is only now being caught up in the rapids at Sault Ste. Marie.

1831!

There was no Minnesota, then. No Canada either, least not as we know it today.

But there was a City of Sault Ste. Marie.

Established in 1668, "Sault" is a French-Indian term for the impassable place where Lake Superior sends its water en masse to Lake Huron, via the Saint Mary's River.

Or maybe Sault originally meant 'jump.' Depends on who you ask.

Whichever, it's a considerable barrier to travel and trade because at the Soo the greatest of Great Lakes sits twenty-one feet higher than little cousin Huron, some miles downriver.

Before leaving Canada, there're two more stops to consider. Tucked away alongside that -

Is this:

Yeah, it's just an obscure totem nestled on lawn along a quiet street. Except the word restoration is a critical distinction.

The NW Company Headquarters at Grand Portage in Minnesota and the Fort William that later became 'Old' in Thunder Bay are strictly recreations. Historical amusement parks.

Think pirates of the Caribbean. Only with fur trappers, missionaries and mostly noble savage natives.

Not so this old Bateau, which apparently is where it was and (again, apparently) still contains authentic elements of the original lock itself.

I mean, 1798. How cool is that?

Just before crossing the border, by all means visit the Whitefish Island Indian Reserve @ St. Mary's Falls, if only to remind yourself of the wild places you've just traversed.

Whitefish Island is special, perhaps unique. A spot rich in cultural history, set amidst a resurgent natural landscape. Protected and nurtured since 1997, when the island was returned to the Batchewana First Nation People.

That's as close as you'll ever get to the 'real' Sault - inclusive historical narrative and the natural world that enabled it, combined.

After that it's off the North Shore and fast out of Canada. Happily, we needn't portage:

Sault Ste. Marie, U.S. of A.

And a glimpse of Lake Huron too.

You can search for clear-eyed cultural context and bits of historic authenticity on the U.S. side of the Soo, but you'll not find much of that there.

For sure, they've a 'Tower of History.' That opened in 1968 as the Shrine of the Missionaries.

Subsequently, the Tower features more history than just that. But it's still a 20th Century edifice, populated with words and a handful of artifacts that more easily celebrate rather than convey the full story of time, place and the diversity of peoples who've left lasting marks on the region.

As for authentic, this is called "The Captain's House." At the time it seemed unoccupied if not utterly abandoned. The sign on the door warns against trespass.

A little farther along:

Everything's downriver from that, all the way to Lake Huron.

One year, Heather and I rode Huron's northern shore. Admittedly that's far afield of where we're at, and a whole 'nother story to boot.

Yet on the Bruce Peninsula where the lake at one side is shallow Georgian Bay and on the other the Niagara Escarpment drops straight off to cold nowhere, while working the edge light I captured this:

What a right proper place for a couple of chairs, eh?

Anyway, I digress. Back to the Upper Peninsula, at the Soo…

Sault Ste. Marie MI's big attraction is the locks and the boats that pass through them. This remarkable feat of engineering allows great lakes freighters to squeeze along what had been an all but impassible barrier since forever.

The commercial locks at the Soo used to be on the Canadian side. They relocated to the U.S., because ours are bigger. If just barely big enough, these days.

This is also the way many invasive species slipped into Superior, often from waters on the other side of the world. Just sayin'.

Near the famous locks, Sault U.S.A. sports a carnival atmosphere. Folk come from all over to see the freighters up close. Schedules are posted. People keep track. A variety of goods and services are readily available while waiting.

Sometimes the viewing platform gets crowded. Happily, it wasn't the evening I visited.

Of course, once upon a time there were only native peoples at either side of the Sault. They fished and hunted, laughed and cried, had sex, made babies, got sick/injured/old and died.

Naturally, there's an Anishinabek burial ground located there.

A portion of that traditional gravesite is now more or less returned to Native auspices. There's a stone monument. No mature trees. No verdant paths. No wetlands. An industrial Sault looms in the background.

At least they finally got a friggin' fence.

On the brighter side, Lake Superior State has a fish hatchery. I never pass on a fish hatchery. All the little fishes and the people who look after them are awesome.

Plus, they've got an online fish cam.

Heading west from the Soo along Superior's southern shore, you'll come to Bay Mills Indian land. They call it The Land of the Pike, though of course pike live in water.

Past that and near where wildness begins again is a place named Iroquois Point. There's a lighthouse there. People like lighthouses, sort of how they like freighters. This one is well maintained.

On the lake near the light is a stone beach. To your right is the great gathering place of Superior waters, each drop having taken its sweet time migrating out of the freshwater sea.

Unless I miss my guess, to the left is the true north shore as embodied by mighty Pukaskwa and the boreal forest.

You can't see that, but it's there.

Fed up with the Iroquois riding west on the coattails of the French, on this beach in 1662 the local Anishinaabe decided to send the encroaching world a message.

Early one morning, they fell upon the enemy's encampment.

Only two Iroquois were spared. Those were provided a canoe so to carry the Ojibwa message eastward, beyond the Sault to Lake Huron and all the way to the St. Lawrence River, as needed.

They say Iroquois bones and skulls littered the beach more than a century later. That's why even in the midst of Ojibwa land, this place is still called Iroquois Point.

Monument enough, I'd think.

Coda

Now we've returned to my home turf, that part of the Superior Basin I know best.

Some miles still farther west, you'll come to the Tahquamenon River of white folk Hiawatha fame, where Longfellow's powerfully poetic fake news still echoes in the touristy woods.