Selected articles from the Winter 2001 issue
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SEA KAYAKING ON LAKE ERIE
Wendy Killoran
Awakening before the sun at 3:55 a.m., I bleary-eyed prepared myself in darkness to start a paddling adventure, an attempt to cross Lake Erie, via Point Pelee, Pelee Island, Middle Island, Kelleys Island (Ohio) and on to Cedar Point and Sandusky, Ohio. I drove quiet roads, normally brimming with traffic, to Komoka to pick up Jim Gear, who would join me on this attempted Great Lakes crossing. In the calmness of this clear night sky, I watched a falling star, wishing for a successful paddle across the eleventh largest lake (measured by surface area) in the world.
The new day was unfolding brilliantly. A deep glow hung over the eastern horizon and sporadic puffs of mist floated like a bridal veil over fields and the winding Thames River, a hint of cool autumn days to come. A glorious flock of sheepish grey clouds slowly paraded across the sky. The magical aura made me believe that the day would be a perfect paddling day.
When we stopped in Leamington to pick up a nautical chart of the proposed route, Lake Erie greet us calmly, with Pelee Island shimmering on the horizon due south. Kayaking is so weather dependent. How lucky we were to have such placid waters on a lake known as the ships’ graveyard. Its shallow waters churn into a choppy, messy turmoil with the blink of an eye.
We entered Point Pelee National Park at 8:00 a.m. and met Dave Wagner, a cheerful and helpful park warden patrolling around on his bicycle. He’d given us permission to park overnight in the park (West Beach) which apparently was not a standard request. The park was ours alone with the exception for a huge group of birders gawking skywards through binoculars and tripod-mounted monoculars in a blob that spanned over the road.
While loading the kayaks waterside at the beach, flies were wickedly attacking our ankles, arms and any other suitable pieces of flesh, leaving a stinging itch as they bit voraciously. By 9:00 a.m. we were fully loaded and paddling straight out to Pelee Island on smooth water. Numerous flies were trapped below deck, imprisoned by the spray skirt. Bite attacks seemed more vicious than ever and it was impossible to slap and react.
Several fishing boats plied the lake east of Pelee Island, also a few motorboats, but the enormous ocean freighters following single file, a route indicated by buoys, was our main concern. It was becoming a hot, sunny August day and I was paddling in a tank top, swatting at lingering flies between paddle strokes who all landed and bit me in precisely the same spot on my right shoulder.
We were paddling on a bearing of 210 degrees, aiming directly for the new lighthouse at Middle Ground about 10 kilometres into our paddle. The lake is fairly shallow here and large boats follow a precise route. We encountered some choppy waves. Fortunately, large freighters didn’t cross our paddling path closely as we paddled this busy stretch of the Great Lakes-St. Lawrence Seaway.
The lighthouse structure was very, very unique. A voluminous, bulbous cylinder towered above the water. Balanced squarely on top, perhaps 15 metres above the water, was a white house, trimmed in frosty green with a lighthouse tower climbing above the northwest corner. We were excited as we’d crossed about two thirds of the passage between Point Pelee and Pelee Island. We figured it would take another 45 minutes of paddling as we were travelling at about six kilometres per hour.
The features on the shore were becoming clearer. Trees took form, cottages appeared and finally, about one kilometre from shore, details on houses appeared. The recently renovated lighthouse ruin at the northern tip towered prominently. Ontario Parks now oversees that site.
We followed the island’s sandy, eastern shore southwards to Middle Point where we landed the kayaks and took a short break. The crossing had taken two and a half hours, although had we headed directly towards the lighthouse ruin, I presume it would have taken two and a quarter hours to complete the crossing. Lake Erie had been in a kind, generous mood to allow us to paddle to Pelee Island. That in itself was a satisfying accomplishment.
Of North America’s five Great Lakes, Lake Erie is the smallest in volume (484 cubic kilometres) but second smallest in surface area (25,700 square kilometres). Lake Erie is surrounded by fertile land and the surrounding watersheds are exposed to the greatest concentration and effects of urbanization and agriculture. The shallow lake averages a depth of about 20 metres, with a maximum of about 65 metres. Thus, the lake warms quickly in the spring and summer but also freezes quickly in winter. Its shallow depth makes it a warm lake and as a result, the most biologically productive of the Great Lakes. In fact, the Erie walleye fishery is considered the best in the world. Most of the lake’s water inflow comes from the Detroit River and its outlets are the Niagara River and Welland Canal. The shallowest area of Lake Erie is near the western extremity, averaging 5 to 10 metres in depth. This would explain the high concentration of shipwrecks found in the western portion of Lake Erie, including the proposed Kelleys Island shipwreck preserve. Lake Erie got its name from the Eries, a tribe of natives who occupied the southern shore. The early French writers always referred to the lake as Lac du Chat, translating to Cat Lake, in reference to the wild cat or panther; the Eries referred to themselves as "The People of the Panther."
At Middle Point we ate some gorp, drank water, stretched legs to prepare for the next segment of our paddle, hugging the island’s shore in a clockwise direction to Dick’s Marina, a small enclave of water tucked into the south shore. Many newer cottages rimmed the eastern shore. Rounding the second point, Mill Point, to paddle westward, sand transformed to flat shelves of light grey limestone. Pelee Island is also known as "The Rock" (Are they kidding? That’s Newfoundland!), as the entire island is an alvar, part of an ancient coral reef when this area was inundated by sea a long time ago. This more rugged southern shore has fewer cottages and appears wilder. By 2:00 p.m. we’d arrived at Dick’s Marina where a Lake Erie water snake swam in wavy motion near the kayaks. We’d seen cormorants by the hundreds fly northwards in a long trail and a cormorant sat on a slab of limestone as we paddled into the marina, which reeked of the smell of stagnant water and dead, rotting fish.
We enquired about places to eat and rented one-speed bikes to search out the Tin Goose, an establishment about three kilometres away. Unfortunately, the restaurant wasn’t open for several more hours so we pedaled across the flat island on an asphalt road to West Dock to the hotel for a well-deserved meal. I was very tired and hungry and devoured my marinated chicken burger.
Biking back to Dick’s Marina, we traded in our bikes for our kayaks once more. Again we followed a bearing of 210 degrees, heading directly to Middle Island, into port beam waves. I was tired and the paddling was fatiguing, as it was about seven kilometres as the crow flies. We passed the tip of Fish Point, covered in gulls, cormorants and a heron. This extended point barely surfaced above Lake Erie.
I could actually see Cedar Point as a faint line on the horizon, a tall tower and an arc resembling a roller coaster ride. Our final destination, at least 25 kilometres away, beckoned. Middle Island appeared as a surreal landscape and a macabre scene from an Alfred Hitchcock novel. Stark, naked trees rimmed its entire north shore, and trees were filled with hundreds of thousands of birds, cormorants, gulls and herons. I’d never seen anything quite like it. Limestone fringed most of the north shore, but the western tip was sandy, so we landed there. As we did so, thousands of birds alighted and filled the sky in erratic motion. The beach reeked of guano and painted most of the ground. The birds were present in such enormous numbers, their guano had killed the trees they roosted in.
By now I was relieved to be done paddling. I walked across the narrow western tip of land to survey southward. Six and a half kilometres farther on lay Kelleys Island, an American destination in Erie county, Ohio. Ohio could have its first shipwreck preserve by the spring of 2002, as a plan to protect more than a dozen sunken ships around Kelleys Island is being proposed. Kelleys Island is on the National Register of Historic Places but offshore wrecks are excluded. Most of the wrecks are 19th century commercial vessels.
Middle Island, about a kilometre in length due to the lengthy sand bar on the western tip resulting from the low water levels in the Great Lakes, was a strong smelling place to stay, but the vast panoramic views were worth enduring the guano aroma. The 49-acre island is actually the southernmost land area in all of Canada, whereas Point Pelee is the southernmost land area in all of mainland Canada. It was purchased at auction in the U.S. in July of 1999 by the Nature Conservancy of Canada, with the collaboration of private donors, corporations and Parks Canada, for $1.3 million. Having successfully reclaimed Middle Island for Canada, the Nature Conservancy of Canada donated it to Point Pelee National Park in the summer of 2001 so that the island’s fragile habitat for significant plant and animal species will be protected, preserving this rare Carolinian ecosystem for future generations to enjoy.
The strong scent of bird excrement told me that there was not only a healthy population of double-crested cormorants, once endangered ironically, but also a healthy food source of smaller fish. While this species increased its numbers, spreading eastwards to the Great Lakes from the 1920s to the 1940s, it suffered a devastating set back from the effects of DDT from the 1950s to 1970s. Increased DDT levels in the cormorants’ bodies caused their eggshells to thin considerably. Cormorants incubate their eggs by wrapping the webs of their feet around the eggs, basically standing on the eggs, and thus crushing the thin-shelled eggs. DDT came into widespread use in the 1940s but most uses were banned in 1974, helping the population to experience an unprecedented resurgence in the 1980s and 1990s. At the same time, fish populations were affected by toxic chemicals as well. Large predatory fish populations declined, and smaller fish, such as rainbow smelt and alewife, became abundant as a result. These fish are the cormorant’s main diet. Currently, cormorants nest only on four islands in Lake Erie. Although food sources are plentiful, very little land is uninhabited, resulting in few nesting sites.
There is a concern about the effects cormorants have on the environment where they nest. These large birds, weighing on average 1.9 kilograms strip leaves from trees, break branches from the weight of their nests but most evidently, kill their nest tree from the extensive volume of excrement that rains down, killing ground vegetation and ultimately the nesting tree. On Middle Island, where rare Carolinian plant species reside, this is a concern as the large numbers of nesting birds have seriously impacted the island vegetation. I’d never seen such stark scenery in all my life as a result of bird excrement.
The sun was setting as a flaming orange orb on the far horizon, and the s-curved sand spit seemed to travel out to intersect it. Birds flew everywhere I looked. Numerous blue herons circled the island as dusk settled around Middle Island, some croaking a deep prehistoric sound. Pale, muted lavender and rose rimmed the eastern horizon and a sailboat, blue and white striped sail, sailed silently into the sunset. Just as darkness crept upon us, a flock of Canada geese honked noisily, flying barely above the blackened lake, splashing to a halting stop. By now, a three quarter moon had risen in the eastern sky above the gnarled, naked trees rimming the island, shimmering in silver sparkles as a trail of light travelled across the eastern portion of Lake Erie.
I was confident that tomorrow would be a repeat of the spectacular paddling weather I’d encountered on my first day, but gusting winds blew throughout the night. Awakening before sunrise, I knew it would be a risky decision to venture farther southward, so we decided to return in the lee of Middle Island to Pelee Island where we’d return to the mainland by ferry boat. I was amazed that the flocks of birds that had sat on the territory we’d claimed prior to our arrival never reclaimed their spots. Not a spatter of bird dung dropped upon my tent fly. I’d half expected to encounter splatter art upon awakening. Obviously camping during nesting season would be inappropriate on Middle Island, upsetting large numbers of birds.
We packed our kayaks, which were facing northwards at the edge of the water as a fiery red ball emerged from the eastern horizon, framed by silhouetted, barren trees. The sun had barely commenced its climb to its zenith in the sky and we were already paddling our fully loaded but responsive craft. A handful of dried apricots would sustain us until we arrived at Pelee Island.
The paddling started easily enough in the lee of Middle Island, a place I was glad to have visited but regretted not exploring more extensively, as unique finds apparently await, including a rusty vehicle with skis attached, used to smuggle liquor over the frozen lake during the Prohibition era.
The waves were from my stern, a tail wind, first assisting me northwards, but soon challenging my paddling skills. The waves seemed to come from around both the eastern and western tips of Middle Island and collide in a confusion of erratic, smacking waves mid-crossing to Pelee Island. There were times when Jim’s hat would only be visible as he’d plunge into a five foot trough. Four kilometres into the crossing, we passed Fish Point, and the erratic confusion of the waves subsided somewhat. Often the bows of our kayaks were submerged by waves. Although I didn’t feel nervous as the water and air temperatures were warm, I was glad we both paddled without capsize or mishap. I felt the power of the lake but at the same time, felt confident.
Most of the western shore of Pelee Island is protected from wave erosion by large blocks of limestone dumped along the shore where the westerly winds prevail. Approaching the West Dock ferry terminal, we found a small stretch of sand in the lee of a concrete breakwater, and beached our kayaks at the base of the limestone boulders. We had paddled about an hour and a half and had covered about ten kilometres in the tricky tail winds. According to wave physics, wave crests travel faster than wave troughs, and as a result, in tail winds kayaks have a tendency to broach sideways in an erratic zig-zag course. The only respite from the building wind had been in the direct lee of Middle Island.
Once safely ashore on rural Pelee Island, which has a population of 275, we eagerly pulled out the food bag to enjoy breakfast. Clambering over the two-metre high wall of dumped limestone rocks, I got my camping mug filled with coffee from the Pelee Island Hotel and Pub. We planned our day leisurely and unpacked our kayaks for the ferryboat return to Kingsville, Ontario. As the ferry didn’t depart until late afternoon and we’d arrived by 9:00 a.m., we explored the island’s north shore on a bicycle built for two, but that’s another story.
Bob Knapp
I wasn’t used to carrying three sea kayaks on my car, but since we only had to drive from Owen Sound to Tobermory, we tied them on and headed north. The plan was to catch the ferry from Tobermory to Manitoulin Island on Monday morning and somehow, between fellow kayaker Ron and I, get the three kayaks and all of our gear loaded on the MS Chi-Cheemaun. By not taking the car, we were assured a place on the crossing; plus, we couldn’t leave a car on Manitoulin Island since we would be paddling to a destination on the mainland. The loading went much more smoothly than I had anticipated and we were on our way.
About half an hour into our ferry ride, Ron asked, "Are the waves going to be this large on the other side?" Four-metre waves were rolling in and I gulped as I assured him they shouldn’t be that large. In the ferry’s dining room, seasickness bags were visible on every table…not a good sign.
Our crewmates, Frank and Sam (both Americans, as was Ron), met us at the ferry dock in South Baymouth. The third kayak we had brought with us was for Frank. Our intention upon arrival was to pack up and head east along the southern shore of Manitoulin Island and then north, arriving at Killarney four days later. From Killarney, we would take another four days to eventually arrive at the Key River.
Before we could leave, however, the wind blew stronger and stronger and the sky began to pour. We spent a couple of hours in a coffee shop waiting for the weather to settle. By 4:30 p.m., it stopped raining and we decided to make a start. I wasn’t particularly worried about the waves, especially since Frank had assured me that both Ron and Sam were Class 4 whitewater paddlers and would have no difficulty. Later in the trip, I found this wasn’t quite correct.
"Let’s go!" I shouted. The Chi-Cheemaun had just passed us and we needed to get out of the harbour before it returned. It was necessary to travel in the channel to skirt some large surf waves that were breaking on the shore. In spite of the slow start, it felt good to be on our way after the extensive preparations and arrangements.
We had to go out a kilometre before we could turn east along the shore. The waves were rolling in at about three to four metres but there were few white caps. After an hour of paddling, I became a little worried when all I could see was surf waves spreading along the shore. I began to picture us having to paddle in the dark in order to get around the southeast end of the island if we couldn’t find a safe place to go to shore. That was not an encouraging idea. Suddenly, I saw a little cove in the distance that didn’t appear to have large surf crashing at the entrance.
"Hey, Sam, it looks like we could make it in there. What do you think?" I hollered.
"Yeah," yelled Sam. "It looks possible."
Cautiously, I paddled about a kilometre towards shore. As I approached the shore, I could see a ten-metre passage between two surf waves. Soon I was into the cove and signalled to the others, who seemed to be a long way out. I breathed a sigh of relief when we were all in the cove safely. I was pleased that everyone had done so well and assured them that would probably be the last of waves that large on this trip.
The next day, we had a light wind and headed northwest through the Owen Channel. We passed some interesting rock formations on shore and saw only one other boat all day. We camped near Tamarack Point. The land we were boating beside was a large unceded Indian Reserve and, as such, is private land. Kayakers following this route need to seek permission from the band or risk being asked to leave.
There were thousands of lady bugs along the shore that were more yellow than orange. Apparently they had been imported from Japan to deal with our aphid outbreaks. I learned to be careful about touching them since they bite; one bite I suffered on my neck took a long time to heal.
Another tail wind pushed us along on our third day and we were able to get close to the northeast point of Manitoulin Island. Just before lunch, my rudder cable broke and, with Sam’s help, I was able to make a repair with some spare wire that I had carried for four years… it had finally come in handy! First we tried hitting the fitting with a rock in an attempt to bend it closed. When it shattered, I knew we were going to have to devise another way of attaching the cable. We finally solved the situation by putting a knot in the cable then using duct tape and a piece of wire. I was glad to have a successful temporary repair… I had paddled for over an hour with a side wind angling from the rear, and a rudder is most useful in saving energy from constantly having to correct with sweeps.
I spoke with two native fishermen. "Are you lost?" they inquired as they manoeuvred alongside.
"No, I’m just heading for Killarney," I replied.
"Wow! Well, have a nice trip," they said and, after pointing out a fire far in the distance on Fitzwilliam Island, they roared away.
Our largest crossing was Smith Bay, which was about eight kilometres. Since we had a nice light west wind, we crossed it easily in the late afternoon. We camped on a small island close to Big Burnt Island and rolled into bed feeling tired from having paddled thirty-eight kilometres that day. I believed we were in a good position to arrive in Killarney by noon the next day and felt pleased.
"This fish is really great!" exclaimed Sam the next day, as we devoured our lunch at a restaurant in Killarney.
We met a fellow at the restaurant who had flown all the way from Muskoka just for a Georgian Bay fish and chip lunch! Leaving the restaurant, I spotted Bill Pitfield, my Killarney friend and owner of the general store. I told him I didn’t have time to stop and visit as we were on our way to the Fox Islands. Little did I know that fate would have me back in Killarney the very next day. Fully fed, we headed out of the Killarney Channel.
About a kilometre from Killarney, we encountered some three-metre waves by the lighthouse, but we were now veterans.
Suddenly, Sam, with a distressed look on his face, yelled out, "I need to get to shore fast. Those fish and chips are heading right through!"
We paddled into the nearest cove. Sam sprinted ahead and I waited for Frank and Ron and waved them in. I spotted Ron on a surf wave and the next second he was over. I yelled "Rescue!" then "Are you okay? Grab hold of your boat."
After making sure that Ron was okay, I raced around and grabbed various articles that had been loose in his boat so that he wouldn’t lose them. We then assisted him back in his boat and did the pump-out. Ron was somewhat shaken up and seemed to be rather discouraged. I was thankful this had not happened off a shoal where waves were breaking and rescue would have been difficult. Meanwhile, Sam was still on shore, but I was sure that he had seen us.
We took Ron around a little point in the cove to empty his boat and get him into some dry, warm clothes. Although Ron’s kayak was new, the back hatch was significantly leaking.
"I think I’ll go and let Sam know where we are," said Frank.
"Good idea," I answered.
Frank returned ten minutes later. "He’s gone!" he yelled as he approached us.
I looked at him with disbelief. "How can he be gone? I told him we would wait for him."
This really sucks, I thought to myself. As trip leader, I had given the talk about staying together and keeping everyone informed if we were going to paddle away from the group. I hoped that Sam would turn around and come back when he realized we hadn’t left.
We continued to paddle east, looking along the shore for any sign of him. When we didn’t see him, I was sure that we would find him at the tip of Phillip Edward Island, as that is where I told him we would stop and decide on an inner or outer route. When we arrived at the island, we anxiously looked within a kilometre radius but he was not there. Bewildered, we made camp and spent a lot of time discussing where he could be and how we were going to find him. Ron wanted to report him to the Coast Guard as missing. However, since darkness was nearly upon us and knowing that Sam was a good kayaker, we decided to wait until morning to notify the authorities. I had a sleepless night as I just couldn’t figure out what had happened to Sam.
In the morning, Frank and I decided to paddle the seven kilometres back to Killarney to organize a search. We left Ron camped on the island in case we had somehow passed Sam and he came looking for us. Also, the wind was getting up and Ron was much happier staying back at camp even though we said we might not return until the next day.
I searched along the shore while Frank paddled further out. By the time I rounded the lighthouse point, the waves were four or five metres high and Frank wasn’t in sight. Finally he appeared, really enjoying the power of the water.
In Killarney, I phoned my friend Bill Pitfield to explain our predicament and then phoned the police to report Sam missing. Since I was talking to a dispatcher in North Bay, it took quite a while to relay all the particulars of Sam’s disappearance. Just as I was going to hang up, I heard Frank call, "He’s here!"
I cancelled the report and breathed a sigh of relief.
Apparently, when Sam didn’t see us, he had assumed we had left the cove and all he had to do was to go really fast to catch up. He also claimed he went past Phillip Edward Island because he didn’t have a map and thus wasn’t sure where the island was. The only reason he returned to Killarney was because he didn’t have a map; otherwise, he would have kept going.
I was so mad that I wished I were on a solo trip!
Bill Pitfield agreed to shuttle us to the Chikanishing Creek put-in so that we could get back to Ron as soon as possible… plus, the waves were now huge in the channel. Before we left Killarney, we of course tucked into another fish and chip dinner (actually, it was breakfast for both Frank and me).
During the shuttle, the rain came down in buckets and Frank and Sam got soaked holding the boats in the back of the truck. I felt sorry for Frank but thought a little rain wouldn’t hurt Sam at all.
We thanked Bill, then paddled out into the lee of Philip Edward Island. Ron was surprised to see us back so soon and was very happy to see Sam. I made sure I stayed a safe distance away from Sam when he was recounting his story to Ron, as I knew it would just make me mad all over again.
Soon we were on our way east along Collins Inlet, and by seven that evening had found an island in Beaverstone Bay on which to camp. We had paddled twenty-two kilometres in four hours.
"Let’s pick a site with a good breeze," I commented. "It’s weird that there are so many mosquitoes in September." We decided it might have something to do with the dry hot summer that we had just experienced and the rain that had fallen at the end of August.
The next morning we left the campsite about 10:30 and stopped just west of Point Grondine. The wind was starting to blow and Ron was feeling uneasy in the waves. We had some lunch and decided to take the afternoon off as we all needed a rest and a chance to explore and just relax. Fortunately, I moved my tent out of the wind before a large gale came up in the night.
"What do you think about leaving before breakfast?" I asked the group that evening. Agreeable to this suggestion, we left before 8:00 a.m. the next morning and arrived at the Bustards before noon. I was impressed with the beauty and ruggedness of the Bustards and felt lucky that we didn’t have to share this stunning location with other groups. We camped near the south end of the islands. Unfortunately, the wind swung to the southwest and we discovered we weren’t sheltered enough that night. A storm rolled in and at times I thought my tent might take off with me in it. Sam had to abandon his tent at 5:00 a.m. when part of it collapsed.
By September 10 we had been out for one week. It had been a trip full of both ups and downs and I was keeping my fingers crossed that the remaining two days would go smoothly. After lunch, we paddled to the north end of the islands. The sky turned dark and was alive with amazing cloud formations. We expected to see a tornado at any time. A formidable thunderstorm moved along above the mainland while we watched, just on its edge. I was glad we weren’t out paddling as the wind roared and the rain poured down. Eventually the storm lifted and we set off for the vicinity of Deadman’s Island.
I found out the hard way what "Teva toe" was. As I waded into the water with my boat, my foot slipped on a rock and my big toe crashed into the rock in front. I had torn my nail off and did it ever hurt! "Ow, ow, ouch"! I howled as I flopped into my boat in pain. I tried to think about something else.
We had to avoid a number of shoals on the way. At dusk, an inspiring sunset lit up the horizon. Even though my toe was throbbing, I still thought it was stupendous. We ate supper in the dark, knowing the next day would be clear sailing.
On Tuesday, September 11, we left before 8:00 a.m. and arrived at the mouth of the Key River within an hour. We had coffee at the store and just as we were leaving, the unthinkable happened: the United States was attacked by terrorists. What a shock for my three American friends. All they could think of was contacting their families and getting home to them as soon as possible. While all four of us will remember the beauty of our kayaking adventure, the memory will, unfortunately, always be clouded by the tragedy that happened that awful day in the United States.
By noon, we had paddled to the highway. Joan and Jim, our shuttle drivers, were standing on the dock as we arrived and informed us that we were one minute late! We quickly loaded our gear and headed down the highway.
It was difficult to celebrate our trip with news of the tragedy coming over the airwaves. Still, we all returned safe and sound and all of us had learned to respect Georgian Bay and to marvel at its beauty.
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