Leeward Press

Sunfire to the Sea

2011-12-31T10:54:00.002-05:00

A Christmas holiday car trip from Toronto, Ontario, to Halifax, Nova Scotia, and back, by the numbers:

Kilometres clocked on aforementioned Sunfire: 3,680

Total driving time: Over 40 hours

Number of coffees consumed by three travellers: 14

Number of hours waiting to get onto the Champlain Bridge in Montreal: 2.5

Number of misunderstood French road signs: roughly 7

Total number of tears shed: 12 (all in Montreal)

Number of different weather conditions encountered: 10 -- sunny, foggy, drizzle, heavy downpour, flurries, white-out conditions, blowing snow, blowing rain (my personal favourite), extreme cold (-25C at Riviere-du-Loup, Quebec), unseasonably mild (+9C in Stillwater Lake, Nova Scotia)

Number of accidents encountered: 4 (all in the Toronto area; draw your own conclusions)

Number of anxious sighs heard from Amy: 61

Number of bored sighs heard from Luke the dog: 61

Total number of days away: 7

Total number of days Grammar the cat spent ignoring the catsitter: 7

Kayak sweep roll

2011-07-04T22:40:00.002-04:00

The sweep roll took me an entire summer to learn. The process mainly involved a lot of falling out of the boat, pumping it out, cursing, getting back in and trying again.

Escape to Alcatraz

2011-04-12T19:05:00.010-04:00

I spent much of last weekend wandering the streets of San Francisco. While I was there, I had the opportunity to cruise San Francisco Bay in an old wooden fishing boat, and sail around the notorious federal prison on Alcatraz Island. Here are the photographic highlights:

The prison, which held some of America's most notorious criminals (including Al Capone) opened in 1934, and was closed in 1963, mainly due to the high cost of keeping inmates there.

You can feel the isolation of the place as you approach. Only a handful of prisoners are known to have escaped. According to the guide, most escapees were shot before they made it to the fence, and the few who did make it were likely swept out to sea by the strong current in San Francisco Bay.

Not all of Alcatraz's buildings were used for prison purposes. According to the guide, this old ruin was once a storehouse during the California gold rush in the mid-19th century.

The guards were very worried about escape attempts by boat, so they fired warning shots if any vessel got within 200 yards of the island. I suppose this sign was considered fair warning:

Point Pelee in winter

2011-01-31T21:01:00.006-05:00

One of the things I love to do is visit national and provincial parks in the off-season. When the leaves fall and the gates close, the wildlife reclaims these areas. When you visit in the dead of winter, like we did at Point Pelee National Park a couple weeks back, you'd never know that many of these places were flooded with campers and tourists just a few months ago, and will be again a few short months from now.

That was certainly the case at the tip of Point Pelee, which was the very definition of desolation when we walked out a couple weeks ago. Feared in the summer for its treacherous currents, the point is eerily silent in the winter. On this windless day, all we could hear was the cracking of the ice.

Amy spies a flock of waterfowl in the far distance off the east side of the tip, and briefly considers skating after them across Lake Erie's marble-like surface.

The tip itself could easily be confused for Baffin Island or some other Arctic locale. In the far distance, a small group of people scramble over the crumpled shore ice. Swimming near this same spot, where the currents are at their worst in the summer, is a recipe for disaster. But today it's a good place to have a little fun, and be distracted from the monotony of another long Ontario winter.

Wind farm blowback

2010-09-10T21:01:00.004-04:00

If you've been following the debate over SouthPoint Wind's wrongheaded (in my opinion) proposal to build a wind development in Pigeon Bay on Lake Erie, you really should read Globe and Mail writer Adam Radwanski's article on the situation. It was published in the paper earlier this week.

If you missed it, click here.

The heart of the Bay

2010-06-16T21:39:00.009-04:00

Taking an airplane tour of one of your favourite places is one of those things you say you'll do at some point, but never quite get around to. In recent months, I've been working hard at taking on some of those things (I've also recently taken up the guitar).

That's why I decided to get Amy (and by extension myself) a floatplane tour of the 30,000 Islands area of Georgian Bay, where we do the majority of our sea kayaking, from Georgian Bay Airways as a gift.

Here are a few of the highlights:

Killbear Park looks lush and green from above, thanks to a rainy late spring. Killbear is one of the crown jewels of Ontario's provincial park system. From up here, it's not hard to see why.

The windswept outer islands give you a sense of the power of the bay's prevailing westerly winds. Yet life still clings to these isolated patches of rock. From above, you can also see the rocks lurking just below the surface, just waiting to snag wayward boaters (or sea kayakers).

The cottages disappear when you fly out over Massassauga Provincial Park. Its dozens of isolated lakes are only accessible by foot or paddle power.

Parry Sound's iconic railway bridge marks the beginning and the end of the flight. Thanks to the good folks at Georgian Bay Airways for a memorable experience. A super kickoff to yet another paddling season on the bay.

Wrong place for a wind farm

2010-05-09T17:19:00.004-04:00

Here's the text of a letter I sent to John Gerretsen, Ontario's environment minister:

Dear Minister Gerretsen,

I'm writing with regard to a proposal by SouthPoint Wind of Leamington to build 715 wind turbines in Lakes Erie and St. Clair. A large number of these turbines would be installed in Pigeon Bay, on Lake Erie.

Many concerns have been raised about this proposal. Among them are fears that the construction will threaten drinking water by stirring up toxic chemicals in the lakebed. Others include the project's close proximity to Point Pelee National Park, which is already under considerable environmental stress, as well as concerns about bird and butterfly migration routes.

These are all important concerns that merit the very closest of scrutiny.

However, I would like to draw your attention to something I fear is being lost in the debate over SouthPoint's wrongheaded idea: the cultural ramifications of letting this project go ahead.

I grew up in Essex County and have spent a good part of my life studying the human history of Lake Erie. From the earliest human habitation to the present day, the lake has played a vital role in the lives of Essex County's residents. Aside from their drinking water, they count on it for their livelihoods and for recreation. It has been and remains a vital part of their identity.

Allowing an industrial-sized wind farm to be built on Pigeon Bay not only disrespects our past, but will only further sever future generations of Essex County citizens from their history. Put simply, they will not be able to gaze out over Pigeon Bay and feel the same appreciation for the important parts of their backgrounds that have played out there -- the struggles of the sailors and fishermen who have toiled on the lake for centuries, to name just one example.

Tourists, too, will lose a vital part of the human experience in Essex County. This could have severe financial implications for this important industry.

Those who favour this project are casting those who reject it as opposed to renewable power, NIMBYists who cannot handle change or worse. I ask you to look beyond this and focus on what is really at stake in this debate.

In my view, the current strong emotion that surrounds SouthPoint's proposal is not about whether one supports or opposes renewable power (I think you would be hard-pressed to find many citizens who oppose it). Rather, it is about whether it is appropriate to build an industrial facility on a shallow, highly volatile, and culturally and environmentally sensitive part of Lake Erie.

I believe your government has much to lose -- and much to gain -- in how it chooses to answer this question. Local citizens will either remember it for standing up to private interests and protecting an important natural and human resource, or they will remember it as the government that sacrificed all of this on the altar of private profit and opportunism.

I hope you will choose the former.

Sincerely,
Chad Fraser
Author, Lake Erie Stories: Struggle and Survival on a Freshwater Ocean

Crossing borders

2010-03-10T20:28:00.006-05:00

It's not always easy for a Canadian author to get publicity in the United States. It is, after all, the world's largest media market. And there's lots of American writerly talent to satisfy the need.

That's why I was thrilled to get a note from Cleveland's Lake Erie Living magazine a few weeks back. They'd come across the book, and were interested in including some information on it in an upcoming issue.

It was also satisfying on another level: even though Lake Erie Stories is a Canadian title, I felt I really couldn't tell the lake's story properly without including stories from the lake's American shores. Michigan, Ohio, Pennsylvania and New York all border on Lake Erie, and the lake's American coastline is heavily populated. I was thrilled that the book seemed to be gaining traction there.

Anyway, Lake Erie Living published its take on Lake Erie Stories this week. You can read it on the magazine's web site by clicking here.

Winter on the bay

2010-02-21T17:50:00.008-05:00

Although you'd never know it in Toronto, it's very much winter in much of the rest of the province. Right now, for example, the Parry Sound area of Georgian Bay, just a couple hundred kilometres north of the city, is wrapped in a blanket of white. We decided to spend the weekend in this winter wonderland, which, regardless of the season, is one of our favourite places.

I've written before about the sheer delight of visiting rural Ontario's provincial parks and other summertime destinations in the off season. Killbear Park, for example, is bustling in the summer. To get a site, you really have to book mid-winter, or you'll be out of luck.

But Killbear's winter personality is the direct opposite of its summer self. The hundreds of campsites that dot the park, each one complete with a fire pit and a picnic table, stand lonely, forgotten, and mostly covered in a good foot of snow.

When we ventured out to Killbear on Saturday morning, rented snowshoes in hand, the only tracks we could see belonged to the wide variety of small creatures who call the park home (and don't hibernate in the winter).

We only spotted one of the park's winter inhabitants: while we were trudging along the frozen surface of the bay, what appeared to be a small otter popped up on the bank of a still unfrozen stream, his dark form stark against the expanse of snow. After a couple of minutes of fumbling about, he noticed us and disappeared beneath the surface.

After so many years of living in the city, I'd kind of forgotten the simple joy of walking on a frozen lake in winter. When I was growing up on the shores of Lake Erie, I distinctly remember venturing out on the lake's frozen surface with my dad to go ice fishing. We even drove out a few times. It's an understatement to call that a terrifying prospect today. And we were far from the only ones.

The shallow stretch of Georgian Bay near the park's gates freezes thick enough to easily support the weight of a couple of hikers. And back in Parry Sound, the harbour is frozen so solid that small communities of ice-fishing huts dot the horizon like makeshift villages. Closer to shore, there is a good selection of large, perfectly cleared ice rinks to choose from, and the locals seem to fully embrace the season.

It's somehow comforting to know that this kind of winter still very much exists. But it doesn't last long. In another few weeks, the ice-fishing huts will give way to charter boats, and it will be hard to believe that, just a few weeks before, we walked on the bay's frozen surface, and wondered if summer would ever come.

For more on Parry Sound, click here.

For more on Killbear Provincial Park, click here.

Save the depot

2010-02-03T20:34:00.005-05:00

Having grown up near Windsor, Ontario, I'm quite familiar with the city of Detroit, located just across the river. I have fond memories of slipping across the border as a teenager to catch the odd baseball game at Tiger Stadium (now demolished), or to shop for school clothes at one of the many malls in Detroit's outlying suburbs.

For as long as I can remember, the downtown has been in a state of continuous decline. This has been sped along in recent years by the economic slowdown, which hastened the long, slow collapse of the auto industry, a mainstay of the local economy.

But Detroit is much more than a manufacturing town. What's often forgotten is that it's a city with a long, rich history. It was originally founded by a French officer named Antoine Laumet de La Mothe, sieur de Cadillac, way back in 1701. The site was ideal for settlement. Located on the banks of the Detroit River, it was easily accessible by water. And the surrounding farmland was extremely productive.

When you combine Detroit's long history with its relatively recent economic decline, you get a lot of stunning buildings that are currently sitting empty.

Despite its derelict appearance (or perhaps because of it), I really enjoy visiting Detroit's downtown, and try to get there at least once a year to catch a hockey game. A couple weeks ago, we found ourselves sitting in front of the burned out Michigan Central Station, which gives no clue of the crucial role it once played in the city's development, and puzzled over what the grand old building could be.

The only sign consisted of hand-cut letters placed along one of the upper floors that spelled out "Save the Depot." The building's ornate facade certainly suggested an official role, but that's as far as we could get. It wasn't until I got back home, and ran a quick Google search, that I was able to put it together.

Michigan Central was opened in 1913, and at the time was the tallest train station in the world. It remained the city's main passenger rail station until it was closed in 1988. The tower above, whose offices you can now see directly into thanks to the multitude of smashed windows, was once used by railway company officials.

A number of renovation plans have been put forward over the past couple of years, but none have come to fruition. In April 2009, Detroit City Council authorized the building's demolition, but those plans, too, seem to be on hold.

After spending a few minutes in the quiet shadow of Michigan Central Station, we decided to seek happier surroundings at nearby Nemo's sports bar, which boasts of being voted the number 3 sports bar in America by Sports Illustrated magazine. If you're headed to Detroit to catch a game, I'd wholeheartedly recommend Nemo's. It's a classic blue-collar pub with a great atmosphere. To top it off, they offer a direct bus to the game, for a mere $3 a head.

In the end, the visiting L.A. Kings bested the hometown Red Wings by a score of 3-2. As for Detroit, its future remains uncertain, as its main industry continues to shrink. But I'm optimistic. The silent factories, warehouses, and offices that line her downtown streets, many more than a century old, have too much potential to be ignored forever. They're just waiting to be resurrected as studios, galleries, small businesses and homey urban living spaces.

And I'm sure they will -- when the moment is right.

Forgotten Detroit contains a wealth of information on Detroit's abandoned buildings. Click here to visit the site.)

For a haunting, yet beautiful exhibition of abandoned Detroit homes, called "100 Abandoned Houses," click here.

Click here for more information on Nemo's sports bar.

Happy birthday

2010-01-10T14:25:00.003-05:00

To Amy, the best wife, and paddling partner, that a guy could ask for.

Lost planes of the lakes

2010-01-03T12:01:00.007-05:00

It's commonly known that the Great Lakes are a graveyard for ships. What's not as well known is that a fair number of airplanes and important aviation-related artifacts also lie below the water's surface.

Last week, The Buffalo News reported that a group from New York has begun searching for the Cobra I, a modified P-39 Airacobra fighter, which went down in Lake Ontario during a test flight in 1946. The pilot was killed, and it's believed that the plane, which was capable of hitting speeds of up to 400 mph, still lies in the cold depths of Lake Ontario.

Precisely how much of the plane survived the impact is unclear, as only a few pieces have been recovered over the years. The searchers are now looking for eyewitnesses who may be able to shed some light on exactly where the Cobra I went down.

Click here to read the full Buffalo News story of the search for the Cobra I.

A vital part of Canada's aviation history also lies at the bottom of Lake Ontario.

As part of the development of the Avro Arrow fighter jet in the 1950s, nine prototype models, attached to booster rockets, were launched over the lake.

These small models, which were used to test drag and stability, hit speeds of mach 1.7 before their booster rockets cut out and they dropped into the lake. A number of groups have gone looking for the models since then, and two were found in the late 1990s.

For the latest on the effort to recover models of the Avro Arrow, click here.

Killbear in autumn

2009-12-07T19:28:00.008-05:00

A couple snaps of the simple beauty of Killbear Provincial Park's Lighthouse Point, taken two weeks ago. When Amy and I biked this part of the park, there were no other humans around (but lots of deer), and the campsites, normally packed with humanity in the summer, looked like they'd been partly reclaimed by nature.

Hard to believe it's all snow-covered now. Equally hard to believe that the place will once again be crawling with campers in a few months' time.

Back to the Bay

2009-11-17T18:46:00.015-05:00

Having decided that there's absolutely no way we can go a whole winter without Georgian Bay, Amy and I are headed up to Parry Sound, on the bay's eastern shore. It's one of our favourite rural communities, and its come to feel like something of a home away from home in recent years.

Visiting small communities like Parry Sound in the off-season is one of my favourite ways to pass Ontario’s long winters. The campers and cottagers are long gone, so you have these places largely to yourself.

Parry Sound got its start as a lumber town in the mid-nineteenth century. The railway followed soon after, and remains a major part of the town’s identity. The old trestle bridge that spans the Seguin River here was built in 1908 and is the longest in the province. If you sit on the town dock and watch a train pass, it looks almost like it’s flying right over the centre of town (this is especially true at night, when only the trains’ lights are visible).

While we're there, we'll take the bikes out for a long ride at Killbear Provincial Park, just outside of town. Killbear is one of the most stunning parks in the province’s system. It also has one of the longest average stays. This means, quite simply, that people come here in the summer and set up for weeks, if not months.

But I suspect we'll find a very quiet Killbear this weekend. And with clear weather in the forecast, conditions should be perfect for a little deer spotting.

For more on Parry Sound, click here.

For more on Killbear Provincial Park, click here.

Adieu, summer

2009-11-03T21:09:00.007-05:00

For the past few weeks, I've been living in some denial that another winter is upon us, choosing to believe, instead, that there is still just a little bit of pleasant weather left. But as I made my way home in pitch dark this evening, I realized that it was time to let it go. Last weekend, we tucked the kayaks into their winter home, and next season, more specifically the next paddling trip to Georgian Bay, seems a long way off.

In a salute to summer '09, I offer this highlight: the season's most pleasant nap, snapped by Amy after a long ride around Pelee Island on a hot Labour Day weekend:

That was preceded a couple months earlier by another afternoon of hot action, this one after a long paddle to the Foster Island region of Georgian Bay:

Sigh.

Pelee Island circle tour update

2009-10-10T16:10:00.004-04:00

Thanks to a Leeward Press reader for pointing out that this building is actually an old mission. I ran across it on my last trip to Pelee, and was curious about its origins.

According to Noah Garno's The Story of Pelee, which he wrote in the 1950s, the structure was built by George E. Pegg, who moved to Pelee from Pennsylvania in 1891.

Pegg lived in what was then called the Middle Island section of Pelee, which is, as you'd expect, near the island's centre. Seeing that there was no church or Sunday school in the area, Pegg, with the help of local citizens, built the mission in 1911.

Here's what Garno wrote of Pegg: "For many years Mr. Pegg taught school at Middle Island, in fact until 1932. He audited books and kept records for the Pelee Co-operative Association for several years, and also was treasurer for the Township of Pelee from 1914 until 1945. Mr. Pegg was always ready with kind advice; and many will not forget Mrs. Pegg, as she took care of the sick and was ready at all times to tend to the needy."

A Pelee Island circle tour

2009-09-20T12:30:00.014-04:00

After more than a year, I was finally able to make it down to Pelee Island a couple of weeks back. Pelee figures prominently in my book, Lake Erie Stories, and is a place I've always felt at home, ever since I started going there as a little kid.

If you've not heard of it, Pelee is the southernmost inhabited place in Canada. (Tiny Middle Island, about three kilometres south of Pelee, is the southernmost point, though no one lives there.) Located in Lake Erie's western basin, Pelee is about 15 kilometres long and 8 wide, and home to a small number of year-round residents. The island is best known for winemaking. Bottles of its trademark Pelee Island wine hold a dominant place in most Ontario liquor stores.

Our favourite way to experience Pelee is to get off the ferry at the West Dock and cycle around the island essentially until we run out of time, then catch the ferry home. Pelee is rich in beautiful places to stop and explore, picnic, or nap along the way.

I think it's fair to say that the recession has been harder on the province's smaller communities than it has on larger cities, and Pelee is no exception. A big part of its economy depends on pleasure boaters, and one of its two marinas, Dick's, which is located at the south end, certainly looks to be in decline. This used to be the campground, which was operational until just last year.

This is one of my favourite Pelee beaches, located on the east side, just south of lighthouse point. Here, Amy gazes out over Lake Erie into the treacherous Pelee Passage. Numerous boats have been driven to the bottom in this shallow stretch of water. I wrote about one, the wreck of the freighter Clarion in 1909, in Lake Erie Stories.

I'd love to know the history of this old structure, located in the island's interior. The archway over the door and what looks like covered windows is indicative of a church, but the simple wood construction is closer to that of a barn. Either way, it cuts a rather regal presence among the surrounding ruins of partly disassembled cars, trucks, and farm machinery.

Pelee has one of the neatest graveyards of any small community I've visited. The peaceful cemetery is shady and beautiful, the perfect place for a picnic. It's located on the island's northwest corner. Here, you can view the grave of the island's founder, William McCormick, who moved his family here way back in the 1820s. Back then, the island was largely deserted, and two-thirds covered by marshland. Former local MP Shaughnessy Cohen is also buried here. In 1998, Cohen collapsed on the floor of the House of Commons and died shortly afterward.

A couple of the graves are so old that they are literally being covered over by trees, as is the case in this photo.

Pelee Island's tiny school is also located at the north end. Just a small number of children, from kindergarten to grade 8, attend the school. When they reach high school, island kids billet with families on the mainland, and return home to the island on the weekends. I don't know about you, but I found the proximity of this "no hunting" sign to the school a little jarring.

Rain spatters against the window of the Pelee Islander on the way back to the dock in Leamington. After four beautiful days on Pelee, it was time to head back to the hustle of the city. Luckily for us, the rain held off until the trip home, which made for a rather bleak view of Lake Erie, but we were grateful, nonetheless.

It'll probably be close to another year before I'm able to make it back to Pelee Island. But vignettes from this special place come back to me almost daily, and will no doubt continue to do so through the long winter ahead.

To me, that's the mark of a great trip.

Bayfield Inlet to Foster Island ... and back

2009-08-16T18:56:00.010-04:00

A couple weeks ago, I decided to take a solo paddle from the town of Bayfield Inlet on Georgian Bay's eastern shore up to Foster Island and back. It's a beautiful, roughly 30-kilometre loop that features a wide variety of water and terrain.

The first six kilometres takes you through the Alexander Passage. Here, you'll see a number of cottages from many different eras, from simple, yet elegant log cabins to a futuristic-looking multilevel dwelling, complete with skylights and a lost-city-of-Atlantis looking bubbled front window, located just east of Meneilly Island.

Once you reach the open bay, you turn north and pass Charles Inlet, then wind your way along the coast toward the many islands that surround the mouth of the Naiscoot River's north channel. The shore here is fairly flat, and a popular spot for camping, except it's pretty low to the water. The key is not to get sucked in by the beautiful view of the Bay this area offers; the westerly winds in this area can pick up in seconds, and there's a real possibility you could wake up in a tent that feels more like a boathouse. I decided to move on, past Head Island and Inside Head Island and into the narrow passage that heads east past the south end of Foster Island.

By the end of the day, I had made it to our usual campsite in this area, a lovely secluded spot on Prisque Bay. But the sky was darkening to the northwest, and I just got the tent up before the first drops started to fall. All that night, I lay in the tent, in a deluge like few I've experienced on the Bay. Next morning, it was time to dry out:

The wind picked up considerably through the rest of the afternoon, so I decided to retrace my steps and head back toward Charles Inlet. Getting there involved about four hours of paddling straight into a stiff west wind. Soaked and exhausted, I managed to set up camp in a cozy little channel on Big Burnt Island, where, after a quick bowl of soup, I drifted off to sleep.

That night, I slept the dead sleep that I only seem to be able to attain on the Bay. But the weather radio called for yet more storms, so I loaded up and headed back to my waiting car in Bayfield Inlet.

As much as I love camping, sometimes it's better to watch a storm from a local pub. That day, I chose Wellington's, in Parry Sound, as my way station before joining the weekend traffic back to Toronto. It was a perfect transition from the wilds of Georgian Bay to the city's hustle. And the Great Canadian burger sure beat another can of soup.

Midsummer update

2009-07-19T17:04:00.009-04:00

Over the past month and more, I've been taking a bit of a sabbatical from creative endeavours -- no extracurricular writing of any kind, really. Not even a blog post.

Part of this has been intentional, and part has been for the very happy reason that I've been spending most of my spare time paddling on Georgian Bay, which has left me very little opportunity to write about it. I'm lucky to have made a couple of glorious trips to the Foster Island area, one of my favourite spots.

One thing that always strikes me about Georgian Bay is that there is always something new to experience, no matter how many times you visit the same place. In June, our usual campsite in this area was full of plant life we hadn't noticed before, including lady slippers like these:

Amy and I also spent a few days on the Naiscoot River. The Naiscoot is a pristine waterway near Bayfield Inlet that takes you out to the open bay through either its Middle or North Channel. The beauty of the Naiscoot is that it's far too shallow and tricky for most motorboats to navigate, but perfect for sea kayaks. The river's South Channel leads from Bayfield Inlet to a small inland lake that looks like it's hardly ever visited by people. Jonathon Reynolds and Heather Smith perfectly capture the essence of this area in their Kayaking Georgian Bay guidebook when they write that this could be the perfect spot if "you are looking for a place to spend a couple nights in solitude."

More on the Naiscoot and other unique corners of Georgian Bay a little later. Meantime, if you do happen to paddle the Naiscoot this summer and can find the small stream that is supposed to connect the Middle and North Channels (you can see what I'm talking about on the topo map), please let me know.

Scenes from...

2009-06-16T22:48:00.005-04:00

A quiet late May paddle down the Pigeon River into Omemee, Ontario:

"Much bigger than a dinner plate"

2009-05-24T20:59:00.004-04:00

My wife Amy had quite a surprise while she was out for a Saturday afternoon ramble in Presqu'ile Provincial Park:

This guy, a large common snapping turtle she described as "much bigger than a dinner plate," sat on the shoulder of the park's main road, likely considering crossing. Every spring, legions of snappers emerge from Presqu'ile's marshes and travel significant distances, presumably to lay eggs. (According to wikipedia, the peak laying season for snappers is June and July.) Their sheer size and prehistoric appearance can literally scare the hell out of passersby.

And you sure don't want to get too close. Though you wouldn't know it, the snapper can strike with lightning speed, and its bite (especially from one this size) can easily take off a finger or a toe.

Aim decided to use the camera's zoom lens to get these pics. A wise decision, I'd say.

For more on the common snapping turtle, click here.

In search of the Don

2009-05-18T20:56:00.006-04:00

Having been burned by bad weather on too many past Victoria Day weekends, I've made it a policy to avoid roaming too far afield on this, the first long weekend of the summer season. Today, however, dawned bright and calm, so I decided to launch my kayak into the chilly waters of Lake Ontario at Cherry Beach, not far from my downtown home, and have a look at what was going on in Toronto Harbour.

After putting in and heading west, then north into the Eastern Gap, I emerged into the city's inner harbour. Today's mission was to search out the mouth of the Don River, which empties into the harbour at its easternmost end. It's not so easy to find; as Toronto grew, the river was covered over by freeways, redirected numerous times, and heavily polluted. As a final injustice, its mouth was completely cemented in, so it looks like any one of a number of channels in the harbour.

Still, after after a bit of poking about, I located the Keating Channel, which terminates at the mouth of the Don. The channel (named after the engineer who designed it) is very short, and is lined with a good forty years of marine refuse, from cranes and scrap metal to old fuel tanks. But there are a couple of interesting old boats in here, too.

Every summer since way back in 1833, Toronto's ferry service has moved thousands of sun-seekers to the Toronto Islands, a unique, laid-back community just off the city's shores (you can read more about the islands by clicking here). Back in 1985, the city bought the car ferry Windmill Point, seen here, to back up the four boats it currently runs. She apparently isn't needed too often these days, and looks like she's been calling the Keating Channel home for some time.

A little further on is the tug Fred Scandrett. According to tugfest.net, the Scandrett was launched from the Port Weller drydocks in 1963 as the C.E. Ted Smith. She went to work for the Dominion Chemical Company of Montreal, and was bought by the Toronto Harbour Commission (which is known as the Toronto Port Authority today) in 1969. Toronto author Mike Filey, in his 1998 book Discover and Explore Toronto's Waterfront, briefly refers to her as a "work boat," and notes that the real Fred Scandrett was the general manager of the Harbour Commission from 1946 to 1951.

Finally, at the far end of the Keating Channel I found the mouth of the Don. A blockade of logs kept me from going into the river itself, but despite its long and difficult past, there are parts, a little further on, that are quite lovely, and appear to have begun what will no doubt be a long, slow recovery. They're a stark contrast to the river's concrete, entirely manufactured mouth, which routinely deposits silt, branches, and all sorts of refuse into the channel, especially after a storm.

After scouting out the Keating Channel, I decided to turn for home. To the west, the ferries were running at full steam, carrying the usual crowds to the islands to enjoy a relaxing day off. Throbbing bass vibrated from nearby party boats. Tonight, fireworks are lighting the skies over the harbour.

Still, I suspect it's just another quiet night at the mouth of the Don.

To read more about the Fred Scandrett, click here.

The Scourge of York

2009-04-26T08:43:00.007-04:00

The Hamilton Spectator reported this week that the city is considering allowing a new dive to the site of the Hamilton and the Scourge this summer. Both ships served in the War of 1812, and now lie in about 80 metres of water off St. Catharines. (I wrote about a recent dive to the site last year. Click here to read that post.)

Historians believe the two schooners were on hand for one of the most dramatic episodes of the war. On the morning of April 26, 1813, a massive, 14-ship American fleet appeared off York (present-day Toronto). Aboard were between 1,600 and 1,800 infantrymen under the command of Brigadier General Zebulon Pike. For months, the citizens of Upper Canada's tiny capital had been fearing just such an attack. Their worst nightmare was about to come true.

Guarding York were four companies of regulars, about 300 Canadian militiamen, and about 50 Native warriors. All were under the command of Major General Roger Hale Sheaffe. Numerically, it wasn't even close to a fair fight.

Predictably, the battle was brief, but both sides suffered heavy losses. Shortly after the landing, near today's Sunnyside Beach, the American ships unleashed a fierce bombardment with their long-range guns, pounding the cluster of wooden buildings along the shore. Sheaffe did what he could, but his men were taking heavy losses, especially after Pike ordered his troops to charge forward with their bayonets.

Sheaffe knew that victory would not be his on this day. But he had one more trick up his sleeve: as the Americans drew nearer to Fort York, he ordered his men to blow up the fort's powder magazine. This lethal maneuver killed 38 American soldiers, and injured over 200 more. The blast also fatally wounded Pike.

The Americans held York for more than a week, during which time their undisciplined troops caused a significant amount of damage. The greatest of these outrages was the burning of Upper Canada's first parliament buildings. The British and Canadians never forgot about this, according to many historians. In 1814, in one of the closing acts of the war, the British raided Washington, and held it for about a day. During this brief time, they were sure to burn down the White House and a number of other government buildings.

If they were indeed at the Battle of York, the Hamilton and Scourge would have played a pivotal role in landing men on the beach on the morning of the rout. Today, they lie in silence, under an ever-thickening blanket of zebra mussels.

To read the full Hamilton Spectator piece, click here.

Return of the Wolfe

2009-04-19T10:45:00.007-04:00

Last year, I wrote about the discovery of a 200-year-old shipwreck thought to be the Wolfe, the flagship of Sir James Lucas Yeo, commander of the British fleet on the Great Lakes during the War of 1812.

Unlike many of her contemporaries, the Wolfe survived the war, though just barely. She was heavily damaged in a battle with the American fleet on Lake Ontario known as the "Burlington Races." The battle was essentially a draw, but the fact that the British fleet survived meant the lake stayed in British hands, at a time when the war on the lakes was not going very well for the His Majesty's navy.

Ironically, the Wolfe met her end because she was no longer needed. With the signing of the peace treaty at Ghent in 1814, the British scaled back their naval presence on the Great Lakes. British interest in North America fell even further when Napoleon escaped from exile just eleven days after the treaty was signed and restarted hostilities on the continent. So the venerable old Wolfe, stripped of her armaments, was sent to the bottom of the lake she played such a key role in defending.

But she would not be entirely forgotten. Last summer, it was announced that divers had found wreckage they believed to be the remains of the Wolfe. To protect the wreck, her location was kept secret, but the discovery came on the heels of the discovery of HMS Ontario, an even older British warship that went down during a storm in 1780, at the height of the American Revolution. The Ontario is now the oldest identified shipwreck on the lakes.

This summer, a group of volunteer divers from Kingston, including a professor from Queen's University, will get to work trying to positively identify the remains as those of the Wolfe. If they do, the news will come at an auspicious time; 2012 marks the two-hundredth anniversary of the outbreak of hostilities, and just when the continent begins to turn its eyes back to this long-ago conflict, the Wolfe will rise again.

For the full piece on the efforts to identify the Wolfe, click here.

To read about last year's discovery of HMS Ontario, click here.

Around the Sound

2009-04-12T21:24:00.006-04:00

Last week, we decided we could take it no more. My wife Amy and I had been holding up rather well without our beloved Georgian Bay for much of the winter. But the forecast called for clear skies north of Toronto this Easter weekend, and we sensed that this was our chance. So early Friday morning we loaded the car, strapped the bikes to the roof, and pretended it was July.

Visiting small communities like Parry Sound in the off-season is one of my favourite ways to pass Ontario’s long, often frustratingly slow springs. The hordes of campers and cottagers haven’t arrived yet, so these places remain largely shrouded in silence. But you’ll always find a warm welcome, as the locals, looking forward to the boost the warm weather will soon bring, start to get ready for what will soon be upon them.

Still, there were times this weekend when we felt like we had the whole area all to ourselves.

The first stop was Killbear Provincial Park, one of the most stunning in the province’s system. It also has one of the longest average stays. This means, quite simply, that people come here and set up for weeks, if not months, which makes it pretty tough to get a campsite unless you want to take a stab at making a reservation in early February. Once, a few years ago, we managed to snag a spot here and marvelled at the site next door, where the occupants had erected a fully functional workshop, complete with a workbench, roof, and power tools.

Today, however, other than a few deer gingerly picking their way along the main road, Killbear was ghostly quiet. The park was actually gated shut, but we were able to make our way around on our bikes and then dodge the fallen trees, snowdrifts, and other remnants of winter that blocked the main road and many of the side trails. Still, at this spot near the park’s new visitors’ centre, the Bay sparkled like it does at high summer (if you ignore the snow that still blankets the opposite shore, of course).

Parry Sound got its start as a lumber town in the mid-nineteenth century. The railway followed soon after, and remains a major part of the town’s identity. The old trestle bridge that spans the Seguin River here was built in 1908 and is the longest in the province. If you sit on the town dock and watch a train pass, like Amy is about to do here, it looks almost like it’s flying right over the centre of town (this is especially true at night, when only the trains’ lights are visible).

It was striking to sit here yesterday, feeling the biting wind blow off the still partially frozen harbour, and think that in a few short weeks, the Bay will be abuzz with pleasure boats, tour boats, and even floatplanes. Back onshore, the bars, now quiet and dark, will be packed. The energy will be palpable.

And then, all too soon, the cycle will begin again, and the area will be returned to the locals – and the deer.

For more on Parry Sound, click here.

For more on Killbear Provincial Park, click here.

A distinguished career

2009-04-05T18:29:00.005-04:00

Another beauty in Toronto's harbour right now is the Canadian Leader. According to boatnerd.com, the Leader entered service in 1967, shortly after the Canadian Miner (see below). Back then, her name was the Feux-Follets. She was the flagship of a fleet owned by a Montreal-based company called Papachristidis Shipping Ltd.

In 1972, she was sold to Upper Lakes Shipping of Toronto, which owns her to this day, and renamed the Canadian Leader. Boatnerd descibes the Leader as a "classic Great Lakes bulk steamer." She certainly cuts an interesting profile in Toronto, where she's moored at what was once the terminal for the Spirit of Ontario, the ferry that briefly linked Toronto and Rochester. Unfortunately, the ferry service proved unsustainable. But at least the terminal, which looks like it was just finished yesterday, is being used for something close to its original purpose.

The Leader has certainly had an interesting career on the lakes. She's been involved in at least four scrapes, mostly involving groundings and minor collisions with docks and bridges. The most recent of these incidents appears to be a September 2005 grounding on the St. Lawrence River.

Still, a forty-two-year-old iron boat is bound to get a little scuffed up, and its nothing a little trip to the drydock won't fix.

To read the boatnerd.com entry on the Canadian Leader, click here, then search for "Canadian Leader" using the box on the left-hand side.

Big city, big laker

2009-04-02T21:48:00.006-04:00

The Canadian Miner is also moored in Toronto harbour right now. According to boatnerd.com, the big freighter was actually built in two halves in 1965. The bow and stern sections were later welded together and the boat entered service as the Maplecliffe Hall shortly afterward.

In 1988, her original owner, Canada Steamship Lines, sold the Maplecliffe Hall to a Toronto company, which renamed her the Canadian Miner. She still prowls the Great Lakes, and looks to be in excellent shape after forty-four years of service.

We happened across the Miner while cycling back from Cherry Beach last weekend. Behind her is the Canadian Ranger, which I've written about before on this blog. Click here to read those entries.

In a sure sign of spring, the shipping season appears to be off to a flying start, at least on Lake Ontario.

It's a different story up on Lake Superior, however, where winter still appears to have some fight left in it. One freighter captain learned this the hard way yesterday; the Lee A. Tragurtha got stuck in the ice off Duluth and had to be released by a Coast Guard cutter. Click here to read more about that.

Evolution of a barge

2009-03-28T22:09:00.008-04:00

A sunny Saturday certainly brought the masses out in Toronto today. It sent me down to the portlands to see what was going on in the city's often-overlooked harbour.

There have been many efforts to rehabilitate this part of Toronto's waterfront over the years. None have truly caught fire, and as a result this part of the city, from Cherry Street east almost to the Beach neighbourhood, is still struggling to emerge from its past as one of the city's manufacturing hubs. Exactly where the area is going is anyone's guess. But the harbour is always worth a visit. You never know what you'll find there.

Today, among other things, it was literally awash in lake freighters, including this intriguing specimen:

The Metis used to be a fully formed lake freighter, hauling cement to a number of Great Lakes ports (you can see a picture of her in her heyday, back in 1983, by clicking here).

From what I can tell, she spent a long time languishing in port at Windsor until, at some point, her wheelhouse and other superstructure were severed off and she became a "cement barge," basically used to haul cement while being pulled by a tugboat. Exactly what advantage a cement barge holds over a full-fledged cement-hauling laker is unclear, but a quick Google search reveals the Metis has been towed into many ports, on both the Canadian and U.S. shores of the Great Lakes, since at least the early 1990s.

Now she rests near the base of Cherry Street, silently awaiting her next load. She made fascinating viewing as we stopped for a snack on our way back downtown.

More on some of the other lakers currently in port in a bit. Meantime, you can find a few facts and figures on the Metis, and some interesting photos other freighter enthusiasts have taken of her, by clicking here.

The thaw

2009-03-21T13:34:00.008-04:00

Spring definitely made an appearance in eastern Ontario last weekend. We were there mainly to visit relatives and hit the Warkworth Maple Syrup Festival (specifically its pancake breakfast). But after we'd had our fill, Amy, my friend Hadley, her beloved canine Luke and I decided to take a ramble into Presqu'ile Provincial Park to see the evidence of the changing seasons.

These unknown berries were found hanging from the branches of a small tree just off Presqu'ile's main road. We were unsure if they were new or remnants of last year, but they made for an intriguing picture nonetheless.

Amy, Hadley and Luke approach a deceptively inviting-looking Lake Ontario. There was not a whisper of wind that morning, and if you set the chilly temps aside, you'd swear it was high summer. Luke got so caught up in the mood he decided to go for a quick dip...

Never underestimate the canine tolerance for cold water. I've watched dog owners at Cherry Beach in Toronto chuck sticks far out into the lake this time of year, then stand by as their oblivious pets swim out and back, again and again, to bring them in.

No signs of hypothermia this morning, either, though Luke did perform this unique high step (to everyone's delight) for a few minutes before finally giving up.

In other news, my talk at the Port Dover Harbour Museum last Thursday seemed to go over really well. It was a great opportunity to road-test my new Lake Erie history PowerPoint presentation (yes, I'm available for parties).

Thanks again to curator Ian Bell and his staff for being such great hosts!

Posted

2009-03-17T20:37:00.006-04:00

The staff at the Port Dover Harbour Museum have done a great job of putting together a poster to promote my talk at the museum on Thursday night. I'll be taking the ride out to Port Dover from Toronto in the late afternoon, and I hope to see you there.

Coming event

2009-03-07T15:21:00.005-05:00

If you're already thinking spring, and eagerly counting the days until you can get out on your favourite Great Lake, I invite you to join me on Thursday, March 19, for a presentation on Lake Erie history at the Port Dover Harbour Museum.

I'll be bringing along a slideshow that includes many of the images I collected while I was researching the book, plus a number of fun facts about the lake. I also hope you'll be keen to share some of your favourite Lake Erie stories.

And, of course, I'll be selling books, too. Here are the particulars:

March 19, 7:30 p.m.
Port Dover Harbour Museum,
44 Harbour Street,
Port Dover, Ontario,
N0A 1N0
tel.: (519) 583-2660
Admission: $5

For more details, click here.

Hope to see you there!

Warm spell

2009-02-16T14:26:00.010-05:00

A sunny February afternoon lured my wife Amy and I out onto the frozen surface of Pigeon Lake, near Omemee, Ontario (just across from Emily Provincial Park), last Saturday. Along for the stroll were Amy's sister and her husband, and their very tiny son, who is barely visible in his pouch in the picture below. The recent melt had reduced most of the surrounding snowdrifts to ragged, dirty mounds, but the shallow lake remained solid, and more than once the smooth ice surface conjured talk of breaking out the stick and puck.

At one point, Amy said, "it's hard to take a bad black-and-white picture." As one who has taken many a poor photo, in all conditions and light levels, I would have to agree, as simply switching on the camera's monochrome function has the effect of sweeping us all back to the twenties.

Many of the folks who live along Pigeon Lake pull their docks out for the winter, but some are permanently cemented to the bottom. Standing out on the ice and looking at their bare, weather-beaten frames, it's hard to believe they will ever see a boat again, let alone thirty-degree weather.

But soon enough, they will. And then, sweltering on the dock and reaching for the sunscreen, it will be hard to believe that sunny winter Saturday ever happened at all.

Winter break

2009-02-09T20:21:00.008-05:00

It was undoubtedly the sunny Saturday afternoon that drew the ice fishermen out onto the frozen surface of Lake Erie near Oak Harbor, Ohio. There was a stiff offshore wind blowing, but other than that, the day was downright balmy. A perfect afternoon to try their luck. This is probably why so many of them ventured out that day -- 134 in all. We know this because that’s how many the U.S. Coast Guard plucked from the ice floe they were on when it cracked away from the mainland, opening a 100-yard chasm between the fishermen and safety.

You can read more about the harrowing day these poor souls put in on Lake Erie by clicking here.

It happened that I was on the opposite side of the lake last weekend, visiting some friends and family. As such, Ohio’s offshore wind was my onshore, which meant the ice was being pushed toward the beach instead of being pulled away. While we stood in the backyard and watched the Canadian ice fishermen try their luck, this wood carving, which my folks had a local artisan do solely by chainsaw, kept a silent vigil.

I counted fourteen fishermen out on Pigeon Bay at one point. They came on foot, towing sleds full of fishing gear, on snowmobiles, and even on ATVs. With the warm winters we’ve had in recent years, this scene seemed a flashback from my youth, and something I wondered if I’d ever see again on Lake Erie.

Before climbing into the car and heading back to Toronto, we snapped this beauty, looking down the shore toward Leamington. With the day’s bright sun, it was almost possible to envision the thirty-five-degree days that often scorch this part of the country in the summer, leaving the lake about the only place to find relief.

But today, we opted to not set foot on Lake Erie. It was probably for the best.

Shipping slowdown

2009-01-20T19:19:00.008-05:00

The turmoil that's been battering the world economy lately has been finding its way onto the Great Lakes, too. This week's Leelenau News reports that fewer lake freighters have been seen on Lake Michigan's waters over the past few months.

Part of this is due to a drastically reduced market for steel, a longtime staple of the Great Lakes shipping trade, as the piece points out. But over the longer term, the freighter fleet has simply not been renewing itself. Not since 1980, in fact, has a large new freighter been built for Great Lakes use.

The piece doesn't really explain why this is, but the reasons can be easily surmised. The rise of road transportation has no doubt been one factor, as have fluctuating commodity prices over the years.

What's interesting is how so many of the iron boats that were built during the first half of the twentieth century have somehow managed to stay in service. The piece mentions the St. Marys Challenger, which began life way back in 1906 as the William P. Snyder, and is now a cement carrier on Lake Michigan. The Challenger, in fact, is currently the oldest active lake freighter.

A good example of a blend of two old boats is the Canadian Ranger, which was moored here in Toronto for some time a couple of years ago. The Ranger is actually a meld of two boats. One, the Hilda Marjanne, was an ocean freighter built during the 1940s. The other, the Chimo, was a laker first launched in 1967. The Chimo makes up the stern section of the modern-day Ranger.

For the full Leelenau News piece, click here.

For more on the St. Marys Challenger, click here.

For more on the Canadian Ranger, click here.

Renewing the Old Town

2009-01-07T15:47:00.006-05:00

Interesting reading in yesterday's Toronto Star regarding the latest efforts to increase awareness of the city's Old Town. This is the part that was originally settled when Upper Canada's first lieutenant governor, John Graves Simcoe, landed here in 1793 and declared what was then a patch of forest the new capital of the colony.

I've been spending some time investigating Toronto's early days for the Lake Ontario manuscript. Living in today's metropolis, it's hard to imagine what it must have been like back then. Simcoe actually set up a tent near the waterfront, and, with a group of soldiers, literally began carving the settlement out of the wilderness. Soon, a line of modest wooden houses sprang up along the shore, though the town grew slowly from there, and boasted only about 400 residents by 1800.

The colony's politicians, when they finally realized that Simcoe was serious about moving the capital to York, as it was then called, finally abandoned their residences in Niagara-on-the-Lake and arrived a few years after the lieutenant governor's initial landing.

There is certainly a disconnect between modern-day Toronto residents and their city's distant past. The Star article explores the reasons behind some of these. You can read it here.

The solstice

2008-12-21T17:47:00.008-05:00

Winter arrived with a thud this weekend in eastern Ontario, where I was housesitting for a family member. The Peterborough area got whacked much harder than Toronto did, and the blizzard, which came and went over the past couple days, left a good twenty centimetres of fluffy powder in its wake.

I snapped this frozen lake, on the doorstep of Emily Provincial Park, earlier today. To me, the inherent peacefulness of the scene says, quite literally, "get back inside and throw another log on the fire."

Last call

2008-12-14T18:42:00.006-05:00

On their last survey run of the season, shipwreck hunters Jim Kennard and Dan Scoville made another intriguing find in Lake Ontario, according to Friday's Rochester Democrat and Chronicle.

The ship, which remains unidentified, certainly ranks among the oldest wrecks on the Great Lakes, dating back to the period of the War of 1812. According to the story, Kennard and Scoville think it may have drifted away from its dock and out into the middle of the lake, or perhaps had been under tow, when it went down.

The ship is a rare "dagger-board schooner," a type of vessel that was only used for a short time on the Great Lakes. Apparently, the dagger-board was a wooden plank that acted like a keel, and could be dropped to provide additional stability while under sail. Conversely, when the ship made port, the board could be raised in order to clear the bottom.

You can read the full Rochester Democrat and Chronicle story (which includes an amazingly clear photo of the bow section) here.

Shipwreckworld.com also has a number of photos, more information, and an informative YouTube video, here.

Finds by Kennard and Scoville have been mentioned on this blog before. They have a long history of tracking down shipwrecks on the Great Lakes, including that of the HMS Ontario, thought to be the Lakes' oldest identified wreck, which went down in a storm way back in 1780. You can read about that historic vessel here.

Shoulder injury update: Thanks so much for the kind notes about the state of my now-reattached shoulder joint. It seems to be coming along well, though I must admit the sling is taking some getting used to. I had to be gently reminded today that, no, I can't ride my bike to go out and run errands tomorrow. Oh, well. At least the next paddling season is still a long way off.

Icebreaker

2008-12-08T11:00:00.009-05:00

The first weekend of December is a time I always look forward to in Toronto. For here, in the midst of the metropolis, we are blessed with a superb network of parks, many of which feature free outdoor rinks. And this weekend is when they open for the season, sending the locals, skates in hand, dashing out into the winter gloom.

The rinks themselves tend to rise and fall in correlation with how much the surrounding neighbourhood takes ownership of them. Some have lovely homebaked food available, and a range of scheduled family-friendly activities. Mine is a bit of a rough-and-tumble affair, rarely given the love of a good zamboni, and often the staff simply leave a shovel out so you can, as you possibly did as a child in your own backyard rink, shovel yourself an area and skate away.

One of the neat things about the city rinks is that there is often scheduled shinny, which is essentially a bare-bones version of hockey. There are three rules: no contact (no one is wearing full pads), no rising shots (again, due to the lack of pads), and, as there almost always no goalies, you can only score from in close to the opposition's net.

With these things in mind, I grabbed my stick, helmet, and puck, and set off into the cold, clear day yesterday. When I arrived at the rink, there was only one other guy -- a teenager idly batting a puck against the boards. Quickly, I laced up and joined him.

It was only moments later that it happened.

An aside: when the city rinks are first opened, the ice is not yet fully formed, and in some places can be quite thin.

Forgetting this, on about my eight circuit of the rink, I glided into one of the corners only to hit on a tiny, nearly invisible bare patch of the underlying cement. Before I knew it, I was down, and when I tried to get up, my shoulder let out a nearly audible scream. I collapsed in a heap. Unable to raise my arm at all, I plotted my next move. "Gotta get off the ice and put my shoes back on," I thought. "Then maybe I can walk all or part of the way home."

After managing to somehow skate to the bench and gather my stuff, I commenced my journey. Predictably, it ended only about 100 metres on. (Walking like this, hunched over with one arm stuck in the forward position, is something akin to swinging a throbbing elephant's trunk before you.) Moments later, salvation arrived in the form of a passing stranger who heard my whimpering and offered a cell phone and some friendly company until my wife Amy arrived with the car.

After being given a lot of drugs, a couple X-rays (I heard the technician actually chortle out loud when she saw the pictures), and a procedure that I care not to think about, I was slinged up and sent packing.

I didn't get a chance to see the X-rays themselves, but Amy did, and nicely summed up the sorry state of things later in the evening:

"There was a socket, and there was a ball. The ball was a long, long way from the socket."

A forgotten storm

2008-11-30T11:48:00.007-05:00

Minnesota Public Radio recently conducted an interesting interview with author Curt Brown on his new book, So Terrible A Storm.

Here on the lower Great Lakes, we don't hear much about the history of Lake Superior's distant north shore, but in this interview, Brown, a Minneapolis Star Tribune reporter, gives a neat summation of the horrendous storm that lashed the region in 1905. The event has largely faded from memory, but a number of vessels were lost, including the freighter Mataafa, pictured here, which foundered after getting hung up on one of Duluth's piers.

For the full interview, click here and follow the link under "audio" on the right-hand side.

For more on the Mataafa, click here.

Cold comfort

2008-11-25T20:36:00.006-05:00

Although it's fun to tell people that you are heading out paddling while you wait for the snowplows to clear the ice-covered roads of southwestern Ontario, it's more than a little dishonest.

Really, we just waited a little too long to put the kayaks away for the season.

Et voila

2008-11-24T08:48:00.005-05:00

I'm thrilled that columnist Marty Gervais's feature on Lake Erie Stories appeared in this morning's Windsor Star.

It's huge for the book to get a mention in southwestern Ontario's major daily paper. Marty's column does a great job of capturing what the book is all about and, in timely fashion, appears right at the start of the holiday shopping season. (Christmas gift for dad, anyone?)

Click here to read the full piece.

Star crossed

2008-11-23T19:33:00.007-05:00

If you live in southwestern Ontario, keep an eye on your Windsor Star this week, as local writer Marty Gervais's column, entitled "Our Town," will be featuring Lake Erie Stories, how it came to be, and, I assume, some of the local flavour contained within its pages.

Marty is an established local-history author who has written, among other things, a marvellous book called The Rumrunners, about the colourful Windsor and Essex County personalities who were involved in the illegal booze trade during Prohibition. You can learn more about it here.

As soon as the article appears, I'll link it off this blog. Stay tuned.

Unrelatedly, I took a drive down old Highway #3 this weekend to Point Pelee (I've written of my love for this intriguing stretch of Ontario highway before. Click here for that). It looks like the Port Crewe-area wind farm is fully up and running. The contrast between these massive, futuristic-looking turbines and the old farms that surround them couldn't be more powerful.

It's awfully hard to keep your eyes on the road and not get sucked in by their mesmerizing rhythm.

A deadly autumn

2008-11-15T11:53:00.009-05:00

Thursday's Toronto Star ran an excellent piece on the so-called Great Storm of 1913, widely thought to be the worst ever to hit the Great Lakes. Like the maelstroms that have sent the Edmund Fitzgerald and a number of other Great Lakes freighters to the bottom over the years, it hit in the infamous month of November, traditionally the worst month for weather on the lakes.

The beastly storm that raged from November 7-10, 1913 was notable not only for its awesome power but for the wide area it affected. In many ways, it was a classic autumn Great Lakes weather event: the result of a collision between an arctic cold front and warm air seeping up from the United States.

But when this deadly concoction finally exploded, none of the five lakes escaped its fury, though the upper lakes, Huron and Superior, suffered by far the most. During four days of ruthless pounding, no less than 250 sailors, many of whom came from small communities like Collingwood, Ontario, met their end that day, along with a number of freighters that were the pride of the Great Lakes fleet.

I touched on the Great Storm briefly in Lake Erie Stories. Though Erie escaped the worst of the nightmare, six crewmen from an American lightship off Point Abino, Ontario, never came home after those fateful days. The Point Abino lighthouse now stands in memory of the the tragedy (click here to read more about this architecturally rare building). Until it fell dark in the late 1980s, it also did what those brave men lost their lives doing -- marking a long rock shelf that juts out from the shore, posing a risk to vessels coming and going from Buffalo harbour.

To read the full Toronto Star piece, click here.

The witch of November

2008-11-11T19:05:00.007-05:00

There is a lot of remembering going on across the world today. Apart from the important sacrifices of soldiers, sailors, and airmen, though, there is another group that deserves a moment of thought this November -- those who have lost their lives on the Great Lakes.

November is characteristically one of the most deadly months on the lakes, when winds howl at gale force, and storms of a ferocity rarely seen in the summer months have the power to rage for days, often with tragic results.

On November 18, 1958, the freighter Carl D. Bradley went to the bottom of Lake Michigan, taking thirty-three men with her. Only two survived the sinking and subsequent exposure to the lake's freezing waters.

Just eight years later, on November 29, 1966, the Daniel J. Morrell met a similar fate, literally splitting in two before going down in a terrible storm on Lake Huron. In an odd twist, the boat's severed stern, powered by the still-running engines, smashed into the foundering bow section before disappearing into the night.

The lone survivor, Dennis Hale, wrote a book about his ordeal, during which he spent more than forty hours wearing little more than boxer shorts and a coat -- the only clothing he had time to grab -- on the frigid, raging waters of the lake. (You can read more about the wreck of the Daniel J. Morrell here.) Hale was the only survivor of the twenty-nine-man crew.

And perhaps the Great Lakes' most famous shipwreck, that of the massive ore carrier Edmund Fitzgerald in another fierce gale on Lake Superior, occurred thirty-three years ago yesterday, on November 10, 1975. Memorial services for the "Big Fitz" and her lost crew continue to be held to this day, and the ship is most notably remembered in Gordon Lightfoot's legendary song, "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald."

The Adrian, Michigan Daily Telegram ran a touching piece yesterday about Jim Jaros, a dockworker who frequently unloaded iron ore from the Fitz at Toledo. Jaros talks about the backbreaking job of unloading a seven-hundred-foot freighter, and exposes the human side of the tragedy when he recounts wandering the Edmund Fitzgerald's decks and talking with a number of the crewmen before they left Toledo, for what would be the last time, on October 31, 1975.

To read the full Daily Telegram story, click here.

A walk in the woods

2008-11-09T15:39:00.007-05:00

Last weekend, Presqu'ile Provincial Park sparkled under bright sunshine and balmy fall temperatures. Unable to resist, we decided to head out for a bit of a stroll. For company, we took along Amy's mom and her small, um, dog.

Aim contemplates the future as Lake Ontario sparkles in the background. Yep, the conditions were so perfect that even I could take a picture like this one.

The chilly waters of Lake Ontario roll up on the rocky shore of Presqu'ile Point. Unlike much of Lake Erie, many of the beaches on this part of Lake Ontario consist of long, rocky shelves. This can be deceptive. More than once I've driven my kayak up on what looks to be a sandy beach only to hear the sickening crunch of my hull grinding up against solid rock. In 1804, this area's most famous shipwreck, that of the schooner Speedy, occurred in a similar way, it is thought, when the Speedy's captain, Lieutenant Thomas Paxton, made a navigational error in the midst of a raging storm and smacked into an isolated rock near the mouth of Presqu'ile Bay. The results were fatal for the more than 20 passengers, many of whom made up the elite of Upper Canadian society. (You can read more about the wreck of the Speedy here.)

The day was so lovely that Amy's mom suddenly broke into a jubilant skip and chased her unsuspecting terrier halfway down the beach. To everyone's relief, the lake claimed neither dog nor lady.

After a couple of hours of well-enjoyed fresh air, and narrowly avoiding being pulled into a bustling Christmas craft show that was going on at Presqu'ile (the line is sometimes so long, it is said, that Santa's elves serve candies and other treats to the gathered masses), we decided to head back home for a much-deserved bowl of soup and a lovely afternoon nap.

Today in Toronto, it looks like it really could snow. And that perfect sunny day at Presqu'ile couldn't feel further away.

Out of the closet

2008-11-08T10:47:00.002-05:00

Last night, as I wandered into my bedroom, I was startled to find my beloved wife Amy, pictured here, leaning up against her pillow engrossed in the most recent issue of The Beaver, a Canadian history magazine.

Amy has always vigorously claimed, in public and in private, to not give a fig about history. The sincerity of this claim is something I've always doubted, suspecting that, deep inside, there is a secret history buff just aching to come out. This is evidenced by her often limp-wristed resistance to being dragged to various forts and other historical sites around the province and, once there, her thinly disguised interest in her surroundings (I once looked on as Amy stood riveted to a musket demonstration at Fort George, literally hanging on the War of 1812 re-enactor's every word).

When she set down the copy of The Beaver last night, I saw that she had left it folded open on the floor next to the bed. When I picked it up, I noticed that the article she meant to return to was entitled, "Name games: There's a reason why researching your East Coast roots is so confusing."

What could it mean? A new interest in genealogy? A joint project in tracing our common Scottish roots? A weekend trip to the Ontario Genealogical Society conference next spring?

One can only wait and wonder.

Schooner days

2008-11-04T11:10:00.005-05:00

Even with the November winds blowing (save for today, it seems, which is 20C and calm in Toronto), shipwrecks are still being turned up on Lake Erie, which holds the bones of hundreds of lost vessels, some known and some not, beneath its shallow waters.

Yesterday's Toledo Blade reports two new additions to the "known" list off Cleveland -- the schooners Plymouth and Riverside, the latter of which was built in 1870 and ended her career in a collision with a steamer in 1893.

The project was a joint effort between the Great Lakes Historical Society and a Cleveland-based group.

For the full story, including some fascinating underwater video, click here.

The Massasauga #3: Storm clouds

2008-10-25T11:26:00.008-04:00

Before dozing off in the tent on night three of our Massasauga Park paddling trip, I tuned into the local marine weather forecast. It looked like things might turn a bit nippy, with a forty-kilometre wind booked to start picking up around midnight, and conditions worsening through the following day. Having been out in a few doozies, we weren't too fazed; we would get up early, we thought, and make the roughly four-hour dash back to the put-in before things got too wild.

On cue, the wind picked up at about 12:30 a.m., shattering the stillness that had reigned for the previous three days. It felt significantly stronger than forty, so, just to be safe, I emerged from the tent to make sure the boats were secure. Satisfied, after a short grope through the pitch dark, I turned back in, and, still wiped out from the previous day's venture out to Wreck Island, promptly passed out.

We awoke to an even stiffer wind, and by now the waves were beginning to wash even over our sheltered little beach. The temperature had plummeted; the previous day's morning high of about fifteen Celsius had been chopped roughly in half. Worse, the revised forecast called for winds gusting to double the original prediction, or about eighty kilometres, and further dropping temperatures. If we were going to go, it had to be soon.

After a quick and unappetizing breakfast of dry bagels, we quickly disassembled our cozy haven and took to the boats. At first, we made great progress winding through the group of small islands that surround Sharpe's Island. It was only when we were about to attempt the first of two open crossings that the rain started. In only minutes, it had built into a raging downpour. Finding a bit of shelter on the inside of a rocky point, we waited it out in the boats, then eventually picked our way over to a small island about midway across the small bay we had been camped out in.

It was while we were about to make the second crossing that things got interesting. Finally, we felt the full force of those predicted gusts, and as the wind picked up, we felt it lifting up on our paddle blades with every stroke, at times threatening our grip. By now, every wave was washing over our decks, pushing us sideways and forcing us to brace. Even though we were both feeling like pulling the plug on the whole venture, we decided to proceed -- albeit slowly and carefully. Keeping close together, we dodged across the bay to the shelter of the mainland, the waves smacking up against our rear quarters the entire way.

The rest of the paddle was relatively quiet, though chilly and into a stiff headwind. After what felt like a lifetime, we arrived back at Pete's Point and our waiting car. After a quick, open-air change into dry clothes, we tightly strapped the boats down and were on our way.

My lunch at the Waubashene Truck Stop, just south of the Massasauga, was indicative of the amount of energy I expended that day: a fully loaded chicken burger with extra fries and coleslaw, chased down by numerous coffees.

Our stomachs full, we bid a fond adieu to the 2008 paddling season (barring a significant turnaround in the weather) and turned south toward the city. Spring, it seems, is a long way away.

Man of mystery

2008-10-21T18:20:00.007-04:00

The October 19 Burlington Post ran an interesting story on Rene Robert, Cavelier de La Salle, hailing the oft-misunderstood explorer as the first European to set foot in Burlington.

La Salle is perhaps one of the most underrated explorers in Canadian history. Often recognized as the first to successfully canoe the Mississippi River, he covered lots of territory in southwestern Ontario, as well (including building the first sailing ship on Lake Erie, the Griffon, in 1679).

I spent a lot of time wrestling with the quixotic explorer and his Canadian adventures in Lake Erie Stories, but in many ways I feel as though I barely scratched the surface of La Salle's story.

He is nothing if not hard to read. At first devoted to the priesthood, he walked away from that life to answer the call of adventure in the New World. There, he became more entrepreneurial, and was obsessed with finding a trade route to China via the Great Lakes. When that didn't pan out, he became something of a colonizer, and wound up in Louisiana in an attempt to set up a settlement near the Mississippi's mouth.

He was adored by many for his accomplishments, but hated by many more for his brash personality. In the end, this cost him his life. As his attempted colonization project struggled toward its inevitable failure, some members of his party ran out of patience. They ambushed La Salle and shot him, stripping his body and leaving it out in the open.

Louis Joutel, who was with the expedition, gave La Salle perhaps the best obituary when he wrote in his journal that the explorer displayed "too haughty a behaviour" and a "rigidness" that "at last drew upon him an implacable hatred, and was the occasion of his death."

To read the full Burlington Post story, click here.

The Massasauga #2: Wreck Island

2008-10-20T10:18:00.010-04:00

Wreck Island, on the outer edge of Massasauga Park, is fully exposed to the open waters and prevailing westerly winds of Georgian Bay. As such, it has seen a lot of history, both geological and human. It is also one of the most beautiful places on the Bay. Photos don't even begin to capture this.

The Wreck Island interpretive trail runs for about 1.5 kilometres (we checked before setting out this time) through the island's interior and along its shores. Along this short distance, you can see boulders and bedrock that are billions of years old, along with dense stands of trees whose cooler microclimates nurture various species of rare and delicate plant life. It really is like enjoying all that Georgian Bay has to offer over the course of just one short walk.

Wreck Island, naturally, takes its name from the numerous ships that have met an untimely end in its vicinity. The most famous is the Waubuno, a passenger steamer that sailed out of Collingwood in the early morning hours of November 22, 1879. A brutal storm had raged the previous day, delaying her departure, but finally, just before dawn, the Waubuno's captain had seen enough. The storm was abating, and it was time to sail for Parry Sound. What ultimately happened to the Waubuno remains a mystery, but it is commonly believed, as the storm began to rage again, that she sought shelter among the rugged islands of the Bay's eastern shore. It was a fatal mistake -- as the waves rose ever higher, the Waubuno ended up being ripped apart on the rocks. Her passenger deck (and its 24 lost souls), has never been found, but her hull drifted for about eleven kilometres, finally coming to rest just off Wreck Island, where, visible from the surface, it lies in about 4.5 metres of water.

Fortunately, no such maelstrom was in store for Wreck Island on this day. As the trail opened onto the shore, we found boulders of various colours and ages jumbled up along the water. Some of these were giant "percussion boulders," which had literally been dragged along over great distances by fast-moving currents of water during the last ice age, smashing new formations into the bedrock along the way.

On the way back to camp, famished from hiking the perimeter of the island and then paddling it, we stumbled across this handy dock awkwardly plunked in the middle of nowhere to service, of all things, a lone cell phone tower. As the sun began to set, the utter tranquility of the place became ever more obvious.

But Georgian Bay is nothing if not changeable, and the weather we would wake up to the next morning would bear little resemblance to the three calm days that had preceded it. It would, in fact, look a lot more like that fateful 1879 morning that bore witness to the final cruise of the doomed Waubuno.

The Massasauga #1: Moon Island

2008-10-16T11:49:00.012-04:00

Thanksgiving weekend is the wild card of autumn in southern Ontario. Often, it is a cold and miserable three-day slog, but sometimes it can be a gift -- a veritable extra summer long weekend.

This year, we were blessed. The marine forecast called for light winds and twenty-five-degree temperatures on southern Georgian Bay. Not missing a beat, Amy and I decided tack a couple extra days onto the weekend and set off for The Massasauga Provincial Park, which consists of a number of rugged islands and cozy inland lakes along Georgian Bay's eastern shore, just south of Parry Sound.

Moon Island, a large island to the west of the area's main launch point, literally a small trailer and boat ramp called Pete's Place Access Point, is classic southern Georgian Bay landscape -- high ridges of rock combined with dense forest that, somehow, manages to hang on in mere inches of soil. From Pete's, it is about a forty-minute paddle out to the island's quiet and serene shores.

One of the things that always hits me on landing at a place like Moon Island is the smell, especially in the fall. The wafting scents of pine and fir, combined with that of brackish marsh water are overwhelming, and almost instantly my muscles relax as I downshift into "camping mode," and the stresses of daily life begin to fall away.

The Moon Island trail is a meandering, four-kilometre ramble through the varied terrain of the island's interior. It was hard to believe it was fall as we sweated past tiny lakes, rich marshes, and tall stands of coniferous trees.

In a startling brain cramp, both Amy and I, excited just to be there, entirely forgot to check the trail map before setting off. Finally, a little over an hour in, we began to question why the so-called loop trail didn't appear to be heading back to the trailhead. Was it really only four kilometres? Was it really a loop? Had we missed a turn somewhere? Why in God's name had we not brought even a few peanuts along? No one could answer any of these questions for sure.

So, after we were finished beating ourselves up, and even though we were probably only feet from the end, we decided to turn back. About an hour later, we emerged at the boats, hungry and exhausted. After flopping on the dock and gorging on the aforementioned nuts, fruit, and, for dessert, delicious M&M's, we finally took to the kayaks and completed the paddle out to our campsite, near Sharpe's Island, a stone's throw from the open waters of Georgian Bay.

Camping in a provincial park is something of a luxurious experience after a summer of flopping on the Crown land along Georgian Bay's shores. Our site came fully equipped with a firepit, a picnic table, even a privy box (essentially a wooden box set back in the forest -- for privacy, of course -- with a fold-down lid and a seat carved out of the top).

After the day's hiking and paddling excitement, and as the temperature began to drop with the early nightfall, we ate dinner and warmed ourselves around a small, hastily constructed fire. The clear sky yielded a bright blanket of stars, and soon it was time to hit the tent for a good night's rest. The next day, we planned to explore one of The Massasauga's feature attractions -- the aptly named Wreck Island.

Familiarity

2008-10-09T15:11:00.006-04:00

One of the funny things about researching a book project is the people you become acquainted with in, let's say, uncommon, places.

Yesterday evening, for example, I was at the Ontario Archives reviewing microfilm of the York Gazette, Toronto's first newspaper, for the Lake Ontario manuscript. When I first started going to the archives, while researching Lake Erie Stories, I got the odd arched eyebrow from the staff. (I assumed this was because I'm quite a bit younger than the archives' regular clientele.) Gradually, however, this has dissipated. Last night, I shuffled in dripping wet from cycling over in a steady rain. "Still biking, eh?" asked the security guard, who rarely musters even a brief greeting.

Over at the Toronto Reference Library a week or so earlier, I approached the periodicals desk and asked for a couple volumes of Inland Seas, a great newsletter devoted to Great Lakes history, put out by the Great Lakes Historical Society.

"Oh, yeah. I remember you," said the library assistant.

"Really?" I said. "That's funny, because I haven't been here in at least a year."

"I know," he replied. "But you're the only one who ever asks for it."

Triple play

2008-10-06T16:20:00.006-04:00

Shipwreck hunters in northern Lake Michigan had a big month last month, according to yesterday's Detroit Free Press.

Thaddius Bedford, of Mayfield, Michigan, was among those who located three (possibly four) shipwrecks in the lake's chilly depths. Bedford and his colleagues had actually found a couple of the wrecks years ago, but decided that now was the time to make their finds public.

One is the Redfern, a wooden schooner that was built in the 1890s and went down in 1937 while carrying a load of wood. She lies well below the surface, in about three hundred feet of water.

Another is a far more recent wreck, the tug Lauren Castle, which went down in 1980.

You can read more about these exciting finds in the Detroit Free Press by clicking here.

To view the story (along with some interesting underwater video) on shipwreckworld.com, click here.

Aboard Via #78

2008-10-05T10:54:00.009-04:00

Thursday night, I took the train back from Leamington (actually Chatham) to Toronto. I love travelling by train, and it's been a few years since I've had the chance to do so. The ride is a relatively short one: three hours and twenty-two minutes. Just enough time to get a sense of the state of rail travel in southwestern Ontario today.

6:30 p.m. The station at Chatham hasn't changed in many years. The same two plants, philodendrons, that were there when I took the train as a student, still hang from rusty chains in the corners of the room. All beiges and greys (let's call them earth tones), the place could sure use a perk up. Upon entering, I step in something brown and sticky, and spend the next five minutes struggling mightily to wipe it off on the all-weather rug in front of the ticket desk.

6:45 p.m. The train eases its way into Chatham amid a rather heavy downpour. On shuffling aboard and making my way to my seat, I am approached by the cabin steward and informed that I will be his "door person" for the duration of the trip. I am often singled out of crowds this way. There must be something about my face that says, "Offer me responsibility."

So, to the front of the car we go, where I am taught how to open the door in the event that he is "incapacitated." I strain to pay attention, except at the point where he says that if there is a river or bridge outside the stopped (and presumably burning) train car, I should "try the door on the other side." Not exactly encouraging.

For the duration of the trip, my seat is marked by a small yellow sticker that says, simply, "door."

7:15 p.m. Apparently the train still stops at some of the smaller towns. At one called Glencoe, it pauses for about thirty seconds. One lady gets on, and another gets off.

8:00 p.m. London. Student central. The train car immediately takes on the feel of a dorm as the twenty somethings clamber aboard, open up their laptops, and get to work. In a nod to the modern era, Via has installed plugs at every seat with little signs above them that say "for computer only." I can easily see how people would be tempted to bring other things aboard and plug them in (a slow cooker for a family dinner perhaps? an electric razor?)

For the next hour, silence, save for the tapping of keys, reigns.

9:00 p.m. Aldershot. I don't even think Aldershot is a town, so much as a junction where passengers connect to the GO commuter rail system that spans the Greater Toronto Area. Whatever it is, the train largely empties here. With my seatmate now gone, I shuffle over to the window seat. One gets an entirely different perspective on cities from the window of a passing train. It really is like entering them through a sort of back door. Old, rusting cars, foundries, dumpsters, and the vandalized rear walls of shopping malls dominate the scene. (A writer in explore magazine a couple months back, writing about a cross-country trip on Amtrak, described such places as "ass end America.") In the distance, the twinkling lights of the "outer" side of the city shine. It feels something like being backstage at a laser light show.

10:20 p.m. Toronto. My wife Amy waits on the platform as I emerge from the depths of Union Station. A forty-year-old sign carved in the wall says, helpfully, "to city," and guides me out into the light. I wonder if its carvers could envision the bustling metropolis that exists outside Union today.

We emerge into the fresh, damp air. The street is alive, and Torontonians, enjoying a rare warm fall evening, are packing the patios of the bars and restaurants along King Street. It is a bit of a shock after the dim silence of the train, but I am happy to be home.

And happy, too, that I have spent the last three hours relaxing, and not fighting the gridlock out on the highways.

Back in the game

2008-10-01T16:36:00.003-04:00

As I write this, I am staring out over a seriously churned up Lake Erie. Yesterday’s relative brightness has been replaced by a slate-grey fall sky and a stiff southwest wind, which looks like it’s going to stick around for a while. No matter.

Apart from a short run and a somewhat longer bike ride this afternoon, I have been sitting at this slightly-too-high desk in a dark corner of my mother’s underused office. The change of scene from my usual Toronto surroundings has been just enough to get my creative juices flowing, it seems. Today, I embarked on yet another grand (suicide?) mission: I sat down and scratched out the first few paragraphs of my (hopeful) next book manuscript -- working title Lake Ontario Stories.

Shifting the scene from Lake Erie to its easterly neighbour has been an idea that I have wrestled with for some time. Outlines have been written. The library has been visited more than once. Still, I wondered whether I would feel as strong of a connection to Lake Ontario, a lake I am relatively new to, as I do to Lake Erie, which was a big part of my childhood.

So I decided to start with something seriously dramatic: the story of the Gibraltar Point lighthouse, whose first keeper, according to local legend, was beaten to death by soldiers from nearby Fort York. Many believe his spirit still haunts the light, which is the oldest on the Great Lakes.

Tomorrow, I will fold up my laptop and take this encouraging start back to the city. Hopefully the almost-daily sight of Lake Ontario will prove to be equally inspiring.

Inking the stock

2008-09-30T12:16:00.003-04:00

In an effort to get out of my head and change the scene from the desk I've been welded to for the last few months, I have entered a sort of self-imposed exile from the city and returned to the homeland -- near Point Pelee National Park. My parents have a little place here.

Last night I fell asleep to the chirping of crickets and the gentle slapping of a mostly becalmed Lake Erie. This morning I woke up feeling somewhat re-energized.

After a short run to the gates of the park and back to get my blood moving, I hopped on a friend's borrowed bicycle and headed to Pelee Wings Nature Store, where the owner has been very supportive of Lake Erie Stories, and has moved many a copy this summer.

One of the fun things about being an author is that you get to go into stores and essentially vandalize your books with your signature. Clerks require almost no proof that you are who you say you are, which I've always found amusing, and this simple act does make a difference in terms of sales. At Chapters, for instance, they'll place a "signed by author" sticker on the cover and face the books out, making them much more visible on an ultra-packed shelf.

Today, however, I was blown away to see that all of Pelee Wings' stock, save one copy, which was reserved for a friend of the owner, had sold over the last couple of weeks. Extra-satisfied, I signed it, stuck around for a bit of a chat, and saddled up.

Looks like exile is off to a pretty good start.

The guns of September

2008-09-22T16:48:00.014-04:00

September 2008 marks the 195th anniversary of a key event from the War of 1812, an escapade known as "the war that both sides won" because, despite a significant amount of bloodshed, the border between Canada and the U.S. remained pretty much the same once the guns fell silent in 1814.

But in September 1813, events looked like they might be heading for a significantly different ending. The storied commander of the British army in Upper Canada, Isaac Brock, had been killed in the Battle of Queenston Heights nearly a year earlier, and on Lake Erie the Americans were building a fleet of impressive battleships designed to directly threaten the meagre British presence in what is today southwestern Ontario.

Standing largely alone against this threat was Henry Procter, the commander of Fort Malden, in Amherstburg. Constantly undermanned and provisioned through a tenuous waterborne supply line stretching to it from Long Point, conditions at Malden often verged on starvation for the garrison, which consisted of British soldiers and a significant number of Native warriors.

Procter's job was not shaping up to be an easy one.

Still, despite all this (or more correctly because of it), a fleet of six British warships under the command of Royal Navy commander Robert Heriot Barclay sailed out of Malden on the morning of September 10, 1813, with a single goal: to wipe out the new American fleet under the command of young Oliver Hazard Perry. Gamely, Barclay approached Perry's anchorage at Put-in-Bay, on South Bass Island, in American waters.

But Perry, who would be lionized for his role in the battle, had a key advantage -- his fleet carried a superior number of short-range carronades, which were key to taking on the British in close combat. Barclay, on the other hand, was dramatically short of cannons of all types, and many of these had been stripped from the ramparts of Fort Malden in a last, desperate attempt to fit out his flagship, HMS Detroit.

So, the early stages of the battle between the six-ship British fleet and the nine American boats looked an awful lot like a chess match, as Perry tried to bring his flagship, the Lawrence, closer to the British, while Barclay, who was reliant on long-range guns, tried to keep the gap as wide as possible. In the end, mainly owing to a favourable wind, Perry was able to close the distance, though many of his gunners paid the ultimate price, being picked off by British cannonballs and sharpshooters while the American flagship pressed closer. By the time Perry was able to slam a broadside into the Detroit, the Lawrence was nearly completely wrecked. But his guns still had a lethal effect on the British flagship.

The coup de grace came when Perry had himself rowed, fully exposed to British fire, to the Lawrence's twin, the Niagara. The latter had stayed out of the fray, for reasons that have never been fully explained, and when Perry climbed aboard and took command, he had a nearly unscathed 20-gun warship to inflict on the by-now-tattered British fleet. In the end, he made short work of them, busting through the British line and unleashing broadside after broadside into his opponents until, at the height of this ruthless pounding, one of the American officers finally spotted a white flag fluttering above the deck of the utterly shattered Detroit.

With that, it was over. And the Americans found themselves in firm possession of Lake Erie.

Today, there aren't any memorials to the fallen British and Canadian soldiers on the Canadian side of the lake. But Perry and his men were revered for their victory by their countrymen. The most telling monument to the battle, and to the peace that has existed between the Canadians and Americans since 1814, is the 107-metre Perry's monument. Built to mark the battle's centenary and completed in 1815, the single stone tower draws tourists from all over the United States (along with more than a few curious boaters from Canada). From its observation deck, you can take in a stunning view of the surrounding Lake Erie islands, including the very spot where the two fleets met on that cool, clear day in 1813.

The 200th anniversary of the outbreak of the War of 1812 is coming up in just four years. As 2012 approaches, expect to hear a lot more about this peculiar conflict from the distant past.

Meantime, you can read more about this and many other escapades on Lake Erie in Lake Erie Stories.

Hidden history

2008-09-17T18:02:00.011-04:00

My recent shift in focus from Lake Erie to Lake Ontario, her smaller, chillier neighbour, has reinvigorated my interest in some of the places I often take for granted. One of these is Brighton Bay, which borders on Presqu'ile Provincial Park. A late-summer paddle there recently reminded me of the many hidden gems, both historical and natural, that dot this part of Lake Ontario's north shore.

One of these is the presence of numerous hidden coves and anchorages, far more than on Lake Erie, whose sandy shorelines are almost unbroken in their symmetry. This lovely dock, a great (and free) place to launch kayaks from, is in a tiny park just off Harbour Street in Brighton.

The simple beauty of the kayak, photographed just off the pebbly beach of Calf Pasture Point, Presqu'ile Provincial Park. Just across the bay from the put-in, Calf Pasture, now a quiet little dent in the coastline that is mainly used for bird watching, was an important British supply depot during the War of 1812 (the Americans once burned a schooner on the stocks here). You should be careful -- if you come on the wrong weekend, you could be beset by re-enactors, who have been known to pop out of the woods and recreate historic and fictional battles alike.

This range light, near the mouth of the bay, is an important navigational marker. Nearby, the Presqu'ile Point lighthouse, one of the oldest in the area, continues to attract tourists. (You can read more about this historic light here.) This spot also holds historical significance. In 1804, HMS Speedy, which was sailing to Presqu'ile for an important murder trial, went down here in a blinding snowstorm, taking a number of prominent Upper Canadians to the bottom with it. Their loss was a severe blow to the colony's development, and the loss of the ship convinced the government that the area was unsafe for navigation, preventing the founding of a planned town on Presqu'ile.

On this day, however, the range light marked only where the waves of Lake Ontario started to rise higher as they rolled over the shallow rocky ledges that jut out from the point. Being, in essence, a ten-year-old boy, I attempted to surf the whitecaps, which resulted in two dramatic broaches that threw me from the cockpit. On the upside, Amy got an excellent opportunity to practice her rescues.

Back on the town side of the bay, Brighton presents a rather tumbledown facade that doesn't look like it's changed much since the 1960s. This also goes for some of the boats; a couple summers back, we darted around the wreck of a sailboat, just off the marina, that appeared to have slipped her moorings and capsized. Today, fortunately, all the boats, including our own, looked very buoyant.

All of this, of course, only whetted my appetite. Unlike many of my friends, who bemoan the brevity of this rather sub-par summer, I find myself welcoming the coolness of fall, and with it several guilt-free hours at the computer.

There are, after all, new projects to ponder.

For more on Presqu'ile Provincial Park, click here.

Prisque Bay Calling #2

2008-09-11T08:42:00.007-04:00

Just south of our island encampment on Prisque Bay lie two tiny islets, oddly named Head Island and Inside Head Island. Opposite them, on the eastern shore of Georgian Bay, lies another speck on the marine chart, the unnavigable (except by paddlecraft) Mud Channel.

At the mouth of this narrow canal, which felt utterly untouched by humans, we spotted this lone heron. Curious to watch this relatively common, yet still mysterious, bird in action, we silently glided closer.

Herons generally like to feed on small fish. And their long legs, which undoubtedly look like plant stalks to their unsuspecting prey in the shallow water below, are ideally suited to this. We watched for several minutes as the bird took steps so gentle they produced not a ripple on the murky water's surface. During that time, several small fish met their untimely ends. Then the real drama began:

Suddenly, the hunter grew very still as something stirred in the water next to its leg. Patiently, it waited, and then it struck, and when its long bill emerged from the water it contained a writhing baby snake. For several minutes, a long struggle went on, as the reptile tried, in vain, to free itself by wrapping itself around the heron's bill, at points nearly hitting the giant bird's eyes with its tail.

To no avail. Eventually, the snake succumbed, and was instantly devoured.

Exhausted ourselves after watching such a struggle, we, too, returned to camp for a long, lovely afternoon of staring at the water and doing nothing. Then, after another comatose night in the tent, we set off for the four-hour paddle home, which we leisurely broke into two days by stopping at our usual waypoint, Gereaux Island. On the way, we lunched on one of the "30,000 islands" that dot the shore along the way. This one was just big enough for two people and two boats. I had to back up right to the water's edge to get this shot.

The last day returned us to Britt, and our waiting car. This was very likely the last time we'll get to this unique corner of Georgian Bay this summer. There will be other, smaller trips, no doubt, but there was certainly a lingering feeling that something had ended during the long drive home.

Still, we will carry the haunting beauty and utter silence of Prisque Bay with us through the long winter to come.

Top Shelf

2008-09-06T08:51:00.009-04:00

Shelf Life, a publication of the Toronto Library Board, gave Lake Erie Stories a big thumbs up in its most recent issue. Reviewer Joan Sutter said:

"... anyone interested in the area ... will find a well-documented history, laid out like a map, for all to see and follow."

She also gave the book 4 1/2 "bookmarks" -- high praise, indeed.

It's great to get a nod from the libraries. Authors and publishers tend to focus on retail sales, but libraries are a key component of any book's health -- and the most accessible way to reach readers. They also provide authors with other opportunities, like speaking engagements and events. And, of course, there are few books that would ever see the light of day without the resources of a good library.

Thanks, Shelf Life.

Also, if you're in southwestern Ontario on Monday morning, tune your TV in to your local A Channel affiliate for A Channel Morning. I'll be on around 8:45 a.m. to discuss some of the wilder stories of Lake Erie's past, especially the eastern end.

Prisque Bay Calling #1

2008-09-03T22:03:00.008-04:00

The lure of familiar places seems to be a recurring theme for me this summer. To that end, it seemed natural, in the spirit of the unofficial end of the season (and with it, the official return of peace and quiet to Ontario's wilder places), to return to the Foster Island area, along the eastern shore of Georgian Bay.

I've written about this stunning, and largely pristine, corner of the bay numerous times before (click here for these entries), and have already visited a couple of times this summer. Once again, we camped on "our" tiny islet, in the beautiful and utterly forgotten Prisque Bay, and set off to do some exploring from there. Though it's really only a couple hundred yards of rock covered in scrub, for some reason both Amy and I feel that we could stay on this little outcropping indefinitely. Kind of like twenty-first century settlers. And, of course, the scenery never lets us down.

Coming out of the tiny port of Britt, on Byng Inlet, it's about a three-and-a-half hour paddle to our special spot. As usual this summer, Britt was shrouded in a dense mist when we set out. But, as has also been our experience, things soon dried up, leaving three luxurious days of paddling through the maze of small islands and narrow channels that make up this part of the Georgian Bay coast. Just below the surface lurk the treacherous motorboat-eating Magnetawan Ledges, which keep the boat traffic (except for kayaks, which require maybe three inches of water), to a minimum.

Britt and the neighbouring town of Byng Inlet arose out of the lumber trade in the early twentieth century. As the forest was stripped away, however, the town of Byng Inlet declined, and today stands as only a few rather forlorn-looking cottages. Britt's story went a little differently; though it looked like it, too, would die when the sawmills fell silent, the railway soon arrived, and Britt became a key shipping point on Georgian Bay (which it remains today). But now it's mostly boaters and cottagers who drive the tiny economy here. And a couple of tiny restaurants, one of which is St. Amant's, which offers the finest western sandwich one can ask for after four days of eating in the backcountry.

Upon arrival at our second home, I usually rig up my handy retractable fishing rod up and take a stab at catching dinner. Of the three times we made it here this summer, two featured delicious fish feasts (if you include one that came from generous fishermen who tossed us a pike as they motored past). No such luck this time, though. The only thing that came out of the fishing was several hours of peaceful relaxation. And this great photo, courtesy of Amy.

The fishing was brought to an abrupt end most nights by the arriving swarms of mosquitoes. For some reason, they seem heavier on the bay at this time of year. The first night they came out around 6:30, driving us first into our bug nets, and then, when the buzzing in our ears had nearly driven us mad, into the tent.

It was just as well. Things would get very interesting the next day. And the wildlife would only get wilder.

The ghost fleet

2008-08-26T20:02:00.012-04:00

Hot on the heels of the discovery of the wreck of HMS Ontario, a Revolutionary War vessel that sank with all hands in 1780, comes news of the potential discovery of another significant wreck on Lake Ontario, the HMS Wolfe, a warship that faced a more pedestrian fate than its Revolutionary War predecessor. No longer needed after the guns of the War of 1812 fell silent, the Wolfe was scuttled.

But the Wolfe's role in its war was more important than that played by the Ontario thirty years earlier. The Wolfe was the flagship of Sir James Lucas Yeo, commander of the British naval force on the Great Lakes during the War of 1812, and was a powerful vessel for her day, bristling with 32 cannons and carrying a crew of around 220.

She took part in a number of battles, but her most celebrated engagement came in what is known as the Burlington Races (because the battle looked more like a boat race to spectators on shore) in September 1813.

The confrontation found Yeo and the British fleet facing a potent American force led by the formidable flagship General Pike. Things were not going well for the British on the lakes at this point in the war; just days earlier, the Americans had pulled off a stunning victory on Lake Erie (you can read more about that in Lake Erie Stories), and things didn't go much better for the British on this day.

In a short, sharp fight near present-day Toronto (in the middle of a storm, no less), the American fleet poured fire into Yeo's Wolfe, dismasting her. The Americans, and the Pike in particular, were within moments of finishing her off when Captain William Howe Mulcaster, in a dramatic move, threw his ship, the Royal George, between Yeo and his pursuers. This gave the British the time they needed to slip away, which they did, finding safe haven in Burlington Bay. The Americans, fearing that pressing their luck in such terrible conditions could be catastrophic, decided not to follow. As a result, the British fleet lived on, and soon the Wolfe was repaired and back in action.

The Burlington battle is notable to historians because it is one of those seemingly inconsequential skirmishes that, had an element or two gone the other way, could have had massive consequences. The British fleet was nearly defeated. Had it been, both Lake Ontario and Lake Erie could have been lost, and the war would likely have had a very different conclusion.

For now, the location of the wreck (it has not yet been officially verified) is being kept quiet, but this is likely not the last we've heard of the legendary Wolfe.

For the National Post story on the discovery, click here.

For more on HMS Ontario, click here.

Media update

2008-08-24T16:48:00.004-04:00

So I'm told that there is a good-sized feature on Lake Erie Stories in this week's Kingsville Reporter. If you're in the Kingsville area, run out and grab yourself a copy (and please tell me what it says -- the Reporter doesn't post its content online). Apparently we're on page 10.

Lake Erie Stories continues to get traction with the local media in the southwest of the province, which is really gratifying. If you're in that area two weeks from Monday (September 8), tune into A Channel Morning around 8:45 a.m. I'll be there -- live.

Will there be makeup? God, I hope so. For my last TV appearance, on Leamington's local station, CFTV, for a 30-minute book program called The Story Teller (check back here for updates on when that will air), I was told that the shirt I was wearing was "too busy" and would "pulsate" on camera, so I was left in the tight black T-shirt I was wearing underneath. Kind of a fifth-rate George Strombolopolous approach to local history.

Fortunately, the show went great. And from now on, we will show up in what a friend calls "a nice conservative dress shirt." Lesson learned.

Lake Ontario Stories

2008-08-20T18:18:00.011-04:00

At high summer, when the living is easy, people's thoughts tend to turn to the beach. I am no different, and these days I spend a lot of time pondering the Great Lake that is now in my back yard -- Lake Ontario.

With the Lake Erie book only just beginning to fade behind me, I've only begun to dig beneath Ontario's murky surface, but I've already pulled up some pretty action-packed history. And before you ask, yes, there are pirates.

Lake Ontario's claim to piracy comes in the form of Bill Johnston. Or, as he's more commonly known to residents of the Thousand Islands, "Pirate Bill."

Johnston had a knack for being on the wrong side of the law. Born to poor Quebec parents in 1782, he learned boatbuilding at an early age, and later took to smuggling. The Thousand Islands, with their many hidden caves and channels, were natural territory for this. Bill also had no use for the British, especially after they accused him of spying for the Americans during the War of 1812 and tossed him in jail. He escaped (not for the last time), defected to the United States, and swore that he would try to make as much trouble for the Queen's subjects in Upper Canada as he could. He took part in a number of border raids. But in 1837, he got his real chance.

That year, Upper Canadian rebel leader William Lyon Mackenzie, upset with the colony's undemocratic ruling elite, led an angry, largely drunken mob on Toronto, ostensibly to overthrow the government (you can read more about that in Lake Erie Stories). When the assault inevitably failed, the rebels dispersed, and a number of them regrouped on Navy Island, in the Niagara River, where these self-styled "Patriots" declared themselves a "government in exile."

This weird cause was the perfect bait for a man like Johnston. Perhaps predictably, he showed up at Navy Island and declared himself "commodore" of the Patriot Navy (though the Patriots, with barely enough resources to feed themselves, had nothing that could even loosely be called a navy). Then, probably oblivious to the politics of the cause, Johnston and a small crew proceeded to raise holy hell (and rake in considerable loot) raiding shipping among the Thousand Islands.

Their most notable escapade was an attack on the Sir Robert Peel, a Canadian steamer that ferried passengers through the islands. Employing Native war paint, supposedly to instill additional fear in their quarry, Johnston and his men boarded the Peel and proceeded to put its stunned (and well-heeled) passengers ashore on Wellesley Island. But, to the raiders' dismay, they didn't have nearly enough manpower to sail the Peel themselves, so they set her on fire and escaped to their "secret base," presumably a cave on a small island appropriately named the Devil's Oven. Apparently, for a time afterward, the brazen (and fashion-minded) Johnston even wore the Peel's flag as a sash.

Over the following weeks, nine of his men blundered into captivity. But Johnston remained hard at work (he is rumoured to have netted $175,000 from the Robert Peel raid alone). He kept in touch with the Patriots, and even managed to run his boat aground at the decisive Battle of the Windmill, near Prescott, which finished the rebel movement off for good.

Johnston later turned himself in to the Canadians, then escaped before eventually heading back to the States. For a pirate, he had an idyllic retirement, serving as keeper of the Rock Island lighthouse, a stone's throw from the site of the looting of the Peel. He died in New York at the age of 88, an exceptionally long life, especially for a pirate.

For the Dictionary of Canadian Biography entry on Pirate Bill, click here.

For more on "Bill Johnston's Pirate Days," a just-concluded annual festival at Alexandria Bay, click here. (According to the site, a simulated pirate attack on the village was planned for this year's festival. The fun was to begin after the village fell. Then, according to the site, the mayor was to surrender the key to the village and "everyone becomes a pirate.")

The swap

2008-08-13T18:43:00.009-04:00

This is my stepfather, Jim. Some days ago, Jim was enjoying a beverage at his favourite Leamington watering hole when he was approached by a friend. A friend called Woody.

In the course of the usual chit-chat, Woody let it be known that he was in possession of a brand-new grinder, and not only that, but a good grinder. A $100 grinder. And not only that, but Woody had somehow landed two of these lovely machines, straight out of the box, no less.

Interesting, thought Jim. I sure could use a new grinder.

Before Jim could say much about Woody's good fortune, his friend abruptly changed the subject. "I hear Chad has written a new book about Lake Erie," he coyly offered. "I'd sure like to get my hands on a copy."

Quickly, Jim did the math. The book has a cover price of $24.99. Woody's extra grinder was worth $100. That's a $75 difference -- by no means small potatoes. (An aside: my folks, being big-hearted people, keep a stack of Lake Erie Stories in their home, and have been highly successful in selling it to anyone who will listen to their well-honed pitch.)

It was crunch time. Jim decided to lay his cards on the table: "How about I trade you a copy of the book for one of those grinders?" he stated bluntly.

Woody smiled. It was a done deal, and a perfect deal, because both sides got exactly what they were after. Woody stopped by my parents' house a few days later; a book was taken, a shiny new grinder was left.

News of this deal made my Saturday. Of course, it has my full blessing. I hope Woody is well into his new copy of Lake Erie Stories by now. Perhaps he even keeps it in his workshop.

In fact, I am prepared to go one step further. In order to give my readers full bang for their literary buck, I openly encourage the swapping of pre-read copies of Lake Erie Stories. So, if you decide to try to move yours, and are successful, please report back here and let me know how you make out (particularly if you do better than an awesome new grinder).

Call it "Books for Grinders." Striking a blow for both literature and capitalism (and, following from that, home improvement).

The mothership

2008-08-11T16:37:00.008-04:00

I know it's short notice, but if you happen to be in the Windsor area tomorrow (August 12), look out for me on CBC Radio One's "The Early Shift," hosted by Tony Doucette. I'm scheduled to be on around 8:15 a.m.

Tony and I will be chatting about various topics, likely including publishing a book and intriguing stories from the history of Lake Erie. Maybe we will even try to tackle the question of just what makes old Erie so temperamental, anyway?

CBC Windsor resides at 1550 on your AM dial, and you should be able to pull it in anywhere from Windsor on out to Sarnia.

For more on "The Early Shift," click here. (For a full media roundup on Lake Erie Stories, click here.)

Fit to print

2008-08-10T18:02:00.007-04:00

Last week, the Lake Erie Beacon published a glowing review of Lake Erie Stories. The Beacon is a bi-weekly broadsheet newspaper distributed to pretty well all the communities along Lake Erie's north shore. In other words, prime real estate for a review of a Lake Erie history book.

Reviewer (and long-time London radio personality) Dick Williams called Lake Erie Stories "an engaging summer read" that will "more than intrigue and inform you." Of chapter 2, on the Battle of Lake Erie, Williams writes, "Fraser brings to life the ferocious Battle of Lake Erie during the War of 1812, complete with broadsides of cannon fire, toppling masts and dying sailors and puts you in the thick of the conflict." He also described the book as a "fast-paced read."

Thanks to Dick and the good people at the Lake Erie Beacon for taking the time to give Lake Erie Stories a look.

Incidentally, I was down in Leamington this weekend doing some other book media (including an entire 30-minute TV show, which was lots of fun). More on these and other exciting developments soon.

Stay tuned!

"The cottage"

2008-08-06T18:52:00.004-04:00

When life gets crazy, people tend to crave the familiar. I am no exception to this. So, last week, with the Simcoe Day long weekend breathing down our necks, Amy and I chose to return to our favourite place on Georgian Bay, Prisque Bay, near Foster Island. Even though we had been there only a month before, and Georgian Bay is rife with magical places to explore, it was just too tempting to return to a tiny, barren piece of rock that, to us, anyway, feels strangely like home. Amy refers to it simply as "the cottage."

Along the northern shore of our remote haven runs a narrow channel, maybe five kayak widths across, that leads from Prisque Bay into Norgate Inlet. It is impossible, for us, anyway, to grow tired of the powerful landscape of this corner of Georgian Bay. As Amy says, "I could just sit and stare down that little channel all day." Here, she does just that.

The fishing was highly productive this time, and, for once, I finally managed to land dinner -- a two-pound bass that was absolutely delicious. Clubbing it over the head with a rock was not my favourite part (another lowlight was the removal of the guts, which contained a half-digested crawfish -- Amy was ready to head for the hills), but in a matter of minutes I had the handsome fellow cleaned, and we cooked him up. According to Fishing for Dummies, there is no such thing as half-cooked fish -- it is like an on/off switch. This is true. Cooking time for this particular bass was about two minutes. Add butter and couscous, and you get perfection.

In the far depths of Prisque Bay, there is nothing but rock and marsh. When we head back into such corners of Georgian Bay, I always think, "Yep, here we go. This is when we find the dead body." Amy prefers to think that we will find a canvas bag with a dollar sign printed on it. But on this day, there was only a vicious-looking pike, about the size of my arm, lazing in the sun next to a lily pad. When our eyes met, we both jumped, and, with a mighty slap of his tail, he darted out of sight.

Burritt's Bay, near Byng Inlet, is a waypoint on the paddle down to (and back from) Prisque Bay. Near these reeds, we spotted two snapping turtles -- bigger than dinner plates -- and probably many years old. Here, Amy catches her breath on a ledge tailor-made for reflecting on some of life's more significant problems -- like why we should ever have to leave such a paradise.

But, unfortunately sometimes, every journey comes to its inevitable end. After the wonders of Prisque Bay, we turned our bows for the put-in, a little resort called Georgian Bay Cottages, which has that most unique of things on Georgian Bay, a sandy beach. Perfect for unloading kayaks and packing your gear in the car for the long ride home.

In the end, "the cottage" worked its magic. This week, after three deep backwoods sleeps, my head has been clearer than it has in many months, and the course ahead obvious. Still, I can only dream of the next trip. Some days, especially in the dead of winter, I wonder what might be happening there. The absolute silence that must reign over everything.

It is this haunting, yet strangely comforting thought that always keeps me coming back.

Mini-media

2008-07-30T19:53:00.003-04:00

Lake Erie Stories continues to catch the attention of community media outlets in the small towns lining the lake's north shore.

This time it's the Kingsville Reporter, in Kingsville, Ontario, right next door to Leamington. Couch potatoes may remember that Kingsville was one of the finalists in this year's Kraft Hockeyville contest, but was thwarted by Roberval, Quebec. (Who wants a noisy NHL exhibition game in their town, anyway? Yuck.)

Anyway, I have an interview set up at with a Reporter staffer at, of course, the Kingsville Tim Hortons on August 9, with a feature to run in the paper in the following weeks. So if you're a native Kingsvillian, keep an eye out for me in the Reporter.

I'm thrilled with all the local coverage, particularly in these, the dog days of summer. I'll keep posting the highlights here.

Liberation Day

2008-07-27T11:27:00.008-04:00

Many people from outside of Toronto would be surprised at the lengths to which many Torontonians must go to protect their bicycles from theft. My faithful steed (which I can see from the window of my office), is secured with a U-lock that could survive a nuclear blast. And this is not all I use. To make sure the criminal element doesn't make off with my bike's unsecured rear tire, I employ a vinyl-coated steel cable.

There is good reason for this. Every year, up to 4,500 bikes are estimated stolen in Toronto alone, making bike theft a significant problem. I have personally had two freed from my ownership -- one about a month after I first moved to the city and didn't yet know that I needed slightly better than a Canadian Tire cable lock, and one from the side of a house I was renting. (From under a tarp, no less.)

In both cases, the bikes were ancient and essentially valueless, but this didn't save them from their fate. The theft of a bike, a machine with whom many riders share an almost spiritual connection, is emotionally traumatizing, to say the least. Not to mention financially burdensome.

So when news broke last week that a major bike-theft ring had been busted in the city, and the loot, about 3,000 bikes in all, would be put on display in two nearby warehouses (yes, you read that right -- 3,000 bikes), I decided to go see what I could see:

A good part of the stash is displayed in the larger of the two warehouses. There are so many bikes that police apparently had to hire students to label them all and place them in lines arranged alphabetically by make. Hopeful owners, like visitors to a morgue, trooped along throughout the maze, silently hoping to be reunited with an old friend.

The second warehouse is set up essentially the same, though somewhat smaller. As with my own lost bikes, I was struck by how many were completely rusted out and essentially worthless. But the thief still felt the need to steal them. This would seem to fit the dictionary definition of "compulsion."

As it turned out, neither of my missing rides was among the recovered bodies. But there were more than a few interesting scenes at the police claims desk. One attendee, clutching a single tire, desperately tried to convince an officer that it was his, to no avail. "How can you prove a tire is yours?" the officer asked repeatedly. In a happy ending, we saw one woman pushing away an almost brand-new Miele road bike, only slightly the worse for wear. She was positively beaming.

I bet she was off to buy a pretty solid lock.

Hyping the hype...

2008-07-20T19:28:00.007-04:00

I have it on reasonably good authority that the Lake Erie Beacon, a small newspaper serving the communities along the Canadian Lake Erie shoreline, will soon be running a review of Lake Erie Stories. So if you live in one of these little towns, keep an eye out for the next issue (or perhaps the one after that) of the Beacon. We should know what it thinks of my tome shortly.

In other community-media news, I'm scheduled to do a half-hour interview with Marlene Markham, host of The Story Teller, a 30-minute TV show running on CFTV, Leamington's community station, on August 9. It's a taped interview, so I'm not sure when it will actually hit the airwaves of my hometown, but I'll keep you posted. It's gratifying to see the book get its first little bit of media traction, especially in the place that started it all.

Meantime, I continue to become more brazen about wandering into bookstores and haranguing them into ordering Lake Erie Stories. This weekend's target was Lighthouse Books, in the little town of Brighton, Ontario. It was a little tricky, because Brighton is actually on Lake Ontario, but stories of rummrunning, shipwrecks, and other nautical excitement are pretty universal, aren't they?

So if you are an eastern Ontarian craving tales from the western frontier, keep an eye on Lighthouse books. Perhaps a couple copies of Lake Erie Stories will pop up there shortly.

Homecoming #2

2008-07-13T10:20:00.010-04:00

Along with unique island culture, you'll find no end of natural splendour on Pelee Island. Because of its extreme southern location and the fact that it is surrounded by the warm, shallow waters of Lake Erie's western basin, Pelee Island basks in its own "microclimate," which warms it up, on average, to a temperature higher than that of any other place in Canada.

True to form, Pelee was hot and humid during our recent visit. Here is a typical island road; most of them are gravel, which means that about two days after the last rainfall they turn to a fine dust. And when you're biking, you have to deal with the massive, tooth-gritting clouds that are kicked up by every passing car. But at least the motorists are kind enough to wave as they're about to blast you. The ubiquitous "Pelee wave," in which all motorists on the island are expected to wave at each other as they pass (don't do it and you'll immediately label yourself a tourist), is something I've never encountered anywhere else.

Amy takes a break from basking in the warm waters of Lake Erie off Fish Point, a nature reserve at the island's south end. Over her shoulder is Middle Island, which contains a pristine sample of lush Carolinian forest. It's the southernmost point of land in Canada. And as I've mentioned before, it is a little island with a very shady past. In an act of blatant self-promotion, I will tell you no more -- you'll have to read about it in Lake Erie Stories.

No trip to Pelee Island is complete without a visit to the Pelee Island Winery. Winemaking has been a mainstay of the island's tiny economy for a century, and the vintages here, because of the muggy, almost tropical climate, are unique, indeed. Behind the winery you can sample a choice of cheeses and picnic on a beautiful lawn. A warning: the chilled white wine served here goes down quickly on a steamy summer day. I recommend taking the winery's little tourist trolley to the ferry.

Photographing a sunset is always a hit-and-miss proposition. Usually when I try to do it, I end up with a big, red blur. Or the setting sun is so far away that it loses nearly all of its dazzle. But this one, taken on our last evening on the island, appears to be an exception.

Growing up in this area, I often heard people comment that it was known for having the most beautiful sunsets in all the world. I don't know if it's true, but I bet you'd be hard pressed to find a Pelee Islander who would disagree. And at the risk of sounding cliche, it's one of the many things that always keeps me coming back.

Homecoming #1

2008-07-08T20:10:00.008-04:00

I’ve written a number of times here about my longtime love of Pelee Island. When I was a kid, my grandparents owned a small wooden cottage on West Shore Road, and no matter where I go in life, this little island, with its many charming quirks and its stunning natural beauty, always seems to call me back.

A couple of weeks ago I received that call yet again, and as a result Amy and I excitedly landed on the dock here last Friday for a bit of a mini-holiday. But this trip was a bit different than any I had made in the past -- I had a newborn in tow; along with the camping gear, I stuffed a box of Lake Erie Stories into the trunk of the car before we left Toronto. And, to me at least, it kind of felt like we were bringing her home.

Amy takes a break with a (mediocre?) book on the steps of the Westview Tavern, billed as the southernmost tavern in Canada. And now its title is undisputed; with the closing of the Pelee Island Hotel, just metres to the south, a couple of summers ago, the Westview stands alone as the only place to go for a cold draft on the entire island. It’s also just off the ferry dock, and a great first stop after the ninety-minute crossing. I’ve spent too many hours here to count, and was shocked this weekend to learn that the tavern had altered its dress code:

After a cold brew at the Westview (or perhaps it would be better if you went before), you can head next door to the Pelee Island Heritage Centre, where curator (and the island’s unofficial Minister of Information) Ron Tiessen will answer any questions you might have about Pelee’s rich human and natural history. The museum, which occupies the old town hall, is filled with artifacts of the island's past and priceless items from nearby Middle Island, which was both a speakeasy and a haven for rumrunners during the prohibition years. There is even a small bookstore where Ron sells a number of his excellent books on Pelee’s history. He was kind enough to allow me to deposit a few copies of Lake Erie Stories there as well, making the book's homecoming feel complete.

Amy patiently waits for a bus that will certainly never come on the island’s east side. This transit stop, stuck in the ground in front of a cottage by some prankster, remains the official property of the Toronto Transit Commission, though I bet this is the last place they’d ever come to look for it. On one side is a weathered advertisement for the TTC’s “TimeLine,” which, in its day, told you when the next bus would come. It took much of my strength to restrain myself from calling it.

A couple of times over the weekend, I heard islanders mention that they had to get ready to do their banking. I was perplexed as to how this was done; there is no bank on the island, not so much as a bank machine, actually (the white-label one in the tavern doesn’t work). Did islanders have to go to the mainland and back (three hours total ferry ride) to complete this, one of life’s simplest tasks?

Here was my answer. Last Monday, a credit union from Essex County came over and set up shop in, of all places, the local legion. I don’t know how often the credit union does this, but I assume it's only once a week. For those of us who grew up on ATM machines, it’s a stark reminder of how disconnected the island really is from the hurly-burly of mainland life. And, if you’re of the right mindset, you’ll quickly see that it’s one of the many things that make this place so very special.

To read more about Pelee Island on this blog, click here.

For the Pelee Island Heritage Centre web site, click here.

For the official Pelee Island web site, click here.

Foster Island Stories #2

2008-07-03T20:15:00.007-04:00

Two more days of paddling around Foster Island and its neighbouring rocky islets awaited after our surprise pike dinner on night one. Here are some of the highlights:

Amy battles her way into a stiff headwind on our second-last day out. The paddle to Foster Island is relatively sheltered, but there are a number of areas, like here in Burritt's Bay, where you'll find yourself fully exposed to the prevailing west wind, which creates a playful chop in the relatively shallow water. But watch out for the rocks. Also, I'm told that it's bad luck to sing "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald" at the top of your lungs when the wind is up like this. So don't.

The Gereaux Island lighthouse, built in 1880, was manned for a remarkably long time. In 1989, the last keeper finally descended from his perch for good. Now this old wooden beauty, still active, is maintained by the coast guard as part of a rescue station. It's a familiar landmark to paddlers heading toward Foster Island, as it marks the place you turn south and weave your way through the tricky rocks and shoals of the Magnetawan Ledges. The south side of Gereaux Island is also blessed with remarkable camping, and we often stay here on our last night out.

Here is one of those great Gereaux Island sites. You can forget staking a tent down here, but there are plenty of boulders to tether your shelter to. Just before paddling back to Britt for the long ride home, we sat in the early morning sun here and watched a Blanding's turtle in action, slowly (even for a turtle) hunting crawfish at the edge of the water, then busily stirring up the muck on the bottom. All the while he carried a clam, which he appeared to be saving for brunch, in his back claw.

As the day heated up, we felt the usual sadness at having to shuffle away from the silent mysteries of this unique corner of Georgian Bay and back to our busy city lives. But we intend to return soon. And it's comforting to know that nothing will have changed.

Foster Island Stories #1

2008-07-01T20:29:00.010-04:00

When my wife Amy and I go camping, things usually go smoothly. That is perhaps an understatement. Things often operate with a choreographed precision that would make any armed forces marching band proud.

Checklists are made and followed, gear and provisions are loaded into the car, the destination is reached at the prescribed time, the kayaks are loaded and weighted just so, and we shove off. Few words are spoken.

And so the dance began anew at five a.m. sharp last Saturday morning. Our destination was Foster Island, which is an uninhabited pile of rock about a four-hour paddle south of the coastal town of Britt, on the eastern shore of Georgian Bay.

Just to the east of Foster is Prisque Bay, a name that exists only on marine charts. We have a bit of a secret campsite there, where we've been going, not really by design, for the last two Canada Days. The nearest road is several miles away, and the Magnetawan Ledges, fierce slabs of rock that rise near the water's surface, guard much of the surrounding area from pesky motorboaters. It is not uncommon to go for days at a time in this remote corner and encounter no humans at all.

Almost from the beginning, we knew our carefully laid plans were going to face a stiff challenge. The forecast called for unsettled weather, and Mother Nature didn't disappoint. We loaded the kayaks onto the car in a fierce downpour and faced howling winds and heavy rain for the entire three-hour drive to Britt. But we made it, and in no time had the car unloaded. That's when we heard the hissing sound coming from the right rear wheel.

Instinctively (although I can't remember the last time I changed a tire), I unloaded the spare from its nest deep in the trunk and set to work. As the rain pelted down and the muck splattered back into my face, I managed to jack the back end up and disassemble the right rear wheel. Fortunately, the spare went on smoothly and our hearty little automobile was soon back in working order. Dirty and sweaty, but not wanting to lose another minute, we checked the sky for thunderheads and quickly launched into a downpour.

And then, almost as if on cue, the rain stopped. After clearing Byng Inlet and looping around to the south, our muscle memory clicked in and we churned out a steady rhythm toward our destination. Four hours, and a couple of wrong turns later, we arrived in the protective confines of Prisque Bay to find not silence, but, of all things, other people. Fishermen, in fact, slowly trolling back and forth in front of our campsite. Then a miracle occurred.

As we were setting up the tent, one of the boat's occupants waved an arm in our direction. "We have two pike," he called out, "and we'd like to give you one."

Gleefully, we accepted, and they tossed this handsome guy up onto the shore. Informed only by a recently purchased copy of Fishing for Dummies, I set upon the poor creature with my shiny new filleting knife. After forty minutes, we had a good deal of meat -- and a lot of little bones. But the struggle was more than worth it. The little bits of pike, cooked only in butter, were some of the most delicious morsels I've ever eaten.

Confident in my manhood and thoroughly stuffed, I crawled into the tent and quickly fell into the kind of deep sleep that only follows a hard day's labour. The next morning, we would set out in the boats to revisit the mysteries of Foster Island. And hopefully uncover more.

Launched

2008-06-27T12:45:00.007-04:00

I awoke a bit more bleary-eyed than usual this morning. The coffeemaker was switched on just as soon as I could make my way out to it, but it is early afternoon and its life-enhancing effect is only just beginning to kick in.

The occasion was the Toronto launch of Lake Erie Stories at the Victory Cafe last night. And what a night it was; we had about forty people show up, sold a bunch of books (though many attendees, sweetly, came with their own copies), and I got to take a crack at doing a reading, my first one, before moving on to hors d'oeuvres and imported beer. All in all, a successful evening.

A book launch is in many ways like a wedding. Speeches are made, glasses clink together in celebration. And then, of course, there is the interesting mix of people; as I surveyed the room, I noticed (and eavesdropped on) lots of curious conversations: my editor chatting up my parents, my coworkers hanging out with my wife Amy's family. My real-estate agent chatting with, well, everybody.

And at the core of it all, when you get right down to it, is good food and drink. Both were available in abundance, thanks to the good folks at the Vic.

The last few stragglers (us) bled out onto the street around eleven. After stuffing the fridge with leftover pakoras and mini-hamburgers, we collapsed onto the bed, utterly spent. Hence our current state.

So chalk up yet another promotional event on the unofficial author tour. What's next? There are more ideas currently in the hopper for southern Ontario (stay tuned for more on those), hopefully a few reviews, and maybe even a media interview or two.

But for now, I'll settle for another cup of coffee.

The drive

2008-06-19T18:47:00.011-04:00

The stretch of Highway 3 that runs from St. Thomas to my hometown of Leamington is a study in contrasts. When making the run from Toronto, as we did a couple weeks ago, we're usually sick of the monotony of the 401 by the time we hit London. So, after a delicious chickenburger at the Flying M Truck Stop, we often divert to Highway 3 and embark on what my folks quaintly call "the old way."

And in many ways, it is. Before superhighways found their way to southern Ontario, this lonely two-lane slog along the shores of Lake Erie was the main thoroughfare connecting communities like Kingsville, Leamington, and Windsor to London and points east. But when the 401 went in just to the north, the dollars followed, leaving a host of decrepit farms, motor inns, and restaurants in their wake. But all is far from lost in this part of the Ontario hinterland.

Well, perhaps here all is lost. This farmhouse, near Talbotville, was standing only a short while ago. I noticed last spring that it had crumbled into this still-dignified looking ruin. Highway 3 is dotted with many such places. They're a haunting reminder of the difficulties of farm life, and many, long abandoned, have been knocked down, perhaps because the landowners fear they would be liable if anyone were to wander in and injure themselves.

Dealtown, not far from Chatham, possesses my favourite Ontario town name. The origin of the name eludes me, but there is not much space in Dealtown in which to make a deal. The back of the sign announcing to motorists coming in the other direction that they, too, are entering Dealtown is a stone's throw from this one.

The past meets the future near Port Crewe, about thirty kilometres east of Wheatley. This is probably the most desolate stretch of the route, with the whitecaps of Lake Erie crashing against the high cliffs that drop down not far from the highway's edge. The wind really whips through here, making the area a perfect spot for a wind farm. The completion of the massive project will give the old highway a look that its designers, in their wildest dreams, could never have imagined.

As we neared my parents' home on Point Pelee, we noticed that the locals were to be entertained by a "Jet Event" on this particular weekend. When I was little, these were known as "airshows," but perhaps the language has since evolved. In any case, these little signs, lovingly hand cut by someone, lined the various corners of the last part of the route. The stiff winds that weekend would have made any type of air event challenging, but this would've been music to the ears of the wind farmers.

I guess that along Highway 3, as with many other places, there are clear winners and losers.

Zippety-zap!

2008-06-17T18:52:00.007-04:00

This phrase, often used by a family member of mine, is an apt description of my signing at BookExpo here in Toronto last Sunday.

For those who are unfamiliar, BookExpo is an annual industry trade show. It's open to those in the publishing biz, as well as librarians, booksellers of both the chain and independent varieties, educators, and pretty well anyone else who derives at least part of their living from the making, selling, or reading of books. The idea is for publishers to set out their latest wares, for authors to show up and sign, and for general buzz to be created. Most attendees go home with a bagload of free books, and the hope is that they'll order more to display in their various shops.

So imagine my surprise when I rolled up to the Dundurn booth for my 11:30 a.m. signing last Sunday, coffee in hand, to find, of all things, a small lineup for Lake Erie Stories. At first I thought the crowd was waiting on another author. One with, I dunno, a body of work. But alas, no. The publicist informed me that they were indeed there for me. And so we got down to business.

In less than a half-hour, we blew through all the books we had available (I'm going to say around 25 copies), and even had to turn a few people away at the end. And they were an informed bunch; most had actually sought out the book, and made sure they were there in time to get a copy. (One bookseller was planning a special display in her southern Ontario store. Two librarians were going to give it away as a prize for a fundraising drive.)

It was a great sign, not only for the future of one little book, but for the appetite that clearly exists out there for regional histories like this one.

Next stop, the Victory Cafe on June 26 for the Toronto launch. And then, well, who knows?

The "holy grail"

2008-06-14T11:04:00.005-04:00

Shipwreck hunters Jim Kennard and Dan Scoville are at it again, this time uncovering the wreck of HMS Ontario, a British warship that went down on Lake Ontario way back in 1780, at the height of the American Revolution.

The Ontario was on its way from Fort Niagara to Oswego, New York, when she disappeared in a sudden storm on October 31, 1780. About 130 people, including her crew, some British soldiers, and even around thirty American prisoners went to the bottom with the ill-fated Ontario that day.

"It's the holy grail of Great Lakes wrecks," Kennard told a reporter this week.

At 228 years of age, the Ontario is certainly the oldest identified wreck on the Great Lakes. She lies in complete darkness and bone-chilling cold about 150 metres below the surface of Lake Ontario. Kennard and Scoville were shocked at her state of preservation when they first found her a few months ago. She rests on the muddy bottom at about a 45-degree angle with her masts upright and, reportedly, even intact glass in some of her windows.

Kennard and Scoville are experienced divers who hunt Great Lakes shipwrecks as a hobby. They spent three years searching for the Ontario.

You can read the full story, from today's Toronto Star, here.

I've written about two other Kennard-Scoville finds, the Orcadian and the Milan, previously. Click on the ship names to read these posts.

Freshwater Father's Day

2008-06-13T17:25:00.007-04:00

Lake Erie Stories is leading off Dundurn Press's list of gift suggestions for Father's Day this Sunday. (My stepdad already got a copy, which conveniently got me off the hook this year.)

If you're still wondering what to give, you can see the complete list by clicking here.

Back to the Bay

2008-06-10T18:29:00.010-04:00

Georgian Bay port towns have a wide range of personalities. Some, like Honey Harbour, have a neat, clean, almost obsessively regimented feel to them. Like little bridges between the big city that lurks to the south and the quiet cottages that line the many small islands beyond.

But most, like Bayfield Inlet, where Amy and I found ourselves last weekend, are much more rustic, and owe their existence to some long-gone industry, like forestry or the railway. Today, many still cling to a precarious existence along the Bay's rocky shores, with gas, groceries, cigarettes and other cottage necessities now driving their tiny economies. But despite (and perhaps because of) the relentless march of time, they retain a subtle coziness. And you never know just what you might stumble across.

The Blue Bastard, demon scourge of the Great Lakes, sits partially submerged at her dock in Bayfield Inlet. Her last beer run complete, she waits to be reclaimed by nature. Or at least her hull does. That's a pretty nice outboard that probably won't stay hooked to her transom for too much longer.

A couple hours' paddle out of Bayfield Inlet delivers you to the outer islands, which shelter the inlet from the crashing waters of the open bay. Some of these rocky atolls only barely break the water's surface, but others, like this one, make excellent spots to set up camp for a couple days of exploring.

On Sunday, we picked our way through the labyrinth of the outer islands, occasionally braving the open water. Out here, you never lose the sense that a new mystery lurks around every corner, just waiting to be uncovered. Here is one of the lesser ones; an old Piper floatplane, lovingly restored and docked at a remote cottage. Not much wider than a human body, she was capable of holding a pilot and exactly one passenger. Later, we saw her proud owner looping low over our campsite, no doubt taking in a pretty awesome view.

A slightly more harrowing mystery waited on an island quite near our camp. As we looped back for a nice dinner and a long night's slumber, we came upon him, feasting on weeds and grubs. I can tell I'm getting more comfortable with the presence of bears on the bay. Paddling to within a respectful distance, I held up the camera and made a "tst, tst, tst" sound, like one does when one calls the family cat. Later, I thought: "Did I really do that? There's no way that was smart." But it resulted in a pretty great picture, nonetheless.

I've never slept more deeply than I did during those two nights out on Bayfield Inlet, lulled as I was by the symphony of bugs and the long, echoing wail of a nearby pair of loons. It has been a long, dark winter indeed, but Georgian Bay sure wasn't slow to remind us what a special place she truly is.

Defining Lake Erie

2008-06-06T18:36:00.004-04:00

A number of weeks ago, I did a Q&A with my publisher, Dundurn Press for their blog, definingcanada.ca. With tomorrow being the "official" publication date for Lake Erie Stories, they decided to post it today.

If you're at all interested in what makes oddball Great Lakes authors tick, you can read the full interview by clicking here.

Reader response

2008-06-04T20:56:00.005-04:00

While checking the mail a couple days back, I was surprised when a small envelope stamped "Air Mail" from Arizona poked its way out from between the usual coupon booklets and real-estate flyers. Not knowing anyone from Arizona, I rushed upstairs and opened it.

Inside was a little card adorned with a black-and-white image of a small bird standing next to a cactus. I opened it, revealing a handwritten message from a descendant of Amund Eidsmoe, who had been aboard the ill-fated steamer Atlantic when it sank after a collision with another ship in 1852. The Atlantic is one of the four wrecks I wrote about in Lake Erie Stories. The note was from one of Eidsmoe's descendants (you can read more about them here) whom, I belatedly remembered, I had sent a free copy for his help with my research. He had received the book, he wrote, and had quickly flipped to his forebear's story.

"You did well with the story of the Atlantic, and Amund Eidsmoe's family. I will treasure this book."

When those who trusted me with their family's history are moved to make such gracious comments, everything else is gravy, really. And I'm delighted that I could play a small part in helping Eidsmoe's story find new life. In the end, I guess, it is why we go to all the trouble of writing these books in the first place.

Sales pitch

2008-06-03T21:05:00.005-04:00

This past weekend marked the unofficial promotional kickoff for Lake Erie Stories.

Saturday was the first stop; an afternoon at the Ontario Genealogical Society conference in London. Dundurn had a booth set up there, and it was a tough room full of serious historians, to be sure. Still, the book got a warm reception, and I got to road-test my pitch, which essentially boils down to: "Hi. I'm here signing my new book. It's my first one."

A bunch of green balloons were placed on the table, indicating that an author was indeed present. Another factor that worked in my favour was the booth's location. We were next to the door leading to the washroom, which allowed me to periodically lunge at startled passersby.

In the end, it went well. I personally moved around six books, some to people who didn't know much at all about Lake Erie.

From there it was on to a much easier event at my folks' place on the beaches of Point Pelee. It was a stellar day on Sunday, the lake was sparkling in that tropical way that only Erie can, and kind people popped in from all over the neighbourhood. (Some family members even chipped in this fancy Lake Erie Stories labelled wine. Pelee Island, no less.)

An astounding number of people came with their own copies, which was really touching. Still, I managed to sell over twenty more as my tired wrist (and brain) strained to come up with unique messages to write in each book. Some people were even organized enough to come with their own messages scratched on little pieces of paper, which was unbelievably helpful.

So we are officially off and running. Next stop, BookExpo in Toronto on
June 15 (click here for more on that) and the Toronto launch for the book at the Victory Cafe in the Annex neighbourhood on the 26th. And there will be much more to come, I'm sure.

Phew.

Because it's there

2008-05-26T18:38:00.012-04:00

Staring at a map some months ago, I guessed at the distance between my home in downtown Toronto and that of my in-laws, near the gates of Presqu'ile Provincial Park in Brighton. I figured that, because this was a 165-kilometre run down the 401, the Lake Ontario Waterfront Trail, which runs even more directly down the shoreline, would be even shorter.

I decided that I would set out to prove that this distance was bikeable. And not only that, but that it could be done in one day. There was no other reason for doing it. Only, in the words of legendary Everest climber George Mallory, "because it's there." (Notably, Mallory was later killed on Everest.) For fun, I decided to drag my wife Amy along.

We set off from the neighbourhood Second Cup at 7:30 last Saturday morning. The bikes were tuned and ready for the excursion. We took along lots of water, snacks, even a pannier full of spare clothes (and a cell phone). No amateur adventurers were we.

The first leg of the trail proceeds down the very civilized (and paved) Martin Goodman Recreation Trail before crossing into the scruffy urban heart of Scarborough. From there, it was on to the suburban cities of Pickering, Ajax, Whitby, and Oshawa, all of which have surprisingly lovely waterfronts consisting of kilometres of paved trail and interlinked parks and marinas. We were making great time. Be in Brighton in time for the hockey game tonight, I thought.

Once we finally cleared the GTA, the trail got really interesting. At times, it was no more than a tire-wide dirt path weaving through the bush. We were astonished by some of the beautiful vistas of the lake that could be seen from the most unlikely of places. Like behind the Darlington Nuclear Power Plant, for example. There were small cottage communities accessible only by dirt roads and the odd private residential development, blocked off to public access and snuggled in between the shoreline and a vast no-man's land of weeds and shrubs -- with no neighbourhood, store, or Starbucks in sight. Then the trail suddenly dropped off, and we pedalled through a thirty-kilometre void of country roads. No rest for our rapidly deteriorating legs here. Just field after field, and hill after hill, as far as the eye could see.

By the time we reached what we thought was our ultimate salvation in Port Hope, almost twelve hours after departing, we'd had enough. But unfortunately my timing was as bad as my sense of distance; there was a big college reunion happening this weekend, said a very nice (and very patient) lady at a downtown inn, and there was not a room to be had anywhere -- not even the stable.

Forlornly, we laboured another ten kilometres on to the next town, Cobourg, where, incidentally, I had the most delicious milk shake of my life. Brighton's only thirty more clicks, offered Amy as I wallowed in an ice-cream-induced trance. Let's go for it, I responded. And we did.

The last few hills felt like that last scene in Perfect Storm, when the fishermen realize that the storm is not going to let them out, but has instead chosen to murder them within sight of sanctuary. Still, I steeled myself and mounted the last hill, which dwarfed the fifty that had preceded it, downshifted as far as my faithful steed would allow, and unleashed a stream of obscenities. Finally, just before wobbling to a stop, I cleared the crest and careened down toward Brighton. We made it just before sundown, at nine p.m., a mere 13.5 hours after starting. In the end, counting the winding nature of the trail and more than a few unplanned detours, the distance ended up being closer to 190 kilometres.

A fine trip. And I highly recommend it. But if you're going to give it a go, take my advice: do it over two days.

For the Waterfront Trail web site, click here.

"Like a mist"

2008-05-21T17:49:00.005-04:00

I've received sporadic reports that Lake Erie Stories is beginning to arrive in the mailboxes of the people who were kind enough to support my little endeavour by preordering her online.

I read a piece by a fiction author on the New York Times web site the other day who described the arrival of a new book as being "like a mist." He's largely right; you sign off on the final proofs, then you wait. And wonder. A few weeks later, your publisher will tell you that they've received some finished copies. You check them over. Then silence. A few more weeks pass. Then you notice (thanks to the Internet) that a few local stores are stocking your book. A friend will comment on how good their newly received copy looks. Then more silence. Then (hopefully) a review or two. More silence.

The excruciatingly long timelines still involved with book publishing are a surprise to many in our "just-in-time" world. Lake Erie Stories has been in print for almost four weeks now, and I'm just on the leading edge of any kind of response. This can have a torturous effect on the already fragile psyche of an author, particularly a first-timer like me. I've seen enough now to know that the book is in fine shape from an editorial standpoint, and my anxiety level drops a little bit daily -- but some days I just want to hop out of the car and give it a good push. To really see what it can do.

More on the ongoing debut of Lake Erie Stories soon. Meantime, if you're interested, click here for that New York Times piece. It was originally written back in 1987, but much of it still applies today. It's an amusing look at the birth of a book.

Storm clouds

2008-05-15T17:50:00.003-04:00

A couple days ago, a friend passed along an article that novelist Margaret Atwood wrote in the Toronto Star back on January 19.

The piece is an interesting look at Lake Erie's past, with an emphasis on her famed dark side. In it, Atwood touches on a number of aspects that I looked at in Lake Erie Stories -- shipwrecks, bootleggers, wicked weather and the like -- but her essay is much more than history. The Great Lakes, as is becoming clearer every day, are an extremely delicate ecosystem, and Lake Erie, for a number of reasons, is among the most vulnerable. If we don't start devoting some serious resources to their survival, Atwood argues, we risk losing them, and perhaps ourselves in the process.

Atwood is no stranger to Erie. As she notes in the piece, she and her partner Graeme Gibson are avid birders and have been hitting the lake's birding hotspots for years. They are also a presence on my favourite place on Lake Erie -- Pelee Island. There, they've played a pivotal role in the founding and development of a bird observatory, an organic farm, and a number of other community projects.

Enlightened reading.

To read the full Toronto Star piece, click here.

A date with history

2008-05-12T18:01:00.007-04:00

When the Canadian warship HMCS Kingston sailed from Hamilton harbour last night, she was not setting out on a typical military maneuver -- she was on her way to a rendezvous with two of her nineteenth-century forebears.

The Kingston is helping out with an archaeological survey of two British merchant ships that were commandeered and armed by the Americans during the War of 1812. It's believed the two schooners, the Scourge and the Hamilton, were used in the successful American attack on York (now Toronto), before foundering in a storm in August of 1813. Both are supposedly well-preserved in the chilly depths of Lake Ontario.

The mission, which involves officials from both Canada and the United States, is expected to last the week and, if there is time, the Kingston will lower a camera into the hold of one of the ships. What will be found? Nineteenth-century weaponry? Valuable coins? The remains of the crew? Sand?

This is, of course, why we explore these old wrecks. Stay tuned.

To read the Toronto Star story about the survey mission, click here.

And at the end of the fourth year...

2008-05-05T19:21:00.005-04:00

There was a very real, concrete, hold-in-your-hand book.

It is a very strange feeling holding your first book for the very first time. I felt the adrenaline surge through my body as Amy and I rode the elevator up to Dundurn's office last Thursday morning to pick up my first copy. My head buzzed as I took it from the publicist's hand. She said something pleasant, I remember not what, and then Amy and I went outside, where she snapped this picture. There had not even been time for coffee.

In the days since, I have been behaving much like I believe a new parent would, both beaming with pride and nervously examining my new bundle of joy for any major defect -- what a friend calls the "career-ending moment."

But I have found nothing of any note so far. The folks at Dundurn did a top-notch editorial and production job on Lake Erie Stories, and whatever her life has in store for her, I can rest assured that she sure looks good. She's now sitting on my bookshelf at home, wedged between the Bruce Trail guidebook and a mapbook of Lake Ontario's Waterfront recreation trail. Yep, just another book to add to the library. Nothing to see here.

And as I write this, Dundurn's distributor is busy packing Lake Erie Stories into boxes and sending her out into the world. If you ordered online, you should see yours very soon, I would think, and it should be out in Canadian bookstores by about three to four weeks from now.

Meantime, I nervously await my first review.

What a ride.

Lake Erie Stories update

2008-04-26T08:57:00.006-04:00

I'm expecting Lake Erie Stories back from the printer a week from Monday (May 5).

As you might expect, I'm equal parts excitement and terror at this point, but it'll be pretty great to finally get this, my first crack at writing a book, out and on the bookstore shelves.

If you've preordered Lake Erie Stories, I would expect your copy should arrive in your mailbox around the third or fourth week of May. (If you haven't preordered and would still like to, it's not too late. Click here for more on how to do so.)

I'm also told there will be a bit of media leading up to the "official" launch date of June 14. So keep an eye out for me on your local community access station and way, way up your AM dial. I'll try to keep that info, along with any reviews that may pop up online, posted on this blog.

Happy reading!

Shipwrecks online

2008-04-24T17:51:00.003-04:00

If you're interested in Lake Erie shipwrecks, today's Cleveland Plain Dealer has a web site for you.

The paper ran a story about a new site, www.ohioshipwrecks.org (or officially Shipwrecks & Maritime Tales of the Lake Erie Coastal Ohio Trail), where professional divers, sport divers, students, and Great Lakes history geeks of all types can go to learn more about the many wrecks that lie in Ohio's waters. Once there, you can check out interactive maps and, on some wrecks, detailed histories, photos, and even video footage taken by divers.

You can visit the site, run by the Ohio Sea Grant, by clicking on the link above or here. I've also added it to the "Great Lakes links" nav bar on the left side of this blog.

To read the Cleveland Plain Dealer story, click here.

Renewal

2008-04-20T14:32:00.014-04:00

Well, last week I said it looked like summer was just about to burst -- and this week, lo and behold, it did. This meant it was time to haul the boats down from their winter slumber for the first paddle of the year.

In what's becoming an annual tradition, my wife Amy and I like to make our first paddle of the new season over to the Toronto Islands. The best way to get there by canoe or kayak is to launch from Cherry Beach, cross the channel they call the Eastern Gap, and you're pretty much there. Wetsuits are a good idea for this trip, which overall is a pretty easy paddle, but the Gap can really get rolling in a strong wind, and the water in Lake Ontario at this time of year is only about 5C.

The Islands are a unique community in Toronto. Aside from a group of permanent residents who live in a tight cluster of eclectic little houses on Ward's Island (the easternmost of the chain), they're pretty much all public parks and beaches. They're also home to a number of yacht clubs, the most notable of which being the storied Royal Canadian Yacht Club, which can trace its roots all the way back to 1852 and runs two vintage ferries back and forth from the city for its members. The islands are also home to the Gibraltar Point lighthouse, one of the oldest on the Great Lakes. You can read more about it here.

Yesterday, the islands were a beehive of activity. Boats were being untarped. The sound of sawing and hammering wafted through the air. Cranes and winches worked overtime to get freshly painted craft into the water as their owners watched from shore and dreamed of the nautical adventures to come. They're pretty much all sailboaters (or "stickboaters" as my father derisively referred to them), with boats with names like "Calamity II," "Breezy," or my personal favourite, "Sloop du Jour."

Being part of the city, of course, the islands have their wilder side. For the more risque, a clothing-optional beach is located on Hanlan's Point. But the devil-may-care vibe isn't limited to this little stretch of sand; in a very clothing-mandatory cove on Algonquin Island we came upon a couple of, let's say, amorous, Torontonians who did an amusing scramble for clothing when we glided our ever-so-silent kayaks in to see if we could spot some wildlife.

We weren't disappointed.

For more on the Toronto Islands, click here.

Ice out

2008-04-13T22:05:00.007-04:00

Well, this weekend was a bit of a washout (literally) for anything outdoor-related in the Toronto area, and the kayaks remain solidly tethered to their cradles in the garage. But things just feel like they're about to perk up.

About a week or so ago, the ice finally released its grip on the northern shore of Lake Ontario. And last weekend saw the first real sunny days of spring, prompting us to take the short trip up the shore to my in-laws' place in Brighton, Ontario, near the gates of Presqu'ile Provincial Park.

As we wandered the beach, I couldn't help but notice that, aside from the lack of any real greenery and, of course, the nip in the air, the place looked almost like it was high summer. Of course there were no campers, which makes spring a pleasant time to visit Presqu'ile, which is one of the busiest parks in Ontario's system, and a big draw for birders.

Presqu'ile Point also marks the entrance to Presqu'ile Bay and, according to Ontario Parks, its lighthouse is the second oldest operating light in Ontario, having been put into operation in 1840. Remarkably, the original keeper's cottage still stands intact beside the light, even though its original oil lantern has long since been removed.

Now the Presqu'ile Point lighthouse looks somewhat incomplete, with only a small electric beacon gracing the wide, flat top of the light's tower.

Soon, it'll be guiding vessels of all shapes and sizes into the safety of the Bay -- just as it has for the last 167 summers.

For more on Presqu'ile Provincial Park, click here.

For more on the Presqu'ile Point lighthouse, click here.

April Fool's Day, 19th-century style

2008-04-04T18:26:00.004-04:00

Today's Owen Sound Sun Times features something that I couldn't resist posting: an 1887 April Fool's joke featuring, of all things, a shipping canal.

The Bruce Peninsula, which neatly splits Lake Huron and Georgian Bay, has been a menace to navigation for time immemorial. No longer, proclaimed an article in the March 28, 1887 Wiarton Echo (which was reprinted in today's Sun Times). According to the Echo, a new canal had been finished and opened just days before that would allow ships to pass through the Peninsula between the Bay and Lake Huron, thereby giving the tip of the Bruce, a known magnet for shipwrecks, a miss. The new canal was nothing less than a marvel of technological achievement and a boon to marine safety.

The description of the opening ceremony and its "Carnival of Nations," in its flourish of, let's say, colourful, nineteenth-century English, is worth quoting here: "Every known people on earth, civilized or uncivilized, was represented -- from the pure skinned Canadian to the tailed dwarfs of Central Africa, and each caravan was busily engaged in their own peculiar industry."

But, sadly, just as central Ontario's hopes for a safer waterway were raised, they were quickly and cruelly dashed upon the rocks. According to Owen Sound writer and historian Andrew Armitage, who reprinted the Echo article in today's Sun Times, it was signed "H.O.A.X. April Fool!"

Ouch.

To read the full story, click here.

Signs of life

2008-03-26T18:16:00.003-04:00

Today's Sault Star brings word that the famed Soo locks, which connect Lake Superior to the lower Great Lakes, opened to shipping yesterday.

It was a snowy start to the navigation season, to be sure, but apparently a dozen or so big lakers are set to bump their way through the ice, heading south toward the St. Mary's River and points beyond.

But if this news has you hungrily eyeing your own dust-covered vessel, you'd better hold up a bit (unless you've got a survival suit). A long winter in the Great Lakes region has led to a longer wait (at least compared to recent years) for ice-out. Up at the Sault, the Canadian lock, meant for pleasure boaters, won't budge until May 15.

For the full Sault Star story, click here.

To read about the closing of the locks, which only happened a couple months back, click here.

Life preserver

2008-03-23T18:17:00.006-04:00

The State of Michigan has come up with an innovative way to preserve its Great Lakes maritime heritage.

According to a report last week from the University of Michigan's Capital News Service, the state began selling special "Save Our Lights" license plates back in 2001. Since then, 14,337 of the plates have been sold, generating US$215,800 in revenue, all of which will be doled out to lights around the state in the form of grants.

Given that most historic lighthouses rely on volunteer labour to keep going, this is a significant amount of cash, indeed. And the need is certainly there; according to the Capital News Service, Michigan has more lights than any other state in the U.S.

One of the lights in line for a grant is Michigan's Grand Traverse lighthouse, which runs an innovative program that allows volunteers to sign on as keeper for short stints during the summer months. You can read more about this light here.

Read the story from the Capital News Service here.

Over the page

2008-03-12T18:05:00.005-04:00

Well, for the 26th and hopefully final time, I'm done. I've just spent the last three days going over the final proofs for the Lake Erie manuscript. This round of changes is it for me, then it's off to the printer. Then the market (meaning you good people, hopefully) can be the judge. I look forward to hearing what you think, and learning what worked and what didn't, starting in May.

Hopefully you won't be shy about telling me.

My friend Hadley, who has writing cred to spare (click here for more on her first novel) often compares this process to giving birth. And it's true. Except, based on my admittedly very limited knowledge of giving birth, I'd say it could be even more painful and nerve-racking.

In any case, after four years' work, that's pretty much that. Meantime, much has happened around these parts. On February 20, a terrible fire took out a number of historical buildings just north of here on Queen Street, putting a number of unfortunate residents and small businesses quite literally out of house and home. I could both see and smell it from my office.

There has also been the story of record snowfalls in southwest Ontario this year, which should be a boon for lake levels this summer after some rather scary drops last year that made parts of the Great Lakes look more like the Great Wetlands (click here for more on last year's levels).

It's definitely a cue to start thinking about the rapidly approaching paddling season. And with no other big projects on the horizon, I can hardly wait.

Surfacing

2008-02-27T18:42:00.003-05:00

This blog has been in something of a winter slumber. The Lake Erie manuscript has been back in my care for the last two weeks and, since this is my last real shot to make significant changes, it's been occupying my thoughts, and precluding blogging about yet more Great Lakes happenings. Besides, there were heart-rending technological failures that meant some work had to be done twice. Suffice it to say, the cat ate my homework.

But there is an interesting story in yesterday's Dowagiac Daily News about recent dives to the Hennepin, a freighter said to have been lost in a storm in 1927.

All is not as it appears with the Hennepin. Back in 1927, her captain, Ole Hanson, reported that the freighter had foundered in a gale on Lake Michigan. Not so, say the folks from Michigan Shipwreck Research Associates (MSRA). According to their findings, the wind never exceeded 17 mph on the day the Hennepin went down -- a fraction of what the Great Lakes are capable of. Moreover, they claim that it's more likely the ship foundered due to human error. Hanson's story, it seems, was meant to distract attention from this.

You can read more about the Hennepin here.

A new light

2008-02-05T20:27:00.000-05:00

With the Lake Erie Stories manuscript now safely in the hands of its editor, I've had a bit of time lately to ponder what I'd like to tackle next.

There are countless directions I could go for my second book, too many for my exhausted brain to come to grips with at the moment, but one obvious course would be to try the same approach on the Great Lake that I now find myself living on -- Lake Ontario.

If Lake Ontario Stories were to come to pass, the story of the Gibraltar Point lighthouse on Toronto Island would almost certainly have to be included.

It's not known when construction of the venerable old light began, but it was finished by 1808, which qualifies it as one of the very earliest lights on the Great Lakes. It is also notable among Great Lakes lights for a very different reason ... it is believed to be haunted.

This bold claim is based on the events of a cold evening in January of 1815. According to local legend the first keeper, J.P. Radan Muller, was just settling in to work at the light when he heard a knock on the door. When he opened it, he found a group of soldiers from nearby Fort York, who demanded that Muller serve them beer. (Muller was believed to be a bootlegger of liquor from the U.S.) Muller apparently fulfilled their request, but when they demanded seconds, he refused to give the men another drop. At this point, a fight ensued, after which the soldiers chased Muller upstairs and killed him. Not yet finished, they then cut up his remains and buried them on the lighthouse grounds.

What happened to the murderers is unclear, but ever since there have been reports of moaning on cold, misty nights and sightings of an "apparition" wandering the lighthouse grounds.

The story probably would have ended here, and remained just another campfire yarn, but in 1893 things took a strange turn. The keeper of the day, George Durnan, came across a coffin buried near the light that contained a human jawbone. Though it was never proven to belong to the unfortunate Mr. Muller, the find confirmed the truth of the ghost story in the minds of many of the locals.

So if you are ever in Toronto on a cold, misty January night, spend a few minutes out by the Gibraltar Point light. You may even get to glimpse (or hear) the keeper's ghost for yourself.

For more on the Gibraltar Point lighthouse, click here.

Back to the future

2008-01-28T20:19:00.000-05:00

Up on Lake Superior, a duo who are used to scouring the lake bottom for historic shipwrecks are planning to use their formidable skills to help a Marathon, Ontario, family find something quite different -- closure.

Since he was last seen taking off from Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario in July 2005, there has been no sign of dentist Ness Amano or his plane, a small Cessna. After an exhaustive search, authorities, including the Canadian Coast Guard and the OPP, all came up empty-handed.

But now Tom Farnquist, who memorably led the operation that brought the Edmund Fitzgerald's bell to the surface in 1995, and his partner Chris Sams are taking up the search. The pair, who are both involved with the Great Lakes Shipwreck Historical Society in Sault Ste. Marie, Michigan (Farnquist is the Society's executive director), have a long history of hunting down wrecks in the icy depths of the upper Great Lakes.

One of their higher profile finds was the recent discovery of the wreck of the Cyprus (pictured here), a 420-foot lake freighter that went down in a gale on Lake Superior in 1907. The Cyprus was only on her second voyage when she disappeared, taking all but one of her twenty-three man crew to the bottom with her.

You can read the full story of the search for Ness Amano's plane, from SooToday.com, here.

For more on the discovery of the Cyprus, click here.

For the Great Lakes Shipwreck Historical Society web site, click here.