St. Joseph Island may be the sixth largest freshwater island in the world and the “tail” of the Niagara Escarpment, but it is better known as a scenic place steeped in history, where traditional communities harvest golden syrup from the iconic maple. St. Joseph Island lies in the northwestern reaches of Lake Huron, near Sault Ste. Marie. Together with its neighbouring islands—Drummond, Cockburn and Manitoulin—it helps define the North Channel. This region is a paradise for paddlers and boaters today, but in the past it played other important roles in the development of the fur trade and defense of an empire. Two hundred years ago, during the War of 1812, these were coveted and strategic waters in the battle between Britain and America. They continue to be coveted now, but mostly by cottagers and tourists, many of whom are, ironically, American.
As St. Joseph Island lies directly in the path to Lake Superior, it became a natural place to resupply the Voyageurs, those legendary fur traders who, throughout the 18th and 19th centuries, made their living traversing the wild territories of a future Canada. From the “civilized” waters around Montreal Island, they made their way along the Ottawa, Mattawa and French Rivers into Lake Huron, eventually reaching Lake Athabasca far to the northwest. A vital link in meeting the European demand for fur, the Voyageurs traveled fifteen hours a day, seven days a week, to stock the warehouses of the great trading companies. Even at their relentless pace, the journey from Ottawa to St. Joseph Island took six weeks. Today, cruising comfortably in an air conditioned automobile, it can easily be made in a single day.
Intrigued, a friend and I undertook to kayak around St. Joseph Island in the wake of the Voyageurs. This journey entails a total distance of about a hundred kilometers, achievable in four days at a comfortable pace. I had circumnavigated St. Joseph Island twice before—once by motorboat and once by sailboat—but never was the spirit of these adventurous traders more present than on this particular trip. From the moment our boats first slip into the lake, vivid images and feelings come alive. This landscape of open water, remote islands and forested shoreline has changed little in centuries—the Voyageurs experienced it the same way we do now. We’re taken back in time by a simple paddle stroke!
Almost immediately we face strong and contrary winds, our main recurring challenge. We paddle steadily, though I must admit not the customary fifteen hours a day. In these conditions crossing open water requires care, but the pay off is spectacular. Water and sky meld in a distant haze. The horizon has disappeared. At night, the absence of human light underscores the impression of having traveled to another time.
On the third day we reach the south side of the Island where, on a barren point jutting strategically out from shore, lies Fort St. Joseph. In the early 19th Century, this was the western-most outpost of the British Empire, serving not just the fur trade, but also important military interests. It is from this fort that the initial attack of the War of 1812 was launched. Fearing that the understaffed and poorly equipped Fort St. Joseph would easily be taken by American forces, a small company of soldiers, natives and Voyageurs seized the neighbouring Fort Michilimackinac. In retaliation for the British occupation of its outpost, American troops burned Fort St. Joseph to the ground in 1814. It was never rebuilt. Fort St. Joseph is now designated a National Historic Site, its ruins protected from further assault. While little remains of the fort today, wandering among the limestone remnants it’s easy to picture the Voyageurs re-supplying here for the long way ahead, as we ourselves prepare for our own journey home.
Once past the Fort, the waters lose their open feel. Deserted beaches alternate with marshes hosting ducks, geese and other waterfowl. A pair of regal white swans, startled by our approach, finally gains the skies after a decidedly unregal dance. The shallow waters are tinted brown by the sand that lies not far below; warmed by the sun, they make swimming here a real treat.
Turning north, the channel narrows abruptly and cottages jostle for waterfront. Instead of freighter canoes, lake freighters now churn towards Superior. At this point, one of the narrowest of the Great Lakes shipping system, we come within meters of one such behemoth—insignificant specks of yellow against a rusting wall of steel. On a collision course, the ship’s dark shadow engulfs us. At the final moment, the colossus lumbers away, disinterested, leaving us bobbing in its wake. In the shallows we’re never in any real danger of course; the freighters are confined to a very narrow channel and navigate it precisely through a series of controlled turns. While the proximity to such machines is eerie, the technology fascinates. For the moment, I must admit, thoughts of the Voyageurs are drowned out by the guttural throb of the ship and the pounding of my heart. Still, it doesn’t take long for the spirit to come back. A deafening chorus of frogs leads us into the night, not at all inconvenienced by the thin fabric of our tent.
On our fourth and final day we explore the north side of St. Joseph Island, where the Niagara Escarpment limestone gives way to the ancient Canadian Shield—that landscape of barren rock and stunted pine famously immortalized by the Group of Seven. Islands of every shape and size break the crystal clear water. Seagull colonies, fiercely defended, make approaching some undesirable, but others, at the right time of year, host blueberries in abundance. We are seduced by the stark beauty of the landscape and truly appreciate what the fur traders must have experienced as they traveled through this place so long ago.
It’s a bit of a stretch, of course, to claim that our expedition, conducted purely for sport, holds anything more than a casual resemblance to the uncertain and difficult adventures of the Voyageurs. Due to the advantages of modern equipment, accurate charts and Facebook-enabled smartphones, our experiences cannot be that similar. And yet, the spirit of these great travelers is present still. Perhaps it is present in that insatiable desire to explore which coaxes us around the next bend. Perhaps it is in the allure of the wilderness, of being alone and humbled in a vast, natural world. Perhaps it is in the wind and the waves that make us feel truly alive beneath a perfect sky. Or perhaps it is in how, by failing daylight, a thousand fireflies greet us on shore, their timeless light glimmering in the summer air. When at last we point the boats towards home, the horizonless waters of the open lake receding behind, it occurs to me that maybe the divide between us and the Voyageurs is not that great after all.