"I have lived beside the whims and notions of Lake Superior for over 25 years.  Fiery sunsets, freezing morning dips, black velvet sparkled skies, horizontal snow blasts and cabin shaking wind storms have been part of my day-to –day existence for almost half my life.  Living by this shore, sitting, paddling, shuddering, working and dreaming by this huge crystal, it was inevitable that I’d let my pen also play by the water.

My latest offering is “Farpoint Blue”, some creative non-fiction from Lake Superior. These are stories gleaned from diaries, letters, interviews and first hand experience. I hope you enjoy this personal look at some of the lake’s inspiring depths as much as I felt compelled to write them."

Ruth Fletcher

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Part1  The Island, The Woman and The Reliance

December 13^th was late to be on the lake. The rivers already bore coats of ice and two to three foot drifts filled the cracks in the rocky shoreline. Every advancing day meant the possibility of worsening weather as Superior’s cold tight grip squeezed the joy out of this last trip of the season. Yet Captain Williams and his steamship the Reliance, snug for now against the comforting wharf of Gargantua harbour, soon would have to embrace the stormy demands of a Superior sea to find their way home.

When their journey was over, the winter would reflect a different colour. It would feel deeper, sharper than ever. Frigid days would stretch along the long wilderness coastline and mark a cold black dot into the hearts of the few people who remained there. Some would have to resist judging the Captain’s decisions. Others would have to endure a sleepless night and wade through a snowstorm. One of them would feel death reach for her soul and four more would never make it home for Christmas.

In Mid December, Lake Superior plays a dread game before succumbing to the suppression of winter. The restless surface heaves and shudders. Instead of the silence of stillness, thunders and screams vibrate the atmosphere. Massive winds, birthed by the violent mating of warm and cold air, create gargantuan waves. Giant shoulders of rolling waves, hunched beneath a full mane of watery hair, smash against walls of grey granite. Foaming fingers reach up, curl into a fist and pound a pebble or sand beach. Everything shudders under the incoming punch or breaks beneath the next one.

 A journey on the December lake is testy passage for any craft and Captain Williams was about to challenge the durability of his Reliance. He had a lot of faith in her worthiness, as did everyone along the shore. Born in the Collingwood shipyards, she had spent the first part of her life transporting people around Georgian Bay, until the Spanish River Pulp and Paper Company, based out of Sault Ste Marie, realized that it needed to supply passenger service.

The Reliance seemed like the perfect addition to their small ‘fleet’ of tugs.  The company had other boats. The Puckasaw, Gargantua and the G. R. Gray towed rafts of pulpwood and delivered necessities to the lumber camps rafting logs down to Lake Superior.  Each boat was a workhorse, but the 150’ Gray, with 118 horsepower, was the most powerful of the bunch. The 135’ Reliance had a 66 horsepower engine that everyone said was built to last 100 years.  

The Reliance supplied the needs of the Puckasaw Depot, an isolated lumber camp tucked into Puckasaw Bay along the north shore of the lake. On her last trip up in December, the ship brought in the winter supply of food. Tins of peaches, cotton bags of flour, boxes of raisins, sacks of potatoes and fresh sides of pork and beef kept the lumbermen happy during the cold months.

The Reliance brought a different kind of joy to other remote places along Superior’s rocky coast. Elated lighthouse keepers at Otter Head, Michipicoten and Caribou Islands waited with suitcase in hand for Captain Williams to guide his ship up to their docks. In December, the sight of Reliance meant release from the fear of starvation and abandonment and a return to the warmth and safety of a winter life in town.

Regulations declared 19 as the maximum amount of passengers for the Reliance but circumstances often raised the ante.  And for certain, that last run out in December of 1922 exceeded the magic 19.  In fact there were 33 aboard-32 men and one woman.

The ship was cosy enough even though sleeping space was precious. There was just one guestroom and deckhands often gave up their quarters for the women and children on board.  On the trips up the lake, when the boat was loaded down with supplies and hay, people could sleep on deck, curled up on the bales. Sometimes passengers would smoke, or drink, but overall there was little gaiety on board for everyone regarded a journey on Lake Superior to be a very serious thing.

The Sault to Puckasaw run took twelve hours in good weather. On the stormy days, the Reliance had several ports for shelter including Batchawana Bay, Michipicoten and Gargantua Harbours. She could handle a fair sea since her smaller engine didn’t require as much coal as the other tugs.  In fact, part of the coalbunker often was barred off with a bulkhead to carry extra freight.

Captain Williams’ crew had its share of characters. Charlie Currie was the second engineer. He was a strong powerful man who could close a valve on the engine that few could open again.  Jack Cadotte was the wheelsman. He had an inherited, intrinsic knowledge of Lake Superior’s trickery. Lena and John Harten were the cooks. Everyday the sweet smell of their bread and pies transformed the galley into a welcoming refuge.

That December there had been the usual rounds of bad weather. The Reliance had made it to Puckasaw without seeking shelter but had to lay over on the return trip at all the available harbours-Pilot, Michipicoten, Brule and now Gargantua.

The situation was straining everyone’s patience and anxiety was growing. There was little food left, the light keepers were anxious to get home and the soft coal supply for the engines was down to two tons, not much for the brave craft. And the cook stove in the galley had chewed up most of the hard coal.

The combined pressures forced Captain Williams to make an unfortunate choice. Early in the morning of Wednesday, December 13^th    he decided that the Reliance should leave the comfort of Gargantua Harbour for the open sea.  But as the sun came up over the hills, so did the wind and with it a blinding snowstorm. Once out of the shelter of Gargantua, it was impossible to turn back. Despite the pleas of the passengers, Williams had to keep going for turning around would mean risking dangerous broadside waves.

 Lake Superior was stirring up a dangerous brew. It forced everyone to huddle inside the main cabin, to seek shelter from the taunts of wind and waves and spray and snow. Lena and John Harten maintained their balance in the tilting galley. She served up hot strong tea; he prepared biscuits and oatmeal and both kept an anxious eye to the swirling white beyond the portal. They all put on a brave front to mask their worried hearts.

They were approaching Preacher Island, also known as the South Lizard. The island, less than a mile long, lays 15 miles south of Gargantua and 21/2 miles from the closest shore.  Preacher ‘s low treed terrain offered hope and treachery at the same time. At the north end, a fishing station, with houses and a dock, was tucked into a shallow sheltered bay. But surrounding the island are large rocks, some obvious, some not. 

Constant whiteout conditions from the North West kept pushing the Reliance towards these perilous rocks. Jack sensed they were too close to Preacher Island; he could hear the deep crescendo of crashing waves onto its shore. Then a sickening thud proved him right. The Reliance was no longer rising with the lifts of a rolling sea: she had run aground off the south west corner of Preacher Island.

 The stern end of the Reliance hit first.  A jarring jolt replaced the rocking and bouncing seesaw motion of the boat. Teacups went flying across the galley table. Lena’s black leather shoes went out from under her. Fred Reagan, a paper company man, reached for his timber cruising map as it slid off the table onto the floor. And, for a few minutes, the yelling of all those aboard was louder than the roar of the wind and waves.

Captain Williams ordered the engines into reverse but the Reliance’s prop scraped on the rocks. Once more the waves smashed the ship between huge boulders. The blow gouged a hole in her wooden side and the Reliance soon was listing 30 degrees to port.

The impact also ripped a hole in the thin wall separating calm resolve from crazed panic.

Captain Williams needed quick answers. It was 10:00 am and the galley was filling fast with water, forcing everyone to the upper deck. The closest help was the Bussineau homestead several miles away at Agawa Bay. There were not enough rescue craft for them all, just one lifeboat, a smaller motorboat and a dinghy.

Williams decided that the one lifeboat should make the risky journey to shore. The remaining gas boat could ferry people to Preacher Island where they would wait for a rescue. He chose Cadotte and Currie, and five others, plus John and Lena Harten to head out for help. The Captain ordered the swaying lifeboat, with all nine aboard, to be lowered into the churning sea. With some reluctance, the storm gods allowed it to enter their maelstrom. 

With the screaming wind at their backs, the small group in the lifeboat fought to maintain composure. John and Lena and the five strained to see through the blinding snowstorm.

Cadotte and Currie each took a breath, grabbed an oar and began the wild three- mile -row to shore.

Ruth Fletcher, October 2009