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| Twin Ports Canoe Club Representative: | Dan Amerman | 218/525-7982 | twinports@canoe-kayak.org |
by Jan Olson
Noon. A pleasantly warm day in July on Lake Superior. The preceding days have been hot and humid, some would say scorching for summer days in Duluth. I'd put off making my almost annual nearly circular paddle long enough. Leaving from the beach behind my house I would travel southeast until I reach the Superior Canal, turn right and head through it, then head northwest up the Superior Bay to the dock across the street from home.
I'd packed the essentials. A half eaten bag of potato chips, several unbroken cinnamon graham crackers, an apple, a bottle of water and my ever present roll of toilet paper, just in case. Squeezing my valuables in to the cockpit of my crude but floatable kayak, I shove off in search of adventure. A slight chop from the East-North-East stirs up the lake, and I paddle away from shore quickly heading diagonally into the waves.
Paddling this great lake can be a challenge, but this day the waves are perfect for playing, the water as temperate as an August ocean. Lake Superior can be quite comfortable when the north winds bring surface water ashore. On a day like this no wet suit or other body warmer is necessary to protect one from a chilling dip. Wear a swim suit, wear nothing at all!
Off shore, my cares jump overboard. Overhead, the sky is a swirl of blue and white. My head empties, the rhythm builds with the waves. On shore, folks are frolicking everywhere. Near the Park Point beach house crowds splash in the water. A raucous volleyball game is going on in the sand.
An hour into the paddle the activity on the shore dwindles. Beyond the Sky Harbor Airport an occasional beach comber wanders. Here begins a Lake Superior treasure, the pine forest. From a half mile out I see the towering pines that dot the dunes. The emerald vegetation, sparkling tan sand and cobalt water blend together like an artists' pallet.
Here the beach begins to turn slowly inward. Strong currents following the break water ahead have carved out a massive half circle of sand, the erosion pulling pines, cottonwoods and birches in to its wake. I know if I follow the beach I will add at least another mile to my paddle, so I angle out, pointing my kayak toward the light at the end of the pier.
I am not alone on the water. A large 'salty', an ocean going vessel, makes its way out of the canal. An occasional boater speeds by, but each keeps a decent distance from this small blue cork bobbing in a vast body of water. Here and there a sailboat glides, sails open to a gentle wind.
About one and a half hours since I put in, I reach the long break wall that protects the Superior entry from the relentless pounding of this great lake. My course changes, and now I head northeast, straight out and along the edge of the boulder formed wall. The sloshing of the water off the rocks makes the paddle more challenging and each increasing wave makes the kayak hit the water with a decided smack. Two and even three foot waves meet me head on. I love the lift of the water, the run down the trough.
The excitement slows as soon as I reach the end of the break water and begin the turn to the southwest facing canal entry. Suddenly the mix and stir of the water changes; it calms and settles. Now the push of gentle waves from behind allow my arms to take a break, and I surf into the canal. Coming through the Superior entry, I spot a line of ring billed gulls and cormorants, spread out along the break wall. I get a strange feeling as if I am on trial; the birds look down on me like a gallery of jurists. Preening and squawking, they carefully observe me as I float past. Am I guilty of invading their space? Am I innocent of disturbing the peace? Judging by their reaction, I would probably be drawn and quartered at day break had they their way. They lift off the wall almost in unison, their verdict pronounced with splats of whitewash on water.
A small boat always takes its chances maneuvering through the Lake Superior canals. Power boats of all sizes come and go along with an assortment of lakers and ocean going vessels. Most annoying, of course are the jet skis, scourge of the lakes, water maggots that chew up and spit out every molecule of wetness in their way. (Why is it, I wonder, that a one person vessel is ten times louder and more annoying than a thousand foot ship?) This day I only encounter three power boats. They are courteous, but in the canal even courteousness doesn't change the fact that any disturbance sets up tricky wave action. The water that normally sloshes between the cement walls becomes more turbulent with the passing of boats. Waves slam back and forth across the canal, setting up a moving obstacle course of intersecting liquid. This is fun time in my little kayak; it flips first one way and then the other, lifting and dropping over the herringbone waves. Soon I exit the canal, the water smoothing out again, the gulls' histrionics in the distance.
On the back side of Park Point, behind the dunes that separate Lake Superior from St.Louis Bay, I paddle back toward the hills of Duluth, once the much higher shoreline of an ancient lake. On the right, the dunes and lovely pines of Park Point present a wilderness of sorts. On the left, the city of Superior, Wisconsin stretches out in flat contrast to Duluth, a place rising out of the water and heading north. A paddle up the bay reveals storehouses for grains and iron ore. In the bay a paddler can get right up next to working vessels and those permanently moored for the tourist. Huge erector set docks jut into water made brown by the clay from the Nemadji River and other elements I don't care to think about. The bay, however, has made a come back. People can now swim in most of it without fearing the chemical consequences.
Just off the Point a sailboat is moored; the occupants are busy playing in the shallow water while a black and white dog keeps a watch on board. I decide to take a break and pull in on the sandy shoreline. Here I sit on a washed up timber and drink in the day while stuffing some snacks. I could be on the Gulf of Mexico or maybe the beach at Waikiki. Or.....maybe not. There goes a laker with a load of taconite. Back to reality, I shove off. Paddling past the revelers from the sailboat I give a hearty hello. They splash back. How fortunate for us, the sailors and the paddlers, that a recent effort by Park Pointers has resulted in an 18 acre parcel of land being turned over to the Minnesota Land Trust by Superior Water Light & Power. This land will be protected; the pines, the juneberries and sand cherries and the ever flourishing poison ivy will welcome all adventurers. This wild land will remain accessible to all.
I pass the Pine Knot, the last cabin in the pine forest. Soon the lease will run out. The cabin that is the last of the Points' summer community that flourished in the early 1900's will be gone. I'll miss the Pine Knot. It's owner, Ed Pollock, visited each year. He could be seen on hot summer days, sweeping and cleaning and propping the leaning pines. Ed had a collection of lunch boxes, over 200 he told me once. Ed is gone now. Soon his cabin will be gone from the landscape as well. Civilization looms ahead. I can see the runway of Sky Harbor Airport. The little brother to the middle sized airport on the hill in the outskirts of Duluth, Sky Harbor is haven to those who can afford the luxury of flying their canoes and kayaks to far away places. Float planes occasionally go in or out of the airport. This day I watch as a coterie of red Discovery canoes try to determine which way a float plane is going to take off. Will it skitter over the water, running them all in to the brink or will it raise up just before reaching them, decapitating each and every paddler? Fortunately the pilot keeps an eye on the paddlers and there is no mixing of red blood and red Discoveries.
And now it is only a short distance to home. I glide past another prized piece of land, the seven acre Southworth Marsh. It is the only wetlands left on the Point, and I am proud to say that I've had a hand in helping establish its identity. As I work on researching the fine woman we have named this marsh for, others are involving the DNR, botanists, birders, the Corps of Engineers and the legislature to protect and preserve this land. Another parcel hopefully saved from developers backhoes.
The Duluth Boat Club comes in to view. In the early morning hours the racing shells slide through the water, coxswains calling out to crews, boats of eight, four, two, one. During the rest of the day mallards take up residence on the dock, leaving behind a banana peel slide for unwary rowers in the wee hours of the day. There's nothing worse than sliding around on a dock covered with duck doodoo.
My three and a half hour paddle is over. I pull in to the little dock on the bay and hoist myself out of the boat. A little stiff, I stretch out, lift the boat out of the water and head across the street to home and the starting point of my journey. I would like to travel to some far away place, paddle among the coral reefs or the rain forest trees. But you know, any time I want, I have an adventure right out my door. It's ever changing. I never know what I will find. But I always know how I'll feel. It's water. It's paddleable and it's good.
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