Kayaking on Lake Superior, I explored a ‘living museum' of history in the Slate Islands

Globe and Mail

14-06-2025

The first lesson you learn when you sea kayak on Lake Superior is to let go of expectations.
Wind speeds on Superior can exceed 30 knots, and waves can swell to two metres high. Paddling trips require careful planning, but because weather on the lake shifts quickly, planning can feel futile.
The Anishinaabe call Superior gichigamiing, or Big Lake. Big Lake is the largest freshwater lake in the world by surface area. And it's quick to let you know that it doesn't care about what you want to do.
I paddled a voyageur canoe to discover the beauty and resistance of Manitoulin Island
But it's tough to travel without expectations; building anticipation is part of the fun. On a foggy Monday morning in late August last summer, as eight of us pushed off from the northern shore of Superior toward the elusive Slate Islands, the weight of our expectations – of ourselves and our abilities, each other and our destination – felt heavier than the gear in our hatches.
The Slate Islands are an archipelago of 15 islands about 12 kilometres south of Terrace Bay, a small town on the lake's north shore. Unique geology, geography, fauna and a lighthouse – the highest one on the Great Lakes – make the islands a magical place and a high-interest destination for boaters. Their remote location, however, means they're accessible only to the determined few. Most who go charter a speedboat from Terrace Bay. Some sail. We were determined to get there under paddle power.
But would we make it over? A storm front was building, promising strong winds from the north in a few days, which could make the return trip challenging. Triangulating between multiple wind and weather apps, Zack Kruzins, our guide and the co-author of A Paddler's Guide to the Lake Superior National Marine Conservation Area, tried to predict whether we'd have a calm window back. Being stranded for a few days on a remote cobble beach sat okay with me: I'd packed a few extra dehydrated meals. Others were uneasy. After more calculations, Kruzins said, 'Let's try!' Sixteen dry-suited arms lifted in a cheer.
The Slates archipelago was formed 450 million years ago when a 1.5-kilometre-wide meteorite crashed into a nearby island at 54,000 kilometres an hour. The impact caused the Archean basement, which is more than two billion years old, to splash up above the Earth's crust, forming the islands in what geologists think was less than a minute. The landform is a lens into a moment of massive change in ancient history, captured in rock.
On a clear day you can see the Slates from shore, as Group of Seven painter A.Y. Jackson did in the early 1920s when he painted Slate Islands, Lake Superior. But our departure morning was foggy. Water and sky blurred into a grey canvas and, not long into our crossing, we lost sight of all land, which meant we'd have to rely entirely on our deck compasses for navigation.
A few kilometres in, the sun's rays shone through the fog, creating what looked like an otherworldly apparition. We were captivated; it felt like a spiritual moment, a welcome message. When we started paddling again, we checked our deck compasses and realized the wind and current had turned us around 180 degrees. Tricky lake!
Three hours later, we landed on the beach at Mortimer Island, the northernmost island, feeling pretty proud of ourselves. We perched on ancient volcanic rocks and scarfed down lunch – summer sausage, cheese and cucumbers for me – while gazing back at where we'd come from.
Over the centuries, the Slates have been used as a spiritual site by the Anishinaabe, a protected harbour by 19th-century fishermen, a playground for woodland caribou, a copper mining site, a summer getaway for residents of the former rail town of Jackfish, and a study site for geologists and NASA scientists. In 1985, the Slates were designated as an unmanaged provincial park. There are a handful of unserviced campsites, and visitors must bring everything they need for backcountry camping.
We set up our camp on a protected beach, sipping on lake-cooled beers while the sun dropped into the lake, and then tucked in for the night. The next morning, we headed out on the blue-green water of the islands' inner channels, gliding by billion-years-old volcanic rock cliffs.
Travelling by kayak offers a completely different perspective on a place, and a chance to explore areas you'd never see from land. We paddled right up to the world's tallest shatter cone, formed when the shock wave from the meteorite impact travelled down into the rock layers below. It looked like any old rock to me but, to geologists, is proof of the islands' origin story and a prime selfie spot.
We explored the remains of a burned barge, crawled into the cool chamber of a decommissioned copper mine and stopped in at the Come 'n' Rest, a cabin once owned by a coal crane operator from Jackfish, now a shelter for caribou researchers and paddlers. Nearby, I had a moment of wonder gazing up at a spectacular stand of spruce and cedars, and almost crashed into shore while watching white dots in treetops erupt into eagles' flight. Throughout it all, we encountered only one other boat. Paddling the Slates is like having a living museum all to yourself.
By the next morning, the forecast had worsened, so we decided to head back early. It was hard to let go of the place so soon after we'd arrived. But an early return meant more time to explore the area around the mainland shoreline.
We paddled through the Lake Superior National Marine Conservation Area, which spans 140 km from just east of Thunder Bay nearly to Terrace Bay, and south to the Canada-U.S. border. At 10,000 square kilometres, it's the largest freshwater marine protected area in the world. There's a ton of natural and human history to explore within those boundaries, enough for a lifetime of paddling adventures.
We made the area around the abandoned town of Jackfish our exploration zone. Jackfish was once a key transfer point for coal shipped across the lake from the U.S., until the 1950s, when train engines shifted to diesel. Visitors can still poke around the remains of the former general store and schoolhouse, and walk under the enormous coal chute.
While we were paddling in the calm waters of Jackfish Bay, a massive eastbound freight train wrapped around the bay blew its horn when we waved. It was a small but impressive moment and our group talked about it for days.
Later on land, while we were walking the train tracks, we ran into a family who was visiting the camp they keep nearby: a chance human encounter in a ghost town. They showed us photos of Jackfish in its heyday, when several passenger trains roared through daily. I later learned that the family is related to a friend, and that the patriarch used to own the Come 'n' Rest cabin we'd visited. What struck me was how tied they still feel to this wild place – and how tied I felt to it after only a week. Yet another way in which the lake and the trip defied my expectations.
Lake Superior is often referred to as an inland ocean. Paddlers should carefully consider distances, conditions and their abilities when planning a trip there.
Travelling with an outfitter is a good idea. Such a Nice Day Adventures and Naturally Superior Adventures both offer multiday trips as well as kayak and gear rentals. There are daily flights to Thunder Bay from Toronto and Winnipeg.
June and July are good paddling months because temperatures and weather conditions are more stable. Consider, though, that average water temperatures around Thunder Bay usually hover around 12 C in July, so dry suits are a good option. Paddling in May and August is also a possibility, but expect more unpredictable temperatures and conditions.
To learn more about the area and its paddling routes, pick up a copy of A Paddler's Guide to the Lake Superior National Marine Conservation Area, available to order online from Wilderness Supply in Thunder Bay.
This writer travelled as a guest of Destination Ontario and Tourism Thunder Bay. It did not review or approve the story before publication.