All the way to Thunder Bay

The Sleeping Giant from Marie Louise Lake, SGPP

Reentering the U.S. at the Pigeon River customs station, the border agent’s line of questioning took a turn.

“So you drove all the way up here from Nashville to go to Thunder Bay?” the border agent asked us incredulously, as if that narrative were completely unbelievable. I could see how someone might offer a dim view at the town of 100,000 on the Great Lakes’ western edge. Neither of us knew anyone in Thunder Bay nor anyone who vacationed there.

How could I explain the need to see Thunder Bay to someone trained to look for evasiveness and nervous behavior? That quest was pointless. My childhood view of Lake Erie ran to a featureless horizon. Thunder Bay boasts a magnificent vista across its harbor.

From the moment we saw views of the Sleeping Giant and the natural beauty surrounding the port town, we had no choice but to extend our North Shore trip into Canada. Two nights in Thunder Bay seemed appropriate. We relied only on our research, and no one we knew ventured to western Ontario.

Obligatory bad border photo

The border crossing along Lake Superior took me by surprise. Aside from the squat customs checkpoints, it was scenic. At one point you can choose between entering Canada or Grand Portage State Park. The winding mountain passes surrounding the Pigeon River presented fresh terrain, beautiful verdant hills after we passed Mount Josephine. The road leaves Grand Portage Bay and rises over the equally striking Wauswaugoning Bay. We actually entered another sovereign land miles before – the land at Minnesota’s northeast point belongs to the Grand Portage band of the Chippewas.

The road forks between Grand Portage State Park and the border station. We passed easily both times, despite the American border agents building tension by flipping on his sunglasses and not speaking for a few long seconds before waving us home. I miss simple border crossings. Most Canadian crossings are.

After a short stop with the Canadian border agent, we entered Canada and immense tracts of farm country. Cattle, horses and crops filled fields wedged below the same angular mountains as those in Minnesota. The rain crept in and out. Patches of sun collapsed into cloudbursts. Canada Highway 61 turned into Highway 17, the Transcanada Highway, mainly a four-lane road that seems an unlikely candidate to an entire nation.

There is a house in North Ontario ...

Forty miles from the border, we innocuously entered Thunder Bay, down a street of strip malls. We settled into a small house in a well-kept neighborhood just north of downtown. The house’s design spoke to weather at other times of the year, with front and rear foyers to escape the elements while stripping offer wet boots and coats.

At first the neighborhood seemed bare, then Nancy picked up on what seemed missing – landscaping and front-yard flower beds. There were relatively few around most residential areas, which makes sense with the shortness of the growing season.

Marina Park duck pond

Thunder Bay easily ranks as the newest city we’ve visited. While French maps noted the Bay of Thunder in the 18th century, the city of Thunder Bay only came into existence in January 1970, when the cities of Port Arthur and Fort William merged. The city is emerging from its industrial past, but still struggles to complete that transformation.

I don’t mean to rag on Thunder Bay. Sure, it lacked the obvious tourist spots or nightlife but we found some gems. There were some happening neighborhood corners where we didn’t stop, and probably missed out.

The city can tout progress on its waterfront, building an outstanding bayside complex called Marina Park, with a duck pond, trails and other amenities, including waterfront restaurant space. It is a work in progress, with the nearby train station undergoing a revamp and incubating small businesses, including a brewery taproom.

Local tap handles

Marina Park housed Bight, an excellent restaurant where we had several courses, including the leanest duck breast I ever tasted. Despite limited sampling, the Canadian craft brews from the region were relatively tasty, showing some experimentation with hops and veering away from the British-style IPA that hop-sensitive American taste buds can no longer abide. Thunder Bay had two breweries, Sleeping Giant and Dawson Trail. I had Sleeping Giant’s 360 Pale Ale and Hoppet IPA, the latter emphasizing piney Pacific Northwest hops.

We stopped at The Foundry for a drink, Nancy trying a Caesar, the Canadian staple cocktail, and I went with an Up and Ahtanum, Dawson Trail’s American-style single-hop IPA. A couple of Canadian folk-rockers from the other side of the Great Lakes played a set while we sipped.

People walked everywhere in Thunder Bay, flashing cultural diversity unexpected for a distant Lake Erie outpost. Asians, Indians, Africans and other cultures were visible all around town.  Standing in line at a drug store, I tried to overhear a sudden trio of Native accents talking behind us. Canada doesn’t get enough credit for welcoming different ethnic groups into its fabric, especially those who preceded European colonists.

More rain hampered our efforts to explore, turning torrential as we circled the city and kept doubling back to our house. We looped through the city, passing more neighborhoods of 1950s-era housing. On the riverfront, grain silos and massive industrial structures dominate. Old motor courts, most in decent shape, lined the road. On Thunder Bay’s north side, we ran into an impressive park complex flanked the Current River and Trowbridge Falls.

Wilderness north of Thunder Bay

By this time we neared sunset and decided to head home, open the windows to enjoy the cool northern air and plot our next day. I can forget the chips. I can’t venture this far north without tasting several Canadian staple flavors of potato chips – All Dressed and Ketchup, especially Old-Style Ketchup (stronger vinegar flavor). 

The daylight extended in Thunder Bay due to latitude and our return to Eastern time (Ontario doesn’t shift to Central time until 90 degrees West longitude). We were farther north than ever. Here summer nights ran long, the last blue flints of daylight loitering until well after 10 p.m. It was a welcome throwback to my childhood, when the solstice could push last light to the same extreme.

We slept through a light hammering from a neighbor building a new front walk, a skinny shirtless old man smoking while he worked. By the time we left concrete had been poured. The house was small but comfortable.

If Thunder Bay’s bar scene underwhelmed somewhat, the same cannot be said of the wilderness surrounding the Lake Superior port. Most of our second day unfolded to its north on a short drive along the Transcanada Highway (I cannot think that without hearing it in Neil Young’s voice).

We split our time between a pair of provincial parks, Ouimet Canyon and Sleeping Giant. Any evidence of Thunder Bay’s metropolitan area dissipated in a few miles as the pines, rivers and rolling hills took over. In our Canadian travels, we have learned that road signs don’t always advertise well. A major attraction might get mention alongside a museum, a pottery shop or a brewery. A road construction crew’s vehicles blocked the small sign for the Sleeping Giant Provincial Park turnoff.

Ouimet Canyon

We reached the turnoff to Ouimet Canyon Provincial Park and a sign touting “Canyon Country” before I realized we missed the turn. Had we gone to Sleeping Giant first, we might have skipped Ouimet Canyon. Admittedly, it’s a minor park but worth the stop. We picnicked on sandwiches from Mr. Sub, a Canadian chain that with some enticing sandwich options. A pair of short trails and a suspension bridge led to a pair of canyon overlooks. Even calling this cut in the earth a canyon might be hyperbole, but it’s still striking.

Indian Head

The canyon’s sheer walls plunge hundreds of feet to a boulder-strewn bottom. Due to limited sunlight, the canyon is southernmost home to Arctic plants and alpine flowers normally found 600-plus miles north of Thunder Bay. At the north overlook, we took in good views of Indian Head, a column of rock vaguely resembling human form. Mid-afternoon Indian Head stood in shadows of Ouimet Canyon’s southern face.

To the Ojibwe, the column represents something more. In their stories, Indian Head is the remains of the giant Omett, who helped the great Ojibwe spirit Nanna Bijou form the region’s lakes and mountains. Omett fell in love with the spirit’s daughter, Naiomi, only to accidentally kill her then bury her out of fear. After discovering his daughter’s body and reburying her in the bottom of the canyon, Nanna Bijou turned Omett into stone, condemning to watch over her for all eternity.

Coming back we found the sign we missed concealed behind a steam roller compacting layers of fresh asphalt. Then we reentered the wilderness for a closer look at the Sleeping Giant we’d been observing for two days. The park occupies the southern end of the Sibley Peninsula.

In case you wondered what happened to Nanna Bijou from the earlier Ojibwe legend, he’s the sleeping giant, turned to stone with his arms resting on his barrel chest. Entering Sleep Giant Provincial Park, we immediately agreed we should have spent our time here and whatever time we got would seem insubstantial. But we made the most of a few late afternoon hours.

Down a twisting unpaved road that wound deep into the woods, passing several pristine lakes with campgrounds. After a few hundred yards across glacially carved rock, we hit a parking lot and trailhead. The Thunder Bay overlook didn’t disappoint, opening onto cliffs 300 feet above the water.

A cantilever extended away from the rock wall, hoisting us above Thunder Bay. If it did not hang out over the cliffs, the platform would have been bearable. Instead I took photos of the sparkling bay from the safer cliff top. At times lakes and bogs hemmed the road. In the early golden hour of the heavily forested peninsula, white-tailed deer began to emerge. These were not the ungulates were looking for, but a little wildlife always helps.

The cantilever

The view

The park road looped into Silver Islet, a little town at the tip of the Sibley Peninsula. Once home to a silver mine that hit several major lodes before a winter equipment chamber flooded its tunnels, the town now feels like a private retreat for those lucky to live at the Sleeping Giant’s feet.

We took a short trail to the shore of Marie Louise Lake, the largest lake on the peninsula and home to the park’s campground. We found a more rustic spot, with chipmunks hissing at us from the pines. Just standing on its shores put me at ease. I imagined scaling the Sleeping Giant, hiking the lakes, but as usual, our trip was packed too tightly for add such adventures. Until then, the giant’s slumber will continue.

More lake shore

To complement a day of hiking and exploring, we went with takeout. Without a landline and our cell phones subject to international roaming, I drove our takeout order up to Thai Kitchen, a modern bistro with an early closing time. We had a little feast in our Thunder Bay kitchen while we unwound. As daylight endured far later than our usual 7 p.m. August twilight in Nashville, we just enjoyed the house and air streaming in the windows at the perfect temperature.

Nor did we did rush out of our little house on the last morning. With the sun beating down, the air felt cool. I didn’t relish rushing back. Those winds portend a typically brutal winter. In August, the breeze applies a salve to those of us who otherwise slog through humidity. Last summer we had a few days of respite in Cleveland, and I underestimated the relief northerly summer days provides.

Hillcrest flower gardens

In our last hour, we found Thunder Bay’s best concentration of landscaping in Hillcrest Park. Up the street from our house, the small park with crisp views of the bay, the Sleeping Giant and a sunken garden with dozens of vibrant flower beds.

Thunder Bay gleamed in the light. I wondered if seeing the town in this brilliance when we arrived might have framed it differently.

Thunder Bay from Hillcrest Park