Some wild places call you back. Others don’t even notice when you show up. One of those two is the reason a man ended up on the deck of a Canadian lake freighter late on a July night.
Paddling across a small lake in a heavy fog is eerie, but kinda cool. There is no water’s edge, no sky. Just cold gray breath and the sound of your own paddle breaking it.
The key takeaway is “small lake.”
An inland sea like Superior? Forget it. Fog comes in on its own schedule. The wall rolls across the flat water, and even miles away, you are still not far enough — it can swallow you before you reach shore.
Fog on Superior doesn’t just hide things. It rearranges them.
Not His Best Decision
July 2019 — off the south shore of Isle Royale, Lake Superior
Now picture a man on a Jet Ski.
In July of 2019, a gentleman from Alexandria, Virginia, decided he would ride a Kawasaki Jet Ski from Grand Portage, Minnesota, out to Isle Royale. Isle Royale is a national park in the middle of Lake Superior — reachable by ferry, seaplane, or a serious boat — personal watercraft aren’t even allowed in the waters of the park. The water in early July runs between 40 and 55 degrees depending on where you are. You have maybe ten minutes of useful consciousness without protection.
You do not Jet Ski to Isle Royale.
He was about halfway across when the fog rolled in.
He could not see where water ended and sky began. He could not see which way he had come. His compass, it turned out, was the compass app on his phone. His fuel tank was down to what he later described as “a fume.” He was in the middle of the largest freshwater lake in the world by most measures, on a machine that goes fifty miles per hour, with no land in sight and no way to tell which way land was.
The Florida Relay
So he did what a man in 2019 does. He pulled out his phone and called a friend. Not a friend on Lake Superior. A friend in Florida.
The friend, to his credit, did not argue with this chain of logic. He called the Cook County Sheriff’s Office in Grand Marais, Minnesota. The Sheriff called the Coast Guard. The Coast Guard called the Canadian lake freighter Michipicoten, which was heading out of Thunder Bay for Sault Ste. Marie and was, by the geography of the night, the closest ship to where the Jet Ski might be.
Our traveler had the presence of mind to photograph his phone compass and email the picture to Florida. The friend forwarded it to the Sheriff. The Sheriff forwarded it to the Coast Guard. The Coast Guard forwarded it to the freighter.
Moderately Chilly
The Michipicoten found him at 11:43 that night, about twenty-two miles south-southwest of Isle Royale. A Coast Guard helicopter held a spotlight on him from above. The freighter — a steel hull the size of two football fields — altered course for one man on a toy and lifted him off the water.
He was, by the captain’s account, in good health. “Moderately chilly” was the phrase.
Superior Didn't Even Notice
On one hand, his ingenuity was amazing — a compass photo relayed through Florida to rescue a man almost to Canada on Lake Superior. But on the other, what was he thinking?
It’s a solid reminder about the wild. In this case, Superior didn’t hate him. It didn’t want him dead. It didn’t even notice him. The fog wasn’t malicious. The water wasn’t cruel. The island wasn’t trying to swallow him. It’s just that his idea of what was possible didn’t count for much.
(Note to self: always carry a real compass.)
What I'm Listening To
Over the Rhine is a husband-and-wife team that I listen to periodically — their album Meet Me at the Edge of the World is one I return to often. My favorite track, My Favorite Time of Light, always helps me slow down and remember the simple beauty all around me, whether at home or out in the wild — thank you Lord for that blessing.
I love that time of night on the front porch, watching the sky and listening to nature’s chorus.
Wait a Bit, It'll Change
I’ve heard people from every place I’ve ever lived or visited echo the same sentiment:
If you don’t like the weather, wait a bit, it’ll change.
We’ve all seen that. Fog rolling in and removing all sense of direction. A storm blowing in, locking you inside. A gust tearing up your camp.
Sometimes the weather is the whole story.
This story went out to my Trail Notes readers first. Every couple of weeks I send one more from the trail, the page, and the porch — and they get it long before it ever lands here. Join the list →
