In this installment, we head to Canada. I remember going to this amethyst mine and the amethyst bookends that graced our shelves while we were growing up. NOTE: I have included minor edits (punctuation, mainly), but the text mostly remains as it appears in Mom’s original. The boldfaced subheadings/intros are mine.
Oh, Canada
We found a lovely restaurant finally on the Lake Superior shoreline and resumed our rainy trek after a very good breakfast. Approaching the Canadian border, we would have liked to explore the Grand Portage National Monument. Instead, we read the historical marker through the wet windshield. At Pigeon River, we especially liked the “wild duck crossing” sign.
And then we came to Customs. Going through Customs absolutely terrifies me, and each time is as bad as the previous time. It’s downright silly; we carry no contraband, faithfully read all the literature available ahead of time, carry birth certificates, have no animals. But the irrational part of my being is terrified nonetheless. Just inside the Canadian border was a tourist information area. Al could not have found more helpful people and came out loaded with maps, guides, campground information and anything else we could have possibly wanted. What a great way to make people feel welcome! The drive to Thunder Bay was pretty, even in the rain.
We found Thunder Bay itself to be an attractive city with beautiful parks. We exchanged our money for Canadian currency, which was to our advantage at that time. Breaking camp in the rain is one thing, but pitching camp is an entirely different thing, so we decided to motel it (intrepid we’re not) for one night at least. When you use beer boxes to carry clothes, you avoid the plusher well-known places and settle for motels off the beaten track. We’ve learned to use suitcases since then.
The one we chose was very nice. While unpacking, Al decided he’d better get out some more money, which we’d hidden under the floormat. A full day’s driving in the rain with intermittently opening the car door had caused the water to funnel neatly off the carrier and onto the car floor. The money was soaked. It’s not often we have to spread our money out all over a motel bathroom to dry. Perhaps the nicest thing about a motel after several days of camping is the bathroom, with emphasis on the tub. We needed one. While the family bathed, I sorted clothes, and after I smelled better, too, we all trekked to the laundromat. What better way to see a new city?
The next morning it was raining. Again? Still? We were bound to sightsee, though, so off we went. Enjoyed Kakabeka Falls but couldn’t decide which made us the wettest—the spray from the falls or the rain. Our next stop was at the Thunder Bay amethyst mine. The road was just plain torturous: six miles of S-curves, straight up. It was single lane for all practical purposes and slipper, wet clay in many places. There is a wide place about halfway up for cars hauling trailers to leave the trailers. It was worth the trip and the muck to see this lovely purple semi-precious stone. This particular seam of amethyst was discovered while a fire tower was being established, and the mining was begun in 1967. The public is welcome to look for stones or to purchase ones that the mine does not use. We bought a few tiny pieces for our enjoyment. The trip down the mountain was scarier, if possible!
We had wanted to camp at Sibley Provincial Park and decided to take a look at it. Crossing an arm of water into the park, we almost ran off the bridge in a flurry of excitement over “What is that bird?” The bird book was buried, and we made frantic notes about the bird so we could look it up later. It turned out to be a great blue heron, and each time we’ve seen one since, we get just as excited. We also had our first look at the large pileated woodpecker and found out he could fly about as fast as we could drive the windy park road. Sibley definitely went in the diary as a “must camp here” place.
By the time we got back to Thunder Bay, the rain had stopped and we drove to the top of Mt. McKay for a view of the city, Lake Superior, and the rock formation “The Sleeping Giant.” The top of Mt. McKay is an Indian reservation with a fee charged. We had driven through Indian reservations before, but for some reason one of the children was frightened of this one. “What if we see an Indian?” No amount of explaining that Indians are people just like us would allay the fears. After we paid our fee and continued up the mountain, we explained that the youngster who had collected the money as well as most of the people on the road to the mountain were Indians. Gasp and sigh from the back seat, with the children finally now understanding that Indians are just like us!
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