Hiking the Superior Hiking Trail
by Jon Heller

Growing up I caught the travel bug early, my family went on at least one major trip a year, places like Montana, Wyoming, Colorado and Idaho always filled my need for adventure. After graduating from high school and photography school in Montana I started to look for destinations could that satisfy my travel and photography bug while staying closer to my home in Bemidji, MN. My first trip to the “north shore” area was to Gooseberry Falls State Park north of Duluth to photograph the fall colors, it was on this trip that I found the Superior Hiking Trail.

Exploring the scattered remains of Michipicoten Island
by Conor Mihell

There’s a point in every long crossing of open water by sea kayak when the destination seems to shrink in the distance and become unattainable. On the 20-kilometre-long passage to Michipicoten Island, this happens just after the midway point. Far from the safety of shore, I feel as though I’m paddling into the oblivion. My thoughts wander to the Ojibwa legend of a wintertime hunting party who watched the island disappear on a crossing of their own. Reverie becomes reality—with the added pressure of keeping pace with a speed-crazed, hot pink helmet-wearing paddling buddy. The red-trimmed tower of the island’s East End Lighthouse isn’t getting any closer. Worse yet, I come to the delusional conclusion that Craig’s pink helmet and windmilling arms are also becoming increasingly distant.

Geological Delights in the Lake Superior National Marine Conservation Area
By Kas Stone

Bedazzled by basalt? Okay, I’ll admit that a basalt column doesn’t have quite the same cute, cuddly appeal as the otter that snuffled at us from the cove beside our campsite.  And perhaps it lacks the majestic wilderness appeal of the young bald eagle that surveyed our progress from his cliff top perch high above our canoe. But for a basalt column, it was absolutely stunning!  And for a rockhound like me, it was just one of the many geological delights that left me bug-eyed during our early spring paddling holiday in the new Lake Superior National Marine Conservation Area.

READ THE WHOLE STORY IN THE SUMMER 2009 ISSUE OF SUPERIOR OUTDOORS.

“Try walking like a cowboy.” Leah Pierce edges away from us, her crampons digging into the slightly crunchy snow, her exaggerated bowlegged swagger punctuating each step. After her snow-walking crampon tip, Pierce, with a tool in each hand, and carabiners dangling from her harness, heads towards the base of Orient Bay’s Cascade Falls, one of many ice climbing spots near Nipigon, Ontario. After a long cold winter, it almost feels like a balmy near-zero degrees in the sun (it’s more like -10 C), a little chillier in the shade, but not too bad. Dreading the possibility of minus thirty on my first ice climbing venture, I’m personally thrilled. “We have never climbed in such warm weather before,” helper Julie Sachs gushes. “This is lovely.”

Read the rest of this story in the Winter 2008/09 issue of Superior Outdoors.

words and photos by Chris Gibbs

It’s January 1998.  The temperature is -19 degrees below zero, and I have just set up my nylon tent for a weekend ski outing along the north shore.  It’s hard work making sure the tent is secure and everything is in place.  My fleece hat is covered in frost and the mid-layers are damp from perspiration. I fire up my ultralight naptha stove and begin to prepare our evening supper.  My wife and I stare out at the beauty of Lake Superior as the sun sets and the temperature begins to plummet.  Before I am able to finish my meal it begins to freeze to the bottom of my bowl. Teeth chattering, I say to my wife, “Honey, I am not going to be a man about this; we are going to freeze to death tonight.”  She agrees and we pull the plug, semi-packing our equipment and retreating to a motel in Grand Marais, salvaging a fun ski weekend.  Sound familiar?

Read the rest of this article in the Winter 2008/09 issue of Superior Outdoors 

by Tarmo Poldmaa

Twenty-five years ago, three brothers from upper Michigan, Chris, Joel and Mark Stoppel, visited my brother Enn and his wife Robin at their well established B&B in the hills of Goulais River, near Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario. The visit radically changed their lives, at least their winter lives. The brothers had come to ski, but their equipment was unlike traditional downhill gear. They had leather boots and cable bindings with free heels - they were telemark skiers. The Stoppel brothers took one look out the back door at the B&B and said, “Hey Enn, you’ve got some great hills behind your house. Why don’t we go look for some slopes to ski down?” Of course, there was no shortage of hills, but there was also no shortage of trees. Being persistent Scandinavians, they brushed out one particular slope, and removed the small shrubs and thickets to open up the spaces between mature trees for some excellent glade skiing. Tele-One was born - the first named run at what would become one of the best backcountry telemark skiing areas in the Midwest.

Read the rest of this article in the Winter 2008/09 issue of Superior Outdoors.

by John-Paul Marion

Thunder Bay Ontario has hosted just one premier international sporting event in its illustrious history of sport. In 1995 the world came to Thunder Bay for the World Nordic Ski Championships, a celebration of the best athletes in ski jumping, cross country skiing and nordic combined. These games were held at the all but forgotten Big Thunder Sports Park.

What began as a Norwegian nordic dream in 1963 when Knute Hansen saw a natural site for large hill ski jumps on Mount McRae, climaxed with a hill record on the K 120 with the last jump of the ‘95 games by a 17 year old Norwegian.

Read the rest of this article in the Winter 2008/09 issue of Superior Outdoors.

Flowing with the Freshet on the Pukaskwa River

words and photos by Conor Mihell

I’VE GOT 50 FEET. That’s the first thing I think as the canoe turns into a submarine and I hit the water, rescue line in one hand, paddle in the other and flutter-kicking like hell for shore. The line, attached to the stern of the now overturned canoe, pays out behind me. If I run out of line before I reach the shore I will have to choose between being keelhauled by the canoe over a waterfall, or bidding adieu to our canoe and camping possessions. I kick and claw at the water as though my life depends on it – and being 50 kilometres from the nearest fringe of civilization, it does.

Read the entire article online in the Summer 2008 issue of Superior Outdoors Magazine

photos by Rod Karhu

words by Cory Zyromsky 

I woke to the rumble of the ground beneath my tent floor. It was our 45^th  night of an attempt to circumnavigate the largest lake in the world by kayak. Our home for the night was 30 feet up on a terraced rockstrewn exposed shore. I lay there knowing I was safe, but something felt wrong.

Gasping, I sat up wide-awake realizing that it was Lake Superior herself causing the deafening noise. The boats! It was little comfort knowing we had carried them from shore a reasonable distance that afternoon.

I felt around on the floor for my headlamp. Putting on all the clothes I could find, my panic intensified as I realized that in fact I had been listening to this magnificent storm for quite some time in my sleep. I calmed down as I thought Rod had probably gotten up hours ago and moved the boats further up the shore. Rod was the kind of expedition partner that if something needed to be done it was, but I was already dressed and awake, so I took a look.

Unzipping my tent door, my face got a blast of cold air that in July only the frigid waters of Lake Superior could produce. The moonless night was black as coal, making the headlamp a couple hundred yards down the shoreline instantly noticeable. I stumbled down the loose-rocked slope on the most remote shoreline of the entire lake. As I approached the spot where we left the boats I could feel the pounding in my chest growing. I looked down and saw Rod’s wooden kayak safe and sound. Mine was gone!

Read the entire article online in the Summer 2008 issue of Superior Outdoors Magazine

A Visit to the Slate Islands Leaves a Lasting Impression

By Michael O’Reilly

I first heard about the Slate Islands through local stories and legends. People told tales about a circular group of islands in Lake Superior, formed from the impact crater of an ancient meteor collision. The stories mentioned historic logging and mining operations, an old lighthouse, great paddling and sailing, and caribou – always the caribou.

Read the entire article online in the Summer 2008 issue of Superior Outdoors Magazine.