Trout Lake and Thunder Bay

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On my tour to the outhouse at four in the morning, I saw the Northern Lights displaying their wayward glow against a starry sky. I haven’t seen them for over a decade. Last night under their glow I found myself back on the hill below our house in Calgary, with my sons Sean and Cameron, sitting in the snow and watching an exceptional display of the Lights with cones of red and green exploding above our heads, thinking that the rays would touch down around us any second. That was the best display of the lights I ever saw.

Back in bed, I thought about my plans for the new day and realized how stupid they were. What was the rush to get out of here anyway? Ron had offered to have me stay for a couple of days and, once I thought about it, I could learn something about Thunder Bay if I stayed and nosed around. Right then I decided to stay and leave the next day, relaxed, and fell back to sleep.


The Terry Fox Memorial is located just east of Thunder Bay. In the past few years it has been moved from a site beside the highway to a site on a rise, overlooking Thunder Bay and Lake Superior. I couldn’t help but be moved by the memorial and the written words of Terry’s inside the information centre. How much we can all learn from him. Deal with challenges with confidence and energy rather than fear. I hope I can practice that more.

I went into Thunder Bay with few expectations. True, I wanted to see what defined the old twin cities, Port Arthur and Fort William, understand how the railway tracked through the cities, and see if there was any unique architecture, but I didn’t really understand much about the local culture, so I went in with an open mind. What I found was an ethnic mix of Finnish, Italian, Polish, British, Scots, and Ukrainian.

In the Hoito Ravintola Resturant at the Historic Finnish Hall, which is the erstwhile Finnish Labour Temple, people were lined up into the street waiting for breakfast, a common sight each summer. At the Hoito they serve a Finnish Pancake that looks a lot like a blintz. This is the same restaurant that the Communist Finnish bushwhackers use to come to before heading out for work in the woods in the old days. The classic seating arrangement is on long benches at long tables, but when I looked in, I could see some ordinary chairs in use. I refused to stand in line for the amount of time necessary to get a meal there, so I dropped in next door to the Calico Café for my morning latte.

I asked a local in the café where I could go to get a good picture of the grain elevators and, also, what the deal was with the line up next door. He was the one that told me about the bushwhackers and it was him who emphasized they were Communist Finnish. You can figure out why he said this in the write up on the history of the Finns in Port Arthur in the following link. - Finnish Historic Hall

I went off to find the elevator picture he suggested in Port Arthur, but couldn’t get the right angle to compose anything interesting. I had more luck when I went to the grain terminals in Fort William, where I came across some Saskatchewan Pool elevators. These are the end of the rail line for grain from the prairie. I’ve seen lots of locations where the grain is being loaded, but this is the first time I had seen, up close, where the grain is finally unloaded from the grain cars.

As I rode down a narrow back road along the front of the elevators, I noticed a Great Lakes grain ship moored alongside one of them. That was a classic image and I wanted to get a picture. I found a small gravel road leading me closer to the boat, so I follwoed it, got my camera, and walked down to the water to get the shot I wanted. As I got off the bike I happen to notice someone coming out of a building quite far away, but didn’t really think much of it. When I returned to the bike after getting my pictures, I was greeted by the same person. He was a security guard and was shaking his finger at me saying “No, no, no.”

“No picture of boats is allowed. Were you taking pictures of the boat?” he said in an Eastern European language that sounded Ukrainian.

“Yes,” I said, a bit confused. “Did I do something wrong.”

“No picture of the boat is allowed. You can take pictures of the elevators and railcars, but not the boats.”

“I’m very sorry if I’ve caused any trouble. You see I’m from the prairies and I’ve never seen this end of the transportation link that the grain takes, so I just wanted to get a simple picture. I didn’t see any signs posted or I would have stayed away.”

He relaxed a bit then. “I know, I know. We hope to have them up along with a barricade in a couple of weeks. This is new rule for here.”

“Again, I’m sorry. I’ll leave right away,” and I meant it. Just then, a marked security car came roaring down the road and stopped with a little skid for effect. I thought I was in for it now, just after I had convinced the first guard that I was not a threat to anyone. As the second security guard got out of the car I saw he had a uniform on and looked a little more officious than the first guy. Maybe this was the supervisor coming to haul me away. Oh no, I thought, what will I do with my bike if they decide to haul me in. I was preparing to plead my case when the second guard looked at the first and said, “I got cream and sugar for you, alright? It’s on the front seat. Help yourself.” With this revelation, I breathed a sigh of relief. I had just been caught up in the afternoon coffee delivery.

I asked them some questions about the operation of the elevator remote control room, but soon realized they didn’t have a clue. Later I asked Ron’s brother, Don, who worked in the elevators, and he filled me in with the proper explanation. There are too few engineers reading this journal to make it worth my while to explain here. I’ll explain it over a beer when I get back guys.

Beside the grain elevators was a concrete iron ore loading platform, the top of which is the height of a four to five story building. It is no longer used. When it was operational, there was a huge trestle structure leading up to the platform providing a gradual path to ground level and upon which steam engines would push the ore cars on tracks up onto the platform for unloading into the waiting boats. Caddie’s father was one of the engineers who had this job. Evidently it paid well, but only locomotive engineers who passed tests confirming they were not afraid of heights could get the jobs.

Earlier, I had a good look around the old Port Arthur part of the city, and now I wanted to see the Fort William part. I rode around trying to find something that looked like a city centre, but could find anything that looked right. In frustration, I stopped and talked to a couple of younger men having a smoke outside of a store.

“Hey guys - I’ve been trying to find the city centre for the old Fort William. Can you tell me where it is?”

This brought stunned looks for both of them. The younger of the two looked down the street towards the west and said, “I think it’s, like, back there, but I’m not sure. Hey Hank, this guy is looking for the old Fort William city. That’s, like, down where the hookers work at night, ain’t it?”

The other fellow, slightly better groomed and well spoken, came forward. “Where are you trying to get?” he asked, not understanding that I had no idea and was just searching around on a whim. I explained this to him.

“Well, it is back down there about five blocks, but we’re not very proud of it. There really isn’t much to see.”

He was right. However, there was the Thunder Bay City Hall, which was put there, no doubt, to try and rejuvenate this end of town. Across the street from the City Hall was the beautifully built St. Andrew’s Presbyterian Church. What a dichotomy to have this in the centre of what looked like a larger prairie town whose citizens were gradually moving away. I don’t think I’ve seen so many closed up and vacated shops together as I did in the blocks surrounding City Hall.

In the East Side of Fort William there were two Ukrainian Churches almost beside one another. Outside one was identified in English while the other was identified on a sign written in what I assumed was Ukrainian. I believe one is Catholic while the other is Orthodox.

At this point I gave up on Fort William, drove through the miles of tarmac that surround the big box stores in this part of town, and went back to the Port Arthur part looking for some refreshment. Evidently, before the place was called Thunder Bay, the two cities of Port Arthur and Fort William use to battle for prosperity and attention. In my opinion, Fort William lost.

I had a look at the beautifully maintained CN Passenger Station. The mainline tracks still pass by, but there are no passenger trains any more as the Via trains are on the rail line in the north. The CPR Union Station is in Fort William. It must have been a bustling community around the stations in the days when this was the end of the line and people had to transfer to boats like the Assiniboia Steam Ship to continue on to the east, to Owen Sound or, later Port McNicol, and then connect to rail service for Toronto.

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Back at Trout Lake Caddie had prepared a great supper and, after eating we had a relaxing evening just sitting about chatting.

Ron and Caddie were wonderful to me while I was at their cottage and their daughter Margo gave up her residence in the house in the back so I could have a room to myself. With all the relatives up at the same end of the lake, theirs was a world of constant family socializing, something that couldn’t occur naturally in a city, even if members of a family found themselves in the same locale. The ambiance of cottage life with several nuclear families of the same root being able to see, talk, and touch each other day to day seemed to me to create an extended family, not necessarily of one household, but of a collection of cottage based households where the walls are more transparent than solid, even though they keep out the wind and rain. How can this not help to prepare the young ones for a better chance to succeed in our world.

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Photos

Finnish Historic Hall
Built in a style seen in Finland - so they tell me.

End of the Line for Sask. Grain
I've seen so many grain cars being loaded on the prairies, but this is the first time I've seen the unloading.

Great Lakes Boat loading up
I was lucky to get this shot.

Old Port Arthur Train Station
The station is between the trees and in juxtaposition to the modern city building behind. The caboose is used as a visitors information centre.

View from Ron & Caddie's Cottage
This is from their living area at the front of the cottage looking out on Trout Lake.