The Happy Camper: Paying Homage to Bill Mason at Lake Superior’s Denison Falls
Day 2 of the voyageur canoe ride along the north shore of Lake Superior, the crew and I found ourselves camped at the mouth of the Dog River; part of the unmanaged Nimoosh Provincial Park.
We pitched our tents along the elongated gravel beach while the guides prepared a great dinner of chili and baked corn bread. A campfire was lit along the long rock bar where the Dog River flushes into the expanse of ocean-like water of Lake Superior. This is, without a doubt, one of the nicest spits on the north shore. But no s’mores or whisky were had around the fire. It would be an early night for everyone. Our five-kilometre hike to the upper Denison Falls was scheduled for early the next morning.
Mike and Oliver, the guides from Naturally Superior Adventures had coffee ready at 7 a.m. and the group gathered around like cows to a watering trough. It was a quick breakfast and we all filled our day packs with water, snacks and camera equipment. The participants were given details of the trail’s terrain—rolling and rugged—and then headed down the path towards the falls like the Seven Dwarfs heading to the gold mine.
Denison Falls is a 40-metre cascade, set deep into the wild Superior coastline. It was a favourite haunt of Bill Mason, a renowned Canadian film maker, artist and paddler. The cataract was featured in his iconic 1984 film, Waterwalker.
All of us, on the Superior journey, were big fans of Mason’s work, and all of us were keen on paying homage to him in this mystical, wild place.
The guides were accurate on their description of the trail leading to Denison Falls. As the crow flies, it’s a mere three kilometres. But in reality, it’s a five kilometre scramble, some of it on your hands and knees. We maneuvered over and under downed trees, stayed tight along the sections where the path was tangibly close to the sharp embankment dropping down to the roaring river rapids and slid on our butts during the abrupt vertical parts.
The trail disappears as you reach a mound of granite scratched deeply by numerous glacial striations. Here you’ll witness the lower drop of Denison Falls. It’s an impressive site—but nothing in comparison to what’s waiting upstream. However, to reach the initial drop—a fan-shaped cascade that’s edged by mossy boreal forest and clouded with cooling mist—is a precipitous rocky ascent done with the assistance of fixed ropes.
Not all made it to the pinnacle. A couple had to bail a quarter way down the trail due to a fall and roll down a precipitous drop along the river’s edge. A few looked at the rope climb and decided that viewing the lower falls was good enough for them. A good portion, however, did find the strength and courage to complete the full journey. And what a journey it was.
Some in the group labelled it a Tolkien-esque sight. An artist in the group took out his paint and packable canvas to quickly splash on his initial view, others snapped picture after picture to later download into their photo editor software and others just stood there and soaked in the moment—some even sat down and wept. To me, it was a pure euphoria moment. I taught myself how to paddle by watching Bill Mason’s National Film Board movies and reading his books. And like many of us, I dreamt about being in that red canoe of his and witnessing the wilderness backdrop that surrounded him. It wasn’t that I idolized the artist Bill Mason, it was that his red canoe was the catalyst of me going to wild places.
Walking up to the base of Denison Falls wasn’t like walking up to the alter of a church. It was more than that. Bill Mason brought me here, but there was an energy beyond that reasoning. There was a pure joy that it was inconceivable only if you met the challenge to get there. This was no roadside tourist spot to gather your selfies. The only way to witness and understand a truly wild place such as Denison Falls is to see it for yourself.
