|Climbing out from Marathon|
The same taxi driver from Bob's Taxis drove us up to the airport on a beautiful clear morning while Chris explained to her what the VOR was, on the hilltop. Take off time was 9:45. Making a right hand turn out over the town, we saw last night's walk, although not the thick patches of vetch, clover, marguerites, buttercups and evening primroses by the roadsides from this height. Most of the way to Thunder Bay we were off shore, following the line of islands. 4500ft over Terrace Bay we clearly saw the crossed out (disused) runways as well as the large pulp mill there belching out a plume of smoke that drifted for miles downwind.
|Terrace Bay, with the disused airport behind the smoke|
|Over the dappled islands|
|Heading out across the islands|
The irregularly shaped islands were dappled with cloud shadows ... mention of this sparked a conversation later, on the pier at Thunder Bay, about the poet Gerald Manley Hopkins ("Glory be to God for dappled things ...") ...and Chris was noticing the white rocks edging the islands and the hills rising beyond them. There were hills, cliffs, chasms and small lakes on the islands themselves, no sign of human intervention other than the highway in he distance snaking along.
Beneath us the water looked transparent at first then multicoloured--green, grey, brown, creamy--where it had been stirred by currents. As we rounded the northwestern corner of the lake I thought of young Terry Fox making his incredible, painful way here from the east of Canada on his one leg and then collapsing and dying before he could cover the remaining half of Canada. There's a memorial to him in Thunder Bay.
|Thunder Bay waterfront, from over the lake|
|Escarpment beyond Thunder Bay|
|Posing with life jacket at Thunder Bay|
|At the Prince Arthur hotel|
|Family of grebes, Thunder Bay|