"You taught me the courage of stars before you left
How light carries on endlessly, even after death
With shortness of breath
You explained the infinite
And how rare and beautiful it is to even exist
I couldn't help but ask for you to say it all again
I tried to write it down, but I could never find a pen
I'd give anything to hear you say it one more time
That the universe was made just to be seen by my eyes..."
*Story time*
In the summer of 2020, I learned of some old boats along the shore of one of the nearby indigenous communities. An old ferry was used to connect the island community with the mainland, and a tugboat was used to push a barge around, carrying cargo and equipment to it.
The island was connected to the mainland a few years ago by a land bridge and the ferry and tugboat were no longer needed. They both sit on the shore of the massive lake.
While the tugboat is completely grounded, the ferry still floats. During spring flooding, the large ferry occasionally breaks free and drifts about in the lake, eventually being rescued by locals. The ferry has no purpose now even though it floats, and is just used by locals as a fishing platform.
I knew about these boats for a year and a half before I finally was able to visit them. With Covid working its way through the North, these remote communities were particularly cautious in ensuring no sickness reached them. Their lockdowns and quarantines were far harsher than the rest of the country.
When the Covid situation in our area finally seemed to settle down over the summer of 2021 (or so we thought), the restrictions were loosened, and we made an attempt to drive out to see the boats.
Because they are on reserve land, in the time of Covid, visiting them is subject to permission to access the land. Despite lockdowns loosening, the reserves kept their own communities tightly closed-up. I tried to call a few contacts I thought were in charge of access, but got no answer. I asked around, but nobody knew who I could contact.
My wife and I decided to just drive up there, and ask for permission when we reached the checkpoint. When we reached a bridge in front of the checkpoint, we joined a small line of cars waiting for access into the community. To our surprise, we heard music and suddenly a parade of mascots did a dance routine in front of the vehicles. There was a large fire and people gathered around, eating and laughing. The mascots did their dance and people clapped, and eventually the cars started rolling through.
When it was our turn, I pulled up the the checkpoint. A very friendly man gave a warm welcome and handed me a ball cap with the community name stitched on the front of it. He asked me where we were coming from and where we were going.
"Hey, Im a photographer from Sioux Lookout... just wondering if I could get permission to photograph the old boats. I won't be going into the community at all, just hoping to visit the bay."
The man thought it over for a moment, and gestured for another fellow to come up to the car. I again explained what we were hoping to do to the second guy.
"No." he said bluntly. "Only essential people allowed in."
With that, we awkwardly turned around as the crowd of people at the fire/bbq watched us leave. We kept the hat, and had a good laugh about what just happened.
In November 2022, lockdowns finally eased to the point that I was able to finally access the boats. I made two trips there in the day, and then had planned something special.
I wanted to go out light-painting and capturing the boats at night. With my Northern Lights forecast app pinging, I figured I might get lucky and capture them as well.
Boy did I get lucky.
1.
I rolled in at about 8:30pm and the lights were already active. My first few pictures already had me flipping out. Shot after shot, I was gasping at what I was capturing.
2.
The person who used to operate this boat is a member of our local Church. He sold the boat to the community, but it was shortly after pulled to shore and stripped of parts.
3.
The lights got crazier and crazier, and I felt as though I was experiencing an entirely different world.
4.
With the drawbridge down, it felt as though the ferry was beckoning me to come aboard and escape the ordinary earth.
5.
Before its retirement, this old ferry was purchased by the community and equipped with brand new CAT diesel engines. It was never used again.
6.
7.
8.
I was done photographing those boats, but the Northern Lights weren't finished yet. I knew of another old boat, so I drove some more and hiked along a shoreline under the lights to another old boat I knew of.
9.
All night long, the solar storm kept coming and didn't stop. Many times I just stopped what I was doing to enjoy them.
10.
There are many indigenous beliefs surrounding the Northern Lights. Evil spirits, ancestors, guardians, etc... Some believe if you whistle at them, they will come down and sweep you away. In some communities, the residents hide when the lights are out.
The way they were violently flashing right above my head, right from one corner of my eye to the other, was both mesmerizing and terrifying. I fully understand why the indigenous often fear them. When I looked straight above me, the hair on the back of my neck stood up. There's no feeling like it.
11.
On my way back home, I stopped at the beach to photograph our town with the lights reflecting over the water. The lights were not done, but I was. It was 4:00am and I had been photographing them for nearly eight hours.
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Well done!
