Story and Photos by Erik Thomsen
Acknowledgement: When paddling in remote places, canoeists will often reflect on the hidden secrets guarded by the land – the derelict structures of a lost age hidden somewhere just off the river; the uncovered artifacts, tools and artwork of people that came before; sacred sites and lost pathways hidden amongst the tangled forest.
How many of these secrets have we failed to uncover on our journeys? How many have we unassumingly bypassed as the current has pulled our boats downstream? How many have we missed because we did not know where to look or what to seek?
One of the great joys of wilderness canoeing, undoubtedly, is the discovery of these places. They connect us directly to the past, to figures of history and moments that shaped parts of our identity. They are departure points for reflection and enrich the experience, adding vivid colour to the landscape.
On our journey down the Agawa River, we had the immense privilege of visiting many sites of significance – we found forgotten relics of the logging and rail ages, breathed new life into derelict trails and campsites, and marvelled at some 20 Group of Seven painting locations.
This was all made possible thanks to the guidance one of our group members, Jeff McColl. Jeff, a lifelong outdoorsman, canoeist and longtime WCA member, may know the Agawa as well as anyone knows any river. His decades of stewardship and travelling this sacred land have unlocked many of its innumerable secrets.
Preface
On the cold, sandy shores of Agawa Bay, a fiery sun pierced the low, grey clouds and drenched the land in a blood-orange hue as it drifted slowly downward over the bay’s western ridge and the Agawa islands, toward the frigid waters of Lake Superior. Although it was the end of May a freezing chill still hung over the ever-darkening land – a stout breeze swept in off the massive lake. The quiet of dusk was broken only by the susurration of tumbling waves and the hum of traffic off the nearby Trans-Canada highway.
It was here, at Agawa Bay Campground in Lake Superior Provincial Park, that our party of eight assembled to embark on an eight-day canoe journey down the famous, but now seldom paddled Agawa River in the Algoma Region of northern Ontario. This would be an adventure through the heart of Ontario’s most scenic landscape – a place of towering canyons, dome-shaped ridges, cascading waterfalls, dense boreal forest, and a place that glimmers with the treasures of history.
Brief History of the Agawa River
The storied Agawa River falls in the traditional territory of the Anishinaabe people of eastern Lake Superior, including those of the Batchewana and Garden River First Nations, whose ancestors have stewarded the lands and waterways here over eons.
Perhaps the best-known site of Indigenous cultural significance is found at Agawa Rock, about five kilometres north of the mouth of the river on Superior’s rugged shoreline. A place of international significance – at least 117 red ochre pictographs are present on the sheer granite cliffs at this sacred site. This includes an iconic depiction of Mishipeshu, the “Great Lynx” or “Underwater Panther” and spirit master of the water – one of the most significant manitous in Anishinaabe culture.
This was also the homeland of the legendary Chief, Shingwaukonse, “Little Pine” (c. 1773-1854). After fighting and receiving commendations in the War of 1812, Shingwaukonse became a leading champion for Indigenous education, self-determination and rights over lands and resources, ultimately playing a key role in the negotiation of the Robinson-Huron Treaty of 1850.
For a vast distance, the Agawa River flanks the historic Algoma Central Railway (ACR), which was blasted through the rugged Algoma wilderness in the early 1900s to provide a vital industrial link between the mines and timber lands of the Algoma interior and the mills and refineries at Sault Ste. Marie.
The rail line’s development and indeed the Sault’s rapid industrial expansion at the turn of the 20th century was driven by an American industrialist named Francis Hector Clergue. Between 1894 and 1903, Clergue headed an integrated industrial empire based on timber, mining (steel, iron, nickel and copper) and energy production under the Consolidated Lake Superior Company. Although the company failed and was restructured in 1904, it helped to establish the Sault as one of northern Ontario’s key economic hubs – a legacy that it continues to hold.
Famously, Algoma and the Agawa River, were also immortalized through the works of Canada’s beloved Group of Seven artists. In May 1918, Lawren Harris and his patron, Dr. James MacCallum, travelled north from the Sault along the ACR to scout new lands to inspire Harris’ craft. Harris was in desperate search of renewal and healing in the wake of deep personal tragedy, including the loss of his brother in World War I and the drowning of his friend and contemporary, Tom Thomson, at Canoe Lake in Algonquin Provincial Park.
After his foray into the Algoma interior, Harris enthusiastically wrote fellow artist JEH MacDonald describing the dramatic landscape and setting plans for a return: “Once we leave the Soo and commence climbing into that paradise you will forget entirely to give your health or state of mind even a passing thought — just give up to drinking in gorgeousness with your eyes, sweet, woodsy sounds with your ears, and crisp, clean air with your lungs.”
In September of that year, with the onset of autumn, Harris, McCallum, MacDonald and artist, Frank Johnston, returned to the region. The group arranged for a boxcar to be retrofitted as a cabin, with bunks and a stove, and shuttled to various points along the rail line deep in the Algoma wilderness, where they explored the land and painted over several days.
The 1918 forays into the Algoma interior marked the beginning of the famous “boxcar trips”, which continued each year until 1922 and led to the formal establishment of the Group of Seven itself in 1920. Ultimately, these ventures to the Agawa and beyond, laid the foundation for the most significant art movement in Canadian history.
By the 1950s, with elevated public interest in the austere beauty of the Algoma interior, plans to promote tourism in the region took shape. The development of a tourist stop-over was initiated at “Canyon Park” (Mile 114 on the ACR). By the mid-1960s a dedicated, seasonal tourist train began operations to Canyon Park in supplement to the existing freight and passenger service offered along the line. The Agawa Canyon Train Tour has remained a popular attraction where tourists can travel north into the wilds from the Sault for a taste of this magical landscape.
Accessing The Agawa
In decades past, canoeists interested in paddling the Agawa would have typically boarded the ACR passenger train in the Sault and requested drop off at or near Canyon Park to begin a three to four-day trip to Agawa Bay. However, with the suspension of passenger and freight service on the line in 2015 [1], access to the river for canoeing has become difficult, contributing to a decline in the river’s popularity. Today, it is likely that no more than a handful of people – if any – attempt to paddle the river each year.
The challenge of access is compounded by the fickle nature of the Agawa’s flow. Like other rivers in the area, the Agawa is best paddled during spring run off or after a period of heavy rain when the water levels are at least 2.3 on the nearby Batchewana gauge. The Agawa is known to both flood and drain rapidly, owing to the steep and rocky valley that envelops the river over much of its course.
Without the ability to access the river via train, we considered other options, including launching at Tik Road – a primary logging road southeast of Wawa.
Another option was to pursue a course of maximum adventure and put in approximately 20 kilometres upstream of Tik Road at Gould Lake, near the river’s headwaters. This option would involve a quick bush plane ride to access the lake; a three-kilometre bushwhack through dense forest along the rocky and overgrown Gould Creek and an 18-kilometre paddle down an unknown portion of the Agawa River (containing innumerable unknown rapids and waterfalls). From our research, including discussions with Camp Anjigami (a remote fishing outpost operator on Gould Lake), we could find no evidence of this route ever having been attempted. Ultimately, we chose the course of high adventure and planned to fly into Gould Lake with our egress at Agawa Bay, approximately ~120 kilometres down river.
Part I: The Upper Reaches
After packing up at Agawa Bay Campground and shuttling north to the aerodrome at Hawke Lake, near Wawa, we found ourselves cruising over the boreal aboard a DeHavilland Otter under the late afternoon sun. Below us we found a rugged land still in spring’s blossom; splashes of pale and yellowish-green foliage interspersed darker hues of the conifers as the shadow of our airplane flashed over the landscape.
The pilot executed a steep bank and touched down on the dark, island-speckled lake, dropping us off at the small dock outside of Camp Anjigami’s outpost. The camp operators had graciously permitted us to set up camp outside of this small, rustic outpost for the night before beginning our adventure into the bush the following morning. We quickly set up our tents and built a fire in hopes of warding off the thick swarms of mosquitoes and black flies that had assembled to meet us. The stirring call of a loon echoed in the distance over the still, orange waters of the evening.
In the morning, we paddled less than a kilometre to the mouth of Gould Creek to encounter our first notable challenge of the journey. The first 300 to 400 metres of Gould Creek were choked by deadfall, boulders and dense cedars. Fortunately, the evening before, Jeff and Don had worked to blaze a portage trail on the south side of the creek, and we were able to easily carry through to open water.
Beyond this, we encountered a series of lift-overs and portages that culminated in a physically demanding 600-metre bushwhack through thick, buggy forest and around a waterfall. From this point the creek meanders through a tight, calm channel and tumbles through two boulder gardens before finally reaching the Agawa.
We were relieved and excited to have met the Agawa, which coursed a narrow path through the woods at this elevation. However, we recognized that the next 18 kilometres or so of river travel would likely be the most challenging portion of the trip.
Soon we arrived at a small, unnamed lake near the confluence of Sane Creek, where we set up camp off the river’s sloping western bank.
A clear-cut from recent logging activity could be seen at the south side of the lake with Mount Baldy, capped with the slender silhouette of a fire tower, visible five kilometres in the distance. Mount Baldy is the region’s highest point, sitting at an elevation of 614 metres, and was the subject of Lawren Harris’ 1919 painting, “Bald Mountain”.
Despite a challenging full day’s effort, we had only made less than six kilometres of distance from the Gould Lake camp.
The morning was hazy and warm. The river had now finally opened up, and we attained a reasonable pace as we moved to the east, down the meandering river.
At the river’s confluence with Regan (Berry) Creek, we pulled ashore and climbed up to the ridge dividing the two waterways. Jeff had speculated, based on 1940s river improvement plans by Abitibi Power and Paper Company Limited, that remnants of a logging camp may have existed in this location. These records also showed dozens of smaller camp locations dispersed at regular intervals along the river as well as a detailed list of planned river improvements to support log drives (e.g. roads, logging booms, drilling and blasting requirements etc.).
Such records shed fascinating insight into the boldness of the industrial vision for the watershed. As it turns out, however, we were able to find no evidence of logging camps or river improvements at any portion of the river’s upper reaches, upstream of Tik Road. It may be assumed that the immense cost and effort of such an endeavour, and the phase-out of traditional log driving in Ontario, contributed to the abandonment of such plans.
Past Regan Creek we encountered four rapids in succession that we were able to navigate by either paddling or portaging before coming to portion of the route that we had labelled the “major rapids section”.
This section contains five high-volume rapids and waterfalls along a one kilometre stretch of river. On approach of this section, given the lack of existing records, we had no clear notion of whether portaging the rapids would be viable and where the best location for passage might be found.
We made our way gingerly through the section, paddling or lining where possible. We were fortunate to benefit from relatively low water levels which allowed us to get closer to the brink of the rapids / falls before portaging.
Soon we dropped into a sizeable pool atop three major rapids that wind through the beginning of the Agawa’s upper canyon. Taking out on the river’s right side, we had initially cut a path through the bush to circumvent the first of these. However, based on scouting done by one of the members of our group, we soon realized that it was more practical to start back at the beginning of the trail and haul our gear up and over the highlands deeper into the bush. This allowed us to bypass all three rapids and mitigate the prospect of getting stuck deep in the canyon.
This was difficult work and made for a painstaking 400-metre slog uphill and through woods where no trail existed and where mosquitos and black flies swarmed by the thousands. At one instance, I dropped my heavy packs to rest and for a moment could not discern whether the tickling sensation that engulfed my face was the dripping of sweat or the scurrying legs of uncountable black flies vying for blood.
Soon enough, though, we had crested the ridge and lay down our packs to set up camp. We were far up off the water, but the barren rocks of this plateau provided an ideal spot to erect tents and recover from the arduous slog we had endured. The day had turned increasingly cool and grey and we anticipated heavy rains overnight.
We awoke to the orange silhouette of the sun straining to burn through the looming fog that cloaked the land atop the plateau. We hauled our gear off the ridge to the water and set course down the river.
Little more than a kilometre downstream we negotiated a long relatively placid boulder garden that yielded a small black bear cub strolling peacefully along the east shore.
Around the following bend, one of our boats suddenly twisted sideways in a rocky rapid and became swamped and pinned against a boulder. Many of the Agawa’s rapids flow through challenging river features such as this, with no prospect of portage, necessitating slow and careful navigation. Luckily, with some effort we were able to dislodge the pinned vessel without any loss of gear or damage.
As the river cuts through the heart of the picturesque upper canyon, directly under Mount Baldy, the walls enclose and push the river through a narrow corridor punctuated by a large mid-stream boulder. We carried around this and exited the upper canyon.
As we proceeded, I glanced back in contemplation of the challenges we endured over the first leg of our trip and was buoyed to capture a stunning view of Mount Baldy drifting further behind us through the hazy mid-day vapours.
After carefully navigating a final boulder garden and rapid, we at last came to the bridge at Tik Road. It is evident that the class I rapid above the bridge had been manicured in decades past to accommodate logging. This is the first portion that contains any evidence of historic river improvements, and though subtle, seemed to contrast the challenging rocky rapids that we had navigated upstream over the prior days.
Following a quick lunch at the bridge, we set out again on the water. For the remainder of the afternoon, we enjoyed fair weather and easy conditions with innumerable swifts before landing at Millwood.
Part II: The Agawa Canyon
Millwood is a small railway siding along the ACR and is the most northerly point at which the Agawa first meets the rail line. Before ACR passenger service was discontinued in 2015, Millwood was a viable location for canoeists to access the river.
For our purposes, we used the open stretch of ground directly abutting Millwood Falls as a convenient location to camp. As with the rapids at the Tik Road bridge, Jeff pointed out to our group that the east side of Millwood Falls had clearly been blasted to support log drives.
We paddled south from Millwood on a warm, sunny morning to start the fifth day of our journey down the Agawa and soon came upon the derelict Agawa Station rail stop. For decades, the small two-story green and white bunk house here served as a transient stop for rail workers, loggers, hunters, trappers and other travellers attempting to access the Algoma wilderness. While the old structure is quickly being reclaimed by the wild, it is still possible to enter the building and admire some fascinating relics of yesteryear – 50-year-old ACR claim tags and tour pamphlets, lanterns, tools, gasoline canisters, fishing nets, bunks, arrows and other items.
Beyond Agawa Station we paddled four notable rapids, all of which involved careful navigation and inevitable bumping on rocks given the low water levels we had been experiencing. The valley was bright and open and seemed rich with wildlife. We were fortunate to encounter moose and sandhill cranes as we passed the defunct rail station at Eton.
Here the river retains a gentle flow, and we soon pulled off into a small bay to explore a beautiful waterfall where Eleven Mile Creek gushes into the Agawa via several channels. Jeff noted that this was the location of a painting by AY Jackson.
Just past the waterfall the river approaches one of the Agawa’s many impressive features; a large class V canyon which claimed the lives of two paddlers in the 1980s. The only means of bypassing this obstacle was to haul our gear up a short, vertical embankment and portage along the rail tracks. We carried along the tracks under the high walls of the canyon for approximately 800 metres before stopping at an overgrown campsite just off the river.
Here we set up camp, with some members of our party” deciding to pitch tents directly on the out-of-service rail line itself.
Within a short walk of this location are innumerable Group of Seven painting locations, including AY Jackon’s “Agawa Canyon” (circa 1940) and depictions of the Agawa’s roiling flow by Lawren Harris and Frank Johnston. With Jeff’s assistance, I was able to wander off and locate these painting locations in the dying light of evening.
In searching for these places, there is a special moment of realization in which one becomes aware that they are situated in the position of the artist and are witnessing the land, perhaps, as they did many years before. This typically occurs upon a faint recognition of some subtle feature – a triangular rock, the shape of the far horizon line, the way water flutters and flows in a rapid. This moment of recognition is followed by a wave of exultation – not merely from the act of finding the spot, but from gazing upon this wild and inspiring scene and discovering a connection to a place that bridges the years.
As we packed up camp in the morning, we resolved to continue to portage down the tracks, perhaps another kilometre, to bypass three large rapids. Any challenge this may have normally presented was entirely extinguished when we found a home-made rail cart built many years earlier by Jeff, that he had stowed in the forest for future use.
We started the day by running a thrilling technical class II rapid as a gentle rain began to fall in the canyon. Here we were rewarded by two Lawren Harris painting locations including “On the Agawa River, Algoma” (1919).
The canyon here is utterly striking. We cruised slowly through its depths under the calm rain, and under the distant melody of bird song, without saying much. When we did speak, it was mostly to marvel at the silver cliff sides and verdant green precipices pushing out of the water around us.
As we approached “Canyon Park”, three JEH MacDonald locations, including “Agawa Canyon, Algoma” (1919) found us. In each of these works, MacDonald’s gloomy, mercurial skies and smoky blue distances bore close resemblance to the scene we now found ourselves paddling through.
Agawa Canyon Park was established in 1952 with the clearing of a picnic area for rail travellers interested in admiring the incredible scenery of the area. In years following, the popularity of the canyon grew, and dedicated tourist train service was initiated, with peak popularity occurring in the 1970s and 80s. Train tours to the park continue to be a popular attraction to this day, particularly at peak fall colours after mid-September.
We pulled up on the shore and walked the “Canyon Park” property exploring numerous pathways and structures (a small train station and offices, cookhouse, staff house, medical station and others). These we found to be in varying states of repair, some resembling time capsules from decades past. Being that tours typically begin operation in mid-summer; we found no staff presence and so soon continued on our way.
As we paddled onward, we encountered the true highlight of this portion of the route. In the distance, Jeff directed our attention to Black Beaver Falls to our west and then the elegant white veins of Bridal Veil Falls coursing majestically over the granite cliffs of the river’s east side. This location was the most popular subject of Group of Seven members during their adventures along the Agawa. JEH MacDonald, Lawren Harris, AY Jackson, Frank Johnston all painted these cliffs from an array of diverse vantages and perspectives. This includes famous foundational Group of Seven works such as Harris’ “Waterfall, Algoma” (1919) and MacDonald’s “Algoma Waterfall” (1920).
Past the canyon, we ran an exhilarating class III rapid known as the Rapid of Good Hope, before entering one of the most scenic stretches of river I have yet traversed. Here, 230-metre cliffs and imposing dome-shaped masses of rock dwarfed our party as we floated serenely along this melancholy stretch of dark water, chasing an eagle as it dashed downstream.
With the day wearing on, we encountered a long, technical class II rapid strewn with challenging boulders as the river turned gradually toward Lake Superior. Each canoe attempted to pick through the tricky flows and one of our boats became hung up and swamped resulting in the loss of some gear.
We were now almost at our campsite but took a moment to stop at the confluence of the Agawa and Little Agawa rivers to investigate the site of an old logging camp and another renowned Group of Seven painting location.
We reached our site in the late afternoon — a sandy spit atop a large and impressive chute. The site is found most of the way down an overgrown (and largely non-existent) portage trail marked at the head by a smashed Grumman canoe. On approach of the trailhead, we noted several decaying logging booms along the side of the river – relics of the log drive era.
With camp set up for the evening, I ventured upstream along the cobblestone shoreline to find a place to watch the river. Around the river bend, I glanced back and sat on a rock – the drifting orange aethers of evening had fallen over the murmuring land. The hush of the rapid; the buzz of the forest; the wind in the pines together played their ancient symphony.
We were now less than two leisurely days of travel to the end. A late morning departure from our beach site brought us quickly toward the most astounding waterfall on the route – Agawa Falls.
Here the entire flow and force of the river is funnelled dramatically over a sheer 30-metre drop into a placid pool. The portage trail around the falls affords several lookout points in which one can catch a view of the awesome power of the torrent.
Beyond the falls, the river drops elevation quickly as it winds toward Lake Superior. We paddled in an unhurried fashion as the bronze-coloured rocks of the riverbed passed swiftly away behind us.
Our final campsite of the trip was an established hike-in campsite within Lake Superior Provincial Park; a lovely nook on a bend in the river under the shadow of 300-metre cliff. Here we enjoyed our final evening with a roaring campfire on the site’s cobblestone beach.
The following morning, the river flushed us rapidly downstream to our takeout point at Highway 17. Our preferred egress would have been three kilometres down the beach to Agawa Bay Campground on Lake Superior, but the big lake was not smiling on us that day.
Epilogue
One morning well into our trip, as we were loading our boats upstream of Agawa Falls, a few members of our party entered into a discussion on the position of the Agawa in the ranks of other great rivers and canoe routes of Ontario. Impressed by the incredible scenery – the colossal canyons, the furious rapids, the history of the place – we agreed that the route was amongst the best in the province and could rightly be considered the Nahanni of the East (incidentally, a title often reserved for Quebec’s Moisie River). This is, after all, the land that JEH MacDonald once called “the original site of the Garden of Eden”. In any case, on reflection, I think these designations would be unfair – for this is the Agawa River – and to call it anything but would understate just how special and unique this place is.
Ultimately, my only lamentation about this canoe route is that it is so seldom travelled. Perhaps that will change someday with the reinstatement of passenger service on the ACR – but the opportunity is here now – from the Tik Road bridge or, for those willing to endure hardship and privation, from the rocky and rugged upper reaches at Gould Lake.
The Group of Seven and Tom Thomson have had an immense, indisputable and enduring impact on national identity of Canadians. Their works are some of the most famous and sought after paintings in Canadian history. They inspired generations of artists and the physical artifacts representing their legacy – whether those adorning the walls of the National Gallery or monuments such as Thomson’s totem on Canoe Lake – remain sources of national pride.
Despite this, a case can be made that their legacy is fading from the national consciousness. In Defiant Spirits: The Modernist Revolution of the Group of Seven, Ross King, citing polls and surveys of Canadians, noted that “by the dawn of the 21st century the members of the group were in danger of slipping from the public imagination”. This is said to be based on shifting sentiments respecting the nationalism that underpinned their efforts and the increasing dissociation of Canadians “with the Shield landscape of pine, boulder and lake, or with the age of lumberjacks and pioneers”. It is purported that with urbanization, we are growing increasingly distant from the wilds that bore our nation.
If all of that is true, then perhaps somewhat ironically, the standing of this river amongst our community of wilderness travellers may somewhat parallel the standing of these artists in the collective imagination of Canadians. Neither have been forgotten, but neither are celebrated in the way they once were or the way, in my view, that they ought to be.
And so here is a final challenge to those who may read these words: go out into the vast wildlands of our country and find these places – find the old painting locations; the pictographs scribed on stone; the rotting bunk houses and cabins; the timeworn trails and moss entombed campsites that can hardly be seen; strive to find places of importance to those who were here before us; the sites that bring the landscape alive with stories of mystery and wonder. Visit them and breathe life into them again; learn their stories and their secrets and pass these things on to others who care; a true possession will be yours.
[1] Historically, the ACR line was used to provide passenger rail service between Sault Ste. Marie and Hearst, Ontario. Service was discontinued in 2015 with the withdrawal of government subsidies. Though a seasonal tourist train continues to operate to Canyon Park, the service does not permit transportation and river access for canoeists seeking to paddle the Agawa. As of late 2025, prospects for restoration of passenger service along the line are promising with strong community and private sector support.