North Shore, Part III: Hoist and Derrick

Sunday morning began with a deliciously trans-fatty breakfast of shrimp and cheese omelettes and Cinnamon Grands. This left us happy but uncomfortably full on the drive to Split Rock Lighthouse. We arrived just in time to take in an informative and hilariously awful film about the site. I shook with frequent and silent laughter from the very first shot of our bespectacled, bow-tied narrator. "Name's Tinkham," he announced in a condescending, businesslike manner. "Ralph Tinkham." Ralph taught us all about the lighthouse its lens from France that turns on liquid mercury. He was not so forthcoming about the hoist and derrick used to haul supplies from the water up to the lighthouse construction site. "I won't tell you how we got the derrick up here," he smiled smugly.

After the dreadful movie ended, we went to see the site of the hoist and derrick for ourselves. We were unable to shed any more light on how the equipment had arrived at its former station, so we descended a long flight of stairs that led to the shore. The large, loose rocks that made up the beach provided a spectacular view of the lighthouse. Despite the fact that the site is designed to direct visitors down to the area, it felt very isolated. We climbed out to the edge of the beach and sat soaking up the spray from the lake until we realised how late in the afternoon it was. We were determined to make it to Gooseberry Falls before heading home, but the glinting of the lighthouse itself deterred us. I hadn't realised that visitors could go inside. We chatted to a person in uniform there before climbing the spiral staircase up to the shiny rotating lens.


I finally tired of looking at the gears displayed in a glass cabinet below the light, and we made the short journey to Gooseberry Falls. These falls were quite a bit busier and, seemingly, more tourist-friendly than the Tettegouche High Falls. You could walk across the stone in the riverbed and come close enough to put your hand in the rushing water. I wasn't quite as impressed with these falls, since I hadn't become lost in the process of finding them. It seemed a little too easy. And we were both craving a second slice of Rustic Inn pie. So we left after following the clearly defined trail around the falls.


We rather embarrassingly had the same waitress who had served us the previous afternoon. This time she was unfazed by my request for apple cherry pie, and I didn't have to wonder over her insistence upon the use of the 'and' conjunction. I'm now convinced that the best way to leave the North Shore is with the taste of pie lingering in your mouth. I was certainly content on the drive back to the Cities. It took far longer than we expected due to deer, mist and the languor of the employees at DQ. I was exhausted when we finally made it back, but I was also very refreshed. This may have had something to do with being around so many waterfalls. But my expat side had reemerged as a result of exploring so many new places, and that was the most pleasing aspect of all.