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World Adventures: Michigan's Great Lakes

Sitting in an airport on my way back home from Indonesia I received an email asking if I'd be interested in writing about the shipwrecks off the UP. The UP? What, or where is that, I thought? A buddy of mine later translated the term as "the Yoop, Michigan's Upper Peninsula" (UP). Michigan? Diving? Are you out of your mind?

A mistake must have been made since all I knew about Michigan is that plenty of toothless hockey players come from there, which meant the temperature isn't what I'd call balmy. On the other hand, having been all over the Indo-Pacific over the past fifteen years, from Myanmar to East Timor, diving the Great Lakes sounded kind of exotic. Fascinated with the invitation, I decided to accept, knowing in the back of my mind that water temperatures up north were not going to be as optimal as in the tropics.

Filthy rich in maritime history, the Upper Peninsula sits on the apex of Wisconsin, bordering the massive Lake Superior, Lake Huron, and Lake Michigan. Given its relative isolation, its no wonder the Yoopers, as locals have named themselves, are quite independent, both politically and economically, from the folks living down south. Living along the wild shores of the deep, cold Great Lakes, sailing lore runs in the Yoopers' blood.

For divers, the UP is an intriguing and certainly unique North American experience, where it is possible to dive in four underwater preserves within just a few days. The high occurrence of shipwrecks in this neck of the woods can, at least in part, be attributed to the vast distances of water that storms are able to sweep over, building into ferocious gales that have taken their toll on tens of thousands of ships throughout the Great Lakes over the past two hundred years. Though modern GPS and radar have improved the odds, the combination of wind, ice, high seas, and fog continue to be foes of sailors all throughout the Lakes.

Upon arriving with a heavy load of dive gear at the Marquette airport, the first goal was to immerse myself in the historically rich Alger Underwater Preserve in Lake Superior. The Alger Preserve is comprised of a handful of 19th century wrecks lying just off the town of Munising, several of which are protected from wind and seas. The facts and myths behind the ships that went down around this area were fascinating, even for a tropical coral reef aficionado, like myself. It seems the dramatic weather of the Lakes combined with the enormous amount of shipping and the UP's geography has forced the Alger, along with the three other UP preserves, into becoming a necropolis for ships.

Suiting up for the first dive, Captain Peter Lindquist gave a briefing and mentioned the current water temperature of 45-50 degrees at depth. I kept telling myself that being cold is just a mindset. As long as my fingers could work my camera housing I'd be OK. The dive commenced with a giant stride into Lake Superior's inky waters and I swear there should have been ice on the surface. It took a moment to orient myself in the darkness but a moment later I was descending upon intact history. Indistinct greenish gloom began to take shape and the deck of the 223-foot wooden steamer Smith Moore, straight out of the late 19th century, came into view at 70 feet. Lost in July of 1889, the ship was still impressive. It was as if I was a protagonist in a science fiction novel, experiencing a small bit of reality from another century, while living in 2006.

Forgotten was the chill, at least for a few minutes. Dropping onto the sand swept stern, an ornate rail running around the entire deck became visible. Rusty pulleys, gears and tools were laid along the starboard rail, awaiting scrutiny. Several minutes were spent peeking into the structures still adorning the steamer's deck. A steam winch, bilge pumps, mast stumps, the bow capstan, and even a wooden wheelbarrow used to handle cargo were still lying about. Six cargo hatches yawned open to velvet darkness below. Evidently the wreck was in danger of being covered by the slow encroachment of a nearby sand bank. But for now, the wreck was still a treasure to explore.

Another Alger Preserve gem was the 145-foot Manhattan. Carrying 76,000 bushels of wheat, the Manhattan, a wood hulled freighter, foundered on October 26, 1903 in a sandy patch a few hundred yards off the southwest side of picturesque Grand Island. Massive timbers that made up the hull framing were scattered like bones along the lakebed. Amongst the widely spread timbers I found the ship's gigantic rudder and was even able to read its painted depth markings. Deck fittings, tools, and machinery also lay hither and thither amongst the storm-ravaged wreckage. My remaining time in the Alger Preserve was spent exploring the well-preserved 150-foot wooden canal schooner, the Bermuda, which has been lying in the shallows of Murray Bay since 1870. Remarkably, the aesthetic little wreck was quite intact as it sat upright at just 30-foot. Entering the forward hatch, it was an easy swim through each of her sunlit cargo holds towards the stern, finding a few curious crayfish amongst bits and pieces of iron ore along the way. I exited back into the bright daylight through the trunk cabin, which formerly contained the galley and crew quarters. As I was taking a close look at freshwater sponges adorning the rudder, a small school of rock bass sauntered just in front of my mask apparently looking for attention.

As luck would have it, that night I met Frederick Stonehouse, one of the leading authorities on Great Lakes shipwrecks and author of several wreck books. Between bites of food, Frederick was able to give a brief but thorough and entertaining rundown on the history of the UP, including invaluable information on several of the most coveted wrecks in each of the Yoop's preserves. His unquenchable enthusiasm about the UP fired me up for coming dives.

The next stop on the Upper Peninsula, a few hours drive southeast of Munising, was the Straits of Mackinac Underwater Preserve. The Straits actually separate Lake Michigan and Lake Huron and has thus been a major thoroughfare and graveyard for shipping over the past two centuries. Violent winter storms recurrently whip through the narrow Straits and have claimed dozens of ships and doomed many unlucky sailors.
Larry Sanders, from the Straits of Mackinac Underwater Preservation Association, along with Captain Larry McElroy, gave me a meticulous rundown on what the area had to offer. Seeking the best visibility possible we ended up agreeing on diving the Sandusky, an extremely appealing brig lying upright on the bottom at 85-foot. Dropping down the mooring line, I found the windlass on the undamaged bow of the ship. The bowsprit and jib boom extended out towards the dark green water to the northeast. Swimming just below the bowsprit I found an eerie scrolled figurehead, which now appears like a demon effigy of the deep.

Off to the port side of the bow lays a huge anchor along with the foremast and various rigging that has fallen onto the sand. Once back on the deck I swam by deadeyes on the rail, past the centerboard pulley, broken mainmast, and bilge pumps, towards the stern. As I looked down I found myself staring at an ill-fated man's shoe. As none of the crew survived the sinking, it was easy to imagine sailors still haunting this wreck.

Joining us for the day was Dan Friedhoff, the son of one of the crew from the Cedarville, an ill-fated freighter that went down in 1965 in the Straits. Dan's surface interval insights and his father's story of the Cedarville's sinking gave us a thorough appreciation for the Straits' graveyard of lost ships. He went on to describe our next dive; the 140-foot Maitland, sunk in June 1871. Having a very bad day, the fated Maitland was done for after colliding with two schooners, one right after the other. Carrying 18,000 bushels of corn, she went under in less than 5 minutes.

Descending onto her bow, I spotted the collision gash the Maitland suffered just aft of the bow along her starboard side. It was easy to imagine the ship plummeting to the seabed quickly after studying the fatal blow that carved a gash in her wooden hull. Also near the bow was an intricate bilge pump just in front of the windlass. A large capstan and centerboard winch were also of note. All in all, the Maitland was one of the most beautiful wrecks I was able to visit during the whirlwind tour of the UP.

As time began to wind down on my all too short adventure, I found myself passing through infinite forests of early fall color heading for Copper Harbor and the Keweenaw Underwater Preserve. The Keweenaw Peninsula, sticking out like a lonely finger into Lake Superior, is the northernmost point on the UP and receives the brunt of storms from all angles. Jutting out into the depths of Lake Superior makes the peninsula a treasure trove of wrecks with 140 known losses since 1844. Amazingly, only 40 of these have been discovered and identified so far providing plenty of opportunity for continuing research towards locating historic vessel remains.

The goal for my last dive in Michigan was the Keweenaw's most recent and well-known wreck, the 180-foot U.S. Coast Guard buoy tender Mesquite, which ran aground in 1989. Intentionally sunk soon thereafter, the Mesquite dropped to the 120-foot bottom with everything from fully loaded file cabinets to uniforms and upholstered furniture. Quite upright and intact, except for the superstructure, the ship is a reminder that even in modern times, Lake Superior, as well as the other Great Lakes, is a force to be reckoned with.




Unfortunately, unpredictable weather and time constraints did not allow the exploration of the UP's fourth underwater preserve, Whitefish Point. But, overall the Yoop provided me with an extraordinary number of exquisite wrecks to choose from.

The long nautical legacy attached to the region was humbling to ponder. To think that I had been diving on intact sailing structures hundreds of years old was remarkable.

Though a cold and at times unforgiving environment, I found the Upper Peninsula's waters to be endowed with diving unlike any in the U.S. or the world. It was certainly the exotic experience that I had dreamed of. Diving, for me, had always been about the sea's biological diversity, drifting past coral reefs amongst adrenalin-inducing sharks, and finding unusual critters that epitomize natural selection. Shipwrecks held little sway in my mind. That is until I began diving them.

My first wreck dive was in Palau and from then on I was hooked, diving rust buckets in Guam, Truk Lagoon, Indonesia, and now the Great Lakes. Being on a sunken ship was like going back in time, exploring another era, with one foot continually in 2006. The history attached to each wreck fascinated me. I was able to drift over decks and rigging, through corridors, passageways, and rooms where people, long gone, had once carried on with their sea bound lives.

Michigan's Upper Peninsula ranks amongst the most unique shipwrecks I've encountered. They are a reminder of and an insight to our past. Now, long abandoned to their cold, watery graves, the historic wrecks of the UP are truly a ghostly experience.

Words and images by Ethan Daniels
ethandaniels@sbcglobal.net,
Copyright ©2006

For more information about diving and other activities in the upper peninsula, contact Amanda Chandler, Geiger & Associates amanda.chandler@geigerpr.com

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