![[Lake scene drawing]](http://images.midwestweekend.com/graphics/lake_scene.gif)
To know Thunder Bay is to love Thunder Bay.
Lake Superior's largest town is hard to get to know, though, in part because it was two towns until 1970. No downtown pops out of the landscape; people driving through see only the flat sprawl of Fort William, then the hillier sprawl of Port Arthur.
But Thunder Bay's surroundings are spectacular: Mount McKay on the south, Kakabeka Falls to the west and Ouimet and Eagle canyons to the north.
Of all the Great Lakes, Superior is the drama queen.
It's unpredictable and petulant, throwing tantrums that threaten to swallow any boat that ventures onto its waters. In 1975, it famously swallowed one that itself was called Queen of the Lakes.
Superior loves irony, it seems. The first recorded wreck, in 1816, was called the Invincible.
At the top of Lake Superior, there's a dramatic coast lined with rugged cliffs, cobblestone beaches and islands.
It's the home of Parks Canada's new Lake Superior National Marine Conservation Area, created last October to protect the waters
between the Sibley Peninsula, east of Thunder Bay, and the Slate Islands, off Terrace Bay.
The many islands are big, much like the Apostles in Wisconsin except closer together. That makes them ideal for kayaking. The
Slate archipelago, where caribou live, attracts serious kayakers. But the Rossport Islands are perfect for any paddler.
Thunder Bay is the Miss Congeniality of Canada — blessed but not beautiful, endearing yet not alluring.
Craggy bluffs flank this working-class town of 120,000 on one side, and Lake Superior on the other. But the candy-striped smokestack of a paper mill is the first thing seen by those who arrive by air or U.S. highway.
Beyond is an unremarkable sprawl of commerce and industry. But Thunder Bay's homeliness is only skin-deep to those who know where to go: To the marina, where lovely sunsets frame the Sibley Peninsula with glowing bands of peach and slate-blue. To the Hoito in the Finnish district, where crowds wait patiently for crepe-like pancakes that make regular ones seem like papier-mache. To Italian cafes, for real gelati. And to Loch Lomond and Mount Baldy, where slopes are steep but prices gentle.
Along an international border, it's surprising how much difference a few yards can make.
To many Minnesotans, the stretch of Rainy River between Baudette and International Falls is beyond boondocks. It's beautiful —the highway that hugs it is the most scenic part of the 191-mile Waters of the Dancing Sky Scenic Byway — but it's far off the beaten path. The Minnesota Historical Society closed its Grand Mound Historic Site there, and Franz Jevne State Park is visited so infrequently the DNR doesn't staff it.
But for Canadians, this is well-traversed land. Their nation's fortunes grew with the traders who traveled this river, and their towns are clustered along the border.