The Pumper

The first time I saw this little ship was in 2013, as my family and I paddled late in the August afternoon, in our rented canoe, heading to Long Island Locks, where we would camp for the last night of our 10-day trek from Kingston to Ottawa, through the Rideau Canal system.

When I saw the S.S. Pumper, I was tempted to stop to take some photos, but DW and our oldest daughter were hungry and just wanted to get to our camp site, so that we could have dinner. Our youngest, who had developed an infection in her foot and had to leave us, in Smiths Falls, was to rejoin us and help us make the final stretch of this 200-kilometre journey.

I told myself that I would return, someday, and that hopefully this abandoned boat would still be anchored near Kars, though I didn't know how I would make it happen. We didn't have a canoe or other craft of our own, and although DW and I had toyed with the idea of purchasing kayaks, I didn't think it would actually happen.

Fast-forward to an August evening, in 2021.

Sitting on my front porch, after dinner, enjoying a pint of sour ale, I remarked at how the sun was falling as an orange ball, due to smoke from fires in northwestern Ontario, and I thought there was a chance that the sky could produce a smokey orange-pink sunset, in just over an hour's time.

I made a split-second decision and rushed to get ready.

DW was out for a run with a friend and would be home too late to join me. I slipped into my river pants and water shoes, threw my life jacket, paddle, bilge pump, and throw line into the trunk. I lifted my kayak onto the roof and strapped it down. I placed my D-SLR in the passenger seat, and made my way to Kars.

I pulled into the boat launch near the community recreation centre and there were no other vehicles, save a pickup truck that was backing a trailer into Steven's Creek to retrieve a boat that was along the dock. They weren't in my way. I pushed off and made my way toward the Rideau River with about a half-hour to sunset.

I knew there'd be no orange glow when I put my kayak into the water. Clouds had thickened, likely from the smoke of the fires. The sun was a giant peach, falling toward the horizon, but the sky was a lifeless grey.

I paddled about one-and-a-half kilometres, downstream, toward the Roger Stevens overpass, and saw the S.S. Pumper exactly where she had been, eight years earlier. Kingfishers were fluttering from tree to tree, between Sanders Island and the smaller, unnamed island next to the derelict ship. The light was without character and I was beginning to lose light, so I would just have to make due with what was presented to me.

I retrieved my D-SLR from its dry bag and drifted from bow to stern, snapping various angles. I pulled out my smartphone and took a few more before I packed everything up and paddled back to the Kars dock.

Surprisingly, the best photo of the shoot came from my Android phone. I used Snapseed to add a bit of drama, to get today's Photo Friday offering. What do you think?

Since I shot the photo, I've learned a little about the S.S. Pumper. Built in 1903 in Buffalo, NY, she's the only wood-burning steam ship to sail the Great Lakes. Originally named the S.S. Planet, the steamboat was confiscated by the Canadian Coast Guard for illegal fishing practices and later sold to a Canadian in Port Dover, who renamed her to the Racey because she was the fastest ship on the Great Lakes. The Racey could be seen running ahead of fishing boats, breaking the ice.

The vessel changed a few hands over the decades until it was finally bought by a family in 1990, who ran tours of Lake Ontario, out of Niagara-on-the-Lake. Financial difficulties in 2003, the one-hundredth anniversary of the ship, made running the S.S. Pumper unfeasible, and the tours stopped for the 2004 season. How the ship came to rest near Kars, since at least 2013, is a mystery to me but I'm glad she's there, waiting for her next photo shoot.

I'll continue to watch the skies, hoping for a better sunset, and I'll return to the Pumper.

Happy Friday!