Lake Huron

By paddle: 287km; By air: 259km.

Sandwiched between the mild thrill of running a few rapids on the French River and the looming spectre of Lake Superior, Lake Huron can feel like a filler, almost forgotten; but you soon remember it. The small portion of Georgian Bay that you clip feels other-worldly, which isn't necessarily a compliment when it's grey, raining and slightly gusty. You dodge in and out of parallel pink granite slabs that form the porous shoreline, trying in vain to hide from the elements, but for fear of paddling into yet another dead end in this maze, give up and head out into the lake, around the rocks, to face the waves. It's probably spectacular on a good day.

The narrow channel of Killarney offers a temporary sanctuary after your first stint on big-as-in-can't-see-anything-on-the-horizon open water. The knobbled geography of the area provides a twistingly convoluted, but interesting route around Manitoulin and Great La Cloche islands into the North Channel. Then it's a long slog west, darting behind the many conveniently placed islands to gain any offered wind protection. The rush to get to the next big milestone after North Bay, Sault Sainte Marie, can sometimes blind you to the beauty of the coastal landscape: from tree covered granite hemispheres rising vertically out of the water, with secret sand filled coves hiding in their sides, to river-delta marshland with its bustling bird life.

But also in the rush, you can forget the dangers inherent in open water. Paddling towards Thessalon, we spent a long, arduous day fighting a strong wind that was blowing off the land and into the lake (a leeward wind.) The danger is deceptive as there are no large waves near the shore, only further out. On our arrival in Thessalon we heard of two young girls, part of a small group also canoeing on Lake Huron's North Channel that day, who had been blown by the wind out into the lake and then flipped. Though rescued from the water, they later died in hospital.

It's a relief to see the shoreline of St Joseph Island converge towards you, though if you follow the shorter American route to the west of Sugar Island, the monstrous freighters that silently thunder up and down the St Mary's River can raise your adrenaline. Actually, you have plenty of time to paddle out of the well-buoyed shipping lane, or if you find yourself in one of the narrow, dredged channel sections, climb onto the shore. At Sault Sainte Marie, a final dodge through boat and floatplane traffic leaves you safely on Canadian shores. It's not really that dangerous or scary.

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