Nor’ Westers Trip from Michilimackinac to Fort William

 

In a recent post we examined the Voyageurs Highway, circa 1750, and a voyage from Lachine to Michilimackinac.

Now, we’ll look at a later period, circa 1803, when there were reasons why some North West Company (NWC) voyageurs might have traveled from Lachine to Michilimackinac and then on to Fort William, though this was not the standard or most direct route for the annual brigades heading to the rendezvous. The primary voyageur route from Lachine to Fort William (or its predecessor, Grand Portage) typically followed the Ottawa River, Mattawa River, Lake Nipissing, French River into Georgian Bay, then northward through Lake Huron's North Channel to Sault Ste. Marie, and finally westward along Lake Superior's north shore.  This avoided Michilimackinac (modern Mackinac Island), which lies at the straits connecting Lake Huron and Lake Michigan, southwest of the main path.

However, Michilimackinac was a major fur trade hub with NWC presence, especially for trade routes extending into the southwestern Great Lakes region (e.g., Michigan, Illinois, and Fond du Lac areas).  Voyageurs could have detoured or been rerouted there for several reasons:

• Supplying regional posts or intercepting trade: NWC operations included posts around the Great Lakes, and some canoes might have stopped at or originated from Michilimackinac to collect furs, provisions, or personnel before heading north to the rendezvous at Fort William, especially during competitive periods or disruptions like the War of 1812 (when NWC forces helped capture the U.S. fort at Michilimackinac). 
• Alternative or seasonal routing: While the Ottawa-Georgian Bay route was preferred to bypass Niagara Falls and Lake Erie, some traders used southern Great Lakes paths that passed through Michilimackinac for access to Lake Superior via Sault Ste. Marie. This could occur for express canoes, smaller groups, or when avoiding hazards on the northern route. 
• Exploration or expansion: During NWC's push westward (e.g., under Alexander Mackenzie), some voyages connected multiple hubs, including Michilimackinac, before converging on Fort William. 

These instances were more exception than rule, as the bulk of the "pork eaters" (Montreal-based voyageurs) aimed directly for the rendezvous without the detour, which would add time and risk to the already grueling 2,000+ mile journey. 

Description of the Trip from Michilimackinac to Fort William

If voyageurs did make this leg (roughly 400-500 miles, taking 2-4 weeks depending on weather and crew), it would involve navigating the unpredictable waters of the upper Great Lakes in birchbark canoes (canots de maître for larger groups, holding 8-14 men and tons of cargo). The journey emphasized endurance, with crews paddling 12-18 hours daily, singing to maintain rhythm, and subsisting on cornmeal porridge (rubaboo) or pemmican.  Key stages:

• Michilimackinac to Sault Ste. Marie (about 100 miles, 3-5 days): Paddling northeast along Lake Huron's shoreline or through the straits, avoiding strong currents and islands. Crews might stop at indigenous villages for trade or repairs. At the Sault, they'd portage around the rapids (a mile-long carry of packs weighing 180 lbs each, done in stages). 
• Sault Ste. Marie to the North Shore of Lake Superior (initial 100-150 miles, 4-7 days): Entering Lake Superior, the largest and most treacherous freshwater lake, with sudden storms, fog, and high waves. They'd hug the rugged northern shoreline, passing rocky cliffs, forests, and bays like Batchawainon or Michipicoton for shelter. Portages were fewer but demanding, often over uneven terrain. 
• North Shore to Fort William (200-250 miles, 7-10 days): Continuing west past slate islands, black bays, and peninsulas, dealing with cold winds and potential ice in early season. The final approach followed the Kaministiquia River mouth near modern Thunder Bay, Ontario. Hazards included wildlife (bears, wolves), mosquitoes, and fatigue-related accidents. 

This segment was part of the broader two-stage system: eastern brigades met western ones at Fort William for cargo exchange before returning. 

Fort William During the Annual Rendezvous

From 1803 to 1821, Fort William served as the NWC's inland headquarters and site of the summer rendezvous, a massive gathering in July-August drawing up to 2,000-3,000 people for 2-4 weeks.  The wooden stockade enclosed warehouses, great halls, residences, shops, a jail, and a hospital, sprawling over 40+ buildings on the Kaministiquia River.  It buzzed with activity:

• Business and Trade: Montreal agents and wintering partners held meetings in the Great Hall to negotiate shares, plan expansions, and resolve disputes. Canoes arrived laden with furs from the west (exchanged for eastern goods), with tons of pelts sorted and packed. 
• Social and Cultural Hub: Voyageurs, Indigenous peoples (Ojibwe, Cree, Assiniboine), Métis, and Scots mingled. Feasts featured venison, fish, and rum; there were dances, music (fiddles, bagpipes), storytelling, and contests like canoe races or wrestling. Tents dotted the grounds for overflow. 
• Atmosphere: Chaotic yet organized, with celebrations contrasting the isolation of winter posts. It reinforced alliances but could turn rowdy with alcohol-fueled fights. 

After the 1821 merger with the Hudson's Bay Company, the rendezvous declined, and the fort fell into disuse by 1883. 

Partners of the North West Company

The NWC operated as a series of evolving partnerships (not a chartered corporation like the Hudson's Bay Company), with shares distributed among Montreal agents (merchants handling supplies and sales) and wintering partners (who managed interior operations and traded directly with Indigenous groups).  Profits were divided by shares (starting at 16 in 1784, expanding to 46 by 1799), and partners met annually at the rendezvous to vote on decisions.  Key aspects and figures:

• Structure: Partnerships renewed every 5-7 years, absorbing rivals (e.g., XY Company in 1804, where old NWC partners got 75% shares).  Winterers started as clerks and rose based on performance; agents were often Scots merchants. 
• Founding Partners (1783-1787): Simon McTavish (dominant figure, held up to 4 shares), Benjamin and Joseph Frobisher (3 shares combined), George McBeath, Robert Grant, Nicholas Montour, Patrick Small, William Holmes, Peter Pond.  After merging with Gregory, McLeod & Co. in 1787: Added John Gregory, Norman McLeod, Peter Pangman, Alexander Mackenzie (explorer, 1 share). 
• Later Key Partners: William McGillivray (succeeded McTavish as director by 1796; Fort William named after him), Roderick Mackenzie (Alexander's cousin), John McDonald of Garth, Donald McTavish, John George McTavish, John McLoughlin (later HBC chief factor), Aeneas Cameron, Duncan Cameron, John Forsyth.  By 1812, there were 38 wintering partners. 
• Dynamics: Aggressive and innovative, they pushed exploration (e.g., Mackenzie's Pacific crossing) and competed fiercely with HBC until the 1821 merger, where many NWC partners joined the new entity. 

Pierre Lefevre’s Fantasy Rendezvous Adventure as told by Grok

The sun hung low over the churning rapids of Sault Ste. Marie as young Pierre Lefevre, barely nineteen and on his first full brigade as a voyageur for the North West Company, hefted his pack onto his broad shoulders. The air was thick with the roar of whitewater and the sharp scent of pine, mingling with the sweat of men who'd already portaged their canots de maître around the falls. Pierre's hands, calloused from months of training on the St. Lawrence, gripped the birchbark canoe as his crew—eight burly French-Canadians and a stern bourgeois named Monsieur Duval—prepared to launch into Lake Superior's vast, unforgiving expanse.

"Allez, mes amis! Paddle like the devil's chasing you!" Duval barked, his voice cutting through the chatter. Pierre dipped his paddle into the cold, clear water, syncing with the rhythm of the others. The song started low, a familiar voyageur chant to keep time: "En roulant ma boule roulant..." Their voices rose and fell like the waves ahead, propelling the laden canoe westward along the lake's northern shore. Superior was a beast of a lake, they said—moody, with storms that could swallow a man whole. Pierre had heard the tales around campfires: canoes dashed against jagged rocks, crews lost to hypothermia in the icy depths.

The first days blurred into a grueling haze. They hugged the rugged coastline, a wild tapestry of towering cliffs, dense forests of spruce and fir, and hidden bays where they'd beach for the night. Paddling from dawn till dusk, eighteen hours some days, Pierre's arms burned like fire. They portaged over rocky trails when bays turned to impassable headlands, each man carrying two ninety-pound packs in relays—back and forth, muscles screaming, blackflies swarming in clouds that left welts on exposed skin. Meals were hasty: rubaboo stew of cornmeal and grease, or pemmican pounded from bison and berries, washed down with spruce beer to ward off scurvy.

Nights brought little respite. Under canvas tents or the open stars, Pierre lay awake to the howls of wolves echoing off the granite shores, or the eerie calls of loons skimming the water. Once, a sudden squall hit near Michipicoten Island—winds whipping the lake into frothy peaks, waves crashing over the gunwales. "Bail, boy! Bail or we'll swim with the fish!" a veteran voyageur yelled as Pierre frantically scooped water with his hat. The canoe pitched wildly, but they rode it out, emerging soaked and shivering into a rainbow-arched calm. In quieter moments, they'd trade stories with Ojibwe hunters at makeshift camps, bartering beads for fresh fish or moose meat, the firelight dancing on tattooed faces and fur bundles.

As the days stretched into two weeks, the shore grew more dramatic: slate-gray islands rising like sentinels, black sand beaches fringed with wild blueberries that stained their fingers purple. Pierre's wonder mixed with exhaustion— this was the pays d'en haut, the upper country, far from his family's farm in Lachine. Finally, as the Kaministiquia River's mouth appeared on the horizon, a haze of smoke and distant shouts signaled their destination: Fort William.

The rendezvous was in full swing when they arrived in mid-July, the air alive with a cacophony that made Pierre's heart race. Hundreds of canoes lined the riverbank, their bows painted with NWC crests, while tents sprawled like a makeshift city around the wooden palisades. The fort itself loomed grand—a stockaded compound of warehouses bulging with pelts, a great hall for the partners' meetings, barracks, a smithy, even a makeshift hospital. Flags snapped in the breeze, and the smell of roasting venison, pipe tobacco, and rum punched through the pine-scented wind.

Pierre's eyes widened as he stepped ashore, his legs wobbling from the journey. Everywhere, a whirlwind of humanity: burly winterers from the Athabasca country, clad in buckskin and beaded sashes, haggling over beaver furs with Montreal agents in fine coats. Métis women stirred massive pots over open fires, serving feasts of wild rice and bannock, while children darted between legs, laughing. Indigenous traders—Ojibwe, Cree, Assiniboine—displayed stacks of glossy pelts, their canoes laden with birchbark crafts and quillwork. Scots partners, like the legendary William McGillivray himself, strode about with ledgers, negotiating shares amid clouds of cigar smoke.

The revelry hit like a wave. Fiddles and bagpipes wailed in competing tunes, drawing circles of dancers—voyageurs stomping in moccasins, arms linked with Indigenous women in colorful shawls. Pierre watched, awestruck, as a wrestling match erupted between two giants, bets flying in French, English, and Cree. Rum flowed freely from barrels, toasts raised to successful hunts and safe returns. "To the North West!" men cheered, their faces flushed. But beneath the joy, Pierre glimpsed the grit: a jail for rowdy drunks, weary clerks tallying furs by lantern light, and hushed talks of rival Hudson's Bay men lurking nearby.

As night fell, bonfires lit the sky, stories unfolding like the stars above—tales of Arctic explorations, bear attacks, and fortunes made. Pierre, nursing a mug of grog, felt a swell of belonging. This was the heart of the fur trade, where worlds collided in trade, alliance, and chaos. Tomorrow, they'd unload their cargo and prepare for the return east, but for now, in the glow of the rendezvous, he was no longer just a boy from the river—he was a voyageur, forged by the wild.

Thank You Grok xAI. — Drifting Cowboy