Documentary filmmakers find 1895 steamship wreck in Lake Huron

Yvonne Drebert and Zach Melnick set out to make a documentary about invasive quagga mussels in the Great Lakes. Along the way, they found the wreck of what is likely the steamship Africa, last seen on a stormy October night in 1895.

On a Saturday afternoon in June 2023, Yvonne Drebert and Zach Melnick set out on their boat from a launch near their home in Larsen Cove, Ont., a tiny community on the shore of Lake Huron.

They were joined by two friends and a dog. The group had planned a casual day on the water, catching up and checking out an unusual bump on the lake’s bottom.

Drebert and Melnick, a married pair of documentary filmmakers, were working on a film about quagga mussels in the Great Lakes. A source at the United States Geological Survey had told them that scientists had recently spotted a mound on the otherwise flat bottom of Lake Huron. Everyone on board figured the anomaly was probably rocks, but they were curious all the same.

I woke before dawn, tense with anticipation. My plan was to paddle across the river in the dark, land on the Canadian shore, and then, using the aluminum cart, push my canoe past the falls and whirlpool rapids before most tourists were astir. I didn’t want to attract attention to myself if I could avoid it, as that would cause delays.

With the aid of a flashlight I dismantled my tent, then climbed through the woods and brambles back to the water’s edge. Once the canoe was packed I shoved off into the dark, paddling hard to overcome the current sucking me in the falls’ direction. It was a little nerve-racking, but I had excellent motivation not to allow myself to drift downstream. My fast strokes drove the canoe back across the river. It was still dark when I neared the mainland, but instead of landing I pivoted the canoe. It seemed safe to go just a bit farther, which would shorten the lengthy portage.

On the counter of Fudge’s Store on the McCallum waterfront sits one beauty of a scale. It’s high-gloss white with a little rust around the edge of the pan. Over the years, it’s become more than a mere official instrument of Canada’s weights and measures.

A smile peeks from behind Michelle Durnford’s mask as she describes how people used to bring babies to the store to weigh them.

She was one of them. On the wall of the store is a photo of her little toddler self sitting beside the Dayton Money Weight, a grin on the face of her father, Howard Fudge, the scale’s (and store’s) original owner.

Brenda Nash, Durnford’s older sister, nods in agreement. “Some people would bring their babies in every month.” Perhaps not exactly by the books, but such is life in McCallum, a community accessible only by boat and home to just 45 people, according to the 2021 census.