In Parry Sound, the first of three stops in the UNESCO-designated Georgian Bay Biosphere, Mnidoo Gamii guide Emma Berton tells us about the work being done to save threatened species and promote Indigenous education.

She tells us that 50 species are at risk here, including the bald eagle, Blanding’s turtle, Massasauga rattlesnake, and many other mammals, reptiles, plants, fish, and insects. These are all at risk because of climate change, invasive species, and human development’s encroachment on the ecosystem. The Georgian Bay Biosphere has helped rescue turtle eggs from road construction, planted 500 native plants in pollinator patches throughout the Biosphere, and opened an apiary housing thousands of honey bees.

The Ojibway used to run birch bark canoes up and down the Seguin River, called the Ziigwaan in Anishinaabe. Today, there are efforts to revive this tradition. In 2019, the Georgian Bay Anishinaabek Youth group built a traditional canoe from birch bark, cedar, white ash and white spruce, a practice deeply rooted in their culture, connecting people to the water, land and one another.

Later, we sail down the stunning Baie Fjord, the world’s largest freshwater fjord and a place that inspired Canada’s Group of Seven landscape painters. They made repeated trips here to capture “en plein air”: the gorgeous pines, the endless horizons and sweeping views of the La Cloche Mountains, which were once higher than the Rocky Mountains and date back 1.88 billion years, with cliffs of quartz and sandstone.

My turn on one of the subs comes in Lake Superior. I feel a sense of awe, respect and trepidation as I stare out at the lake’s unpredictable waters. Only a fool would underestimate Superior or Gitche Gumee in Ojibwe. The world’s largest freshwater lake is 406 metres at its deepest, with waves that can get as high as 9 metres (30 feet). No surprise that it is the resting place of more than 350 ships, the most famous memorialized in Gordon Lightfoot’s song The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.

A crane lifts John, the sub, off the floor of a giant hangar and slides it out a hatch into the water. Then, a Zodiac takes us out to the 11-tonne beast, which can submerge to 300 metres for up to 10 hours.

John bobs around in the waves as I clamber, in special dive shoes, onto the floating platform, down the hatch into one of six passenger seats. We face the centre and once the hatch closes, our seats rotate 180 degrees to watch the water through 270-degree spherical windows made of acrylic. As the pilot takes us deeper and deeper, I have no sense of how far down we are, as there is no air pressure change. I can no longer see the red and yellow beads on my necklace; instead everything looks green, then grey as we approach 46 metres (150 feet). We submerge alongside the vertical wall of a rock island covered in fine sediment patterned like a tiled floor. The refraction of the light makes it look like you could reach out and touch the wall, though it is several metres away.

There are no sea monsters, sharp-toothed muskies or giant sturgeons lurking today. Nor do I catch a glimpse of Mishipeshu, the legendary lynx-like water spirit the Ojibwe believe dwells in the depths of the lake, a symbol of its great power.

There is just seagrass, zebra mussels, and a few minnows. (Viking is in the process of getting permits to survey known wrecks in Superior, including the Gunilda, which sank in 1911 and has been called “the most beautiful shipwreck in the world.”)

But still, the experience is sublime and renews my respect for these beautiful bodies of water, which should never be taken for granted.

The ship itself

Viking Octantis is a destination unto itself, evoking a sense of intimacy and understated elegance with a neutral colour palette and contemporary Scandinavian design. Think: lichen displays, giant felt birds, cozy leather armchairs and fur throws, and bird songs playing in the bathrooms. Octantis has ceiling-to-floor glass windows in the common spaces and 189 double-occupancy staterooms, all with retractable windows which open from the top down to watch the passing scenery.

Octantis and Polaris are the only cruise vessels permitted to release helium-filled weather balloons with a radiosonde that helps with storm prediction. One morning, we have the thrill of watching the ship scientists release the balloon off deck seven. It billows away high into the air until it becomes a tiny speck and bursts. We then reconvene at Expedition Central to watch the data—temperature, atmospheric pressure, and humidity—being transmitted in real-time.

The ship also has a ferry box that measures the water’s temperature, oxygen, and evidence of microplastics, building up a data set about how the water is changing. This data is shared with scientists at the Norwegian Institute for Water Research, which is engaged in water research.

Finally, there is a baited remote underwater video system that can measure fish population, diversity, and size underwater. Passengers are encouraged to upload photos and details of their wildlife sightings onto apps such as iNaturalist, eBird, and Globe Cloud Observer.

“We encourage citizen science projects,” explains Josh Pons, a field researcher. “People coming into the Great Lakes are pleasantly surprised to discover this lab and learn about science. They’re surprised they can contribute and be involved and leave feeling like scientists.”