Paddling Lake Simcoe and a deserted island

We went camping recently with some friends and family at a place called McRae Point, on the northern end of Lake Simcoe, and since it looked like it was going to be a great weekend — sunny and about 32 Celsius — I decided to bring my kayak just in case it was a good paddling day. And it was! I pushed off in the mid-afternoon and as I rounded the point heading south, I saw a small island ahead of me that didn’t look inhabited, and it was about a mile and a half away, so I thought I would paddle over to it and take a look around. When I took a break from paddling, I looked it up on Google Maps and saw it was called Strawberry Island (previous names: Anatari, Lundy’s Island and Gwillam’s Island).

The websites I found when I searched the name said that it was originally owned by a Great Lakes steamship captain in the 1800s named Charles McInnes, and that he had built a small summer resort on the island, and then paid someone to build a small steamship that could hold about 220 people, so he could ferry guests over to the island from the mainland. A local historian writes that “Captain McInnes’ intention was to build Strawberry Island into a first-class resort and to use The Orillia to ferry hotel guests from the Orillia town dock out to his new wharf at the resort. The resort was built up over a few years to include a large hotel, a dance hall, walking trails, six cottages, bathing houses, picnic lawns, a waterworks system powered by windmill, boats and fishing tackle and an athletic field.”

For several years the resort played host to some major events, and as the article notes “Another major drawing card for the resort was that it was ‘wet.’ Orillia and many surrounding towns did not allow liquor sales at the time but Strawberry Island was part of Ramara Township where the sale of alcohol was permitted.” Apparently this worked for a short time, but it never became a very good business and Captain McInnes tried several different methods to keep it going but eventually he died and his son Jack and family used it as a personal summer getaway for a few years and ran some summer events using the steamship.

Then the island was sold to the Basilian Fathers, a Catholic religious organization, in about 1922 and they built a chapel using the lumber from the six guesthouses and a bunkhouse residence, and used it for religious retreats for decades. There were tennis courts and an athletic field and several different residences were added. Apparently Pope John Paul II stayed there in 2002 and arrived by helicopter, which landed on the athletic field. Eventually the Basilians were looking to get rid of the island and sold it to a development company that wanted to build condos or time-share cottages or something of that nature, but there was a lot of resistance from the local residents and from officials with the county.

So today the island sits empty, except for the ruins of the cabins and guesthouses and the main building that I assume was where people ate dinner, etc. I pulled my kayak up on what looked like a sandy beach, but was actually a massive pile of tiny seashells that was about four feet deep and stretched for about 30 feet. And then I tried to find a way through the underbrush that had grown up, because I could see the roof of a building about 50 feet away from me. The brambles and bushes and underbrush was over my head, but somehow I pushed my way through and saw what must have been a guest cabin for about six guests or possibly families.

I made my way up the concrete steps and avoided some holes in the floorboards and looked inside and it looked like a bomb had gone off — but I expect what had probably happened was groups of teenagers had used it for a party site and/or a place to break things and cause general mayhem. There was still a couch on the porch but it had the stuffing torn out of it and there was broken glass everywhere. There was still furniture inside the building as well, in a similar state, and debris was thick on the floor. Making my way out, I headed right and there were the ruins of a much larger building as well, which I assume was the dining hall and possibly some rooms up above. Much of the roof was missing or had slid off onto the ground, and there was a metal fire-escape type ladder leading up to the second story but it ended in mid-air. The deck was in such rough shape I was afraid to step up onto it.

I looked around a bit, and afterwards I paddled all the way around the island, but I couldn’t see any sign of a chapel or other guesthouses. They must have been lost to the jungle of trees and shrubs that had taken over. To be honest, the whole thing gave me a Blair Witch Project kind of creepy feel, even in the middle of a bright sunny day, so I made my way back through the brambles and back to my kayak and headed back to McRae Point.

Paddling Lake Simcoe and a deserted island

We went camping recently with some friends and family at a place called McRae Point, on the northern end of Lake Simcoe, and since it looked like it was going to be a great weekend — sunny and about 32 Celsius — I decided to bring my kayak just in case it was a good paddling day. And it was! I pushed off in the mid-afternoon and as I rounded the point heading south, I saw a small island ahead of me that didn’t look inhabited, and it was about a mile and a half away, so I thought I would paddle over to it and take a look around. When I took a break from paddling, I looked it up on Google Maps and saw it was called Strawberry Island (previous names: Anatari, Lundy’s Island and Gwillam’s Island).

The websites I found when I searched the name said that it was originally owned by a Great Lakes steamship captain in the 1800s named Charles McInnes, and that he had built a small summer resort on the island, and then paid someone to build a small steamship that could hold about 220 people, so he could ferry guests over to the island from the mainland. A local historian writes that “Captain McInnes’ intention was to build Strawberry Island into a first-class resort and to use The Orillia to ferry hotel guests from the Orillia town dock out to his new wharf at the resort. The resort was built up over a few years to include a large hotel, a dance hall, walking trails, six cottages, bathing houses, picnic lawns, a waterworks system powered by windmill, boats and fishing tackle and an athletic field.”

Continue reading “Paddling Lake Simcoe and a deserted island”

The Nine Nanas kept their good deeds a secret for thirty years

From Daily Good: “Somewhere in West Tennessee, not far from Graceland, nine women – or “The 9 Nanas,” as they prefer to be called – gather in the darkness of night. At 4am they begin their daily routine – a ritual that no one, not even their husbands, knew about for 30 years. They have one mission and one mission only: to create happiness. And it all begins with baked goods. Over the next three hours, The 9 Nanas (who all consider themselves sisters, despite what some of their birth certificates say) will whip up hundreds of pound cakes, as part of a grand scheme to help those in need. And then, before anyone gets as much as a glimpse of them, they’ll disappear back into their daily lives. The only hint that may remain is the heavenly scent of vanilla, lemon and lime, lingering in the air. Even the UPS driver, who picks up hundreds of packages at a time, has no clue what these women, who range in age from 54 to 72, are doing.”

Two men dressed as women in public led to a landmark show trial in Britain in 1870

From Wikipedia: “Thomas Ernest Boulton and Frederick William Park were Victorian cross-dressers. From upper-middle-class families, both enjoyed wearing women’s clothes and both enjoyed taking part in theatrical performances, playing the women’s roles when they did so. Boulton and Park were indiscreet when they cross-dressed in public, and came to the attention of police. They were under surveillance for a year before they were arrested in 1870, while in drag, after leaving a theatre. When they appeared in court the morning after the arrest they were still clothed in the women’s dresses from the previous evening. They were charged with conspiracy to commit sodomy, a crime that carried a maximum sentence of life with hard labour. The case came before the Court of the Queen’s Bench the following year, and they were found not guilty after the prosecution failed to establish that they had anal sex.”

Note: This is a version of my When The Going Gets Weird newsletter, which I send out via Ghost, the open-source publishing platform. You can see other issues and sign up here.

Continue reading “The Nine Nanas kept their good deeds a secret for thirty years”

The Nine Nanas kept their good deeds a secret for thirty years

From Daily Good: “Somewhere in West Tennessee, not far from Graceland, nine women – or “The 9 Nanas,” as they prefer to be called – gather in the darkness of night. At 4am they begin their daily routine – a ritual that no one, not even their husbands, knew about for 30 years. They have one mission and one mission only: to create happiness. And it all begins with baked goods. Over the next three hours, The 9 Nanas (who all consider themselves sisters, despite what some of their birth certificates say) will whip up hundreds of pound cakes, as part of a grand scheme to help those in need. And then, before anyone gets as much as a glimpse of them, they’ll disappear back into their daily lives. The only hint that may remain is the heavenly scent of vanilla, lemon and lime, lingering in the air. Even the UPS driver, who picks up hundreds of packages at a time, has no clue what these women, who range in age from 54 to 72, are doing.”

Two men dressed as women in public led to a landmark show trial in Britain in 1870

From Wikipedia: “Thomas Ernest Boulton and Frederick William Park were Victorian cross-dressers. From upper-middle-class families, both enjoyed wearing women’s clothes and both enjoyed taking part in theatrical performances, playing the women’s roles when they did so. Boulton and Park were indiscreet when they cross-dressed in public, and came to the attention of police. They were under surveillance for a year before they were arrested in 1870, while in drag, after leaving a theatre. When they appeared in court the morning after the arrest they were still clothed in the women’s dresses from the previous evening. They were charged with conspiracy to commit sodomy, a crime that carried a maximum sentence of life with hard labour. The case came before the Court of the Queen’s Bench the following year, and they were found not guilty after the prosecution failed to establish that they had anal sex.”

Note: This is a version of my When The Going Gets Weird newsletter, which I send out via Ghost, the open-source publishing platform. You can see other issues and sign up here.

Continue reading “The Nine Nanas kept their good deeds a secret for thirty years”

What do we do when the facts don’t matter?

As a journalist by training, I have what you might call an addiction to facts. I believe that there are things that are true and things that are not, and that we can determine one from the other through observation, rational thought, and meticulous research. Obviously, there are some things that remain open to debate (philosophy for example) and areas where the science hasn’t been completely locked down – psychology and most of the humanities fall into this category, I think, along with things like quantum mechanics and the way that the human brain works. What do we mean by consciousness, and how do we know when something possesses it? That kind of thing. On those kinds of topics, debate is plentiful and certainty is difficult to come by. On the other hand, many things are solidly in the realm of the factual – that the Earth is round (ish), that men landed on the moon, that vaccines are pretty much the greatest thing humanity has ever come up with, that jet fuel can melt steel beams, and so on.

The unfortunate reality of the age we live in is that some people disagree with some or all of those statements, and many others that are usually taken for granted as fact. They don’t just disagree about the nature of the universe, they disagree that the Earth is round; they don’t just disagree about the nature of the moon landing, they believe that a conspiracy theory involving the Deep State (whatever that is) has kept the truth from us for decades. And they don’t just question the efficacy of vaccines, but believe the government deliberately created COVID and then injected us to control our minds. What are these disagreements based on? In many cases, it’s what the kids call “vibes.” Reddit posts and bad videos and Facebook links from questionable people who are a) mentally ill, b) pushing some quack remedy, c) trying to generate fear so they can sell advertising, or d) all of the above. All of this is augmented by confirmation bias, fundamental attribution errors, apophenia (a desire to see patterns where they don’t exist), and a host of other cognitive mistakes that human beings are prone to make.

I think about these things a lot, for some pretty obvious reasons [gestures vaguely in all directions] but most recently my thoughts turned in that direction again because I read a recent piece in New York magazine titled “Why calling RFK Jr. anti-science misses the point – Battling over truth, facts, and evidence doesn’t work in a post-expertise world,” by Rachel Bedard, a doctor from Brooklyn. She describes what America is going through as an “epistemological crisis,” particularly in the areas of health and medicine (although I would argue that it extends into many other areas of science and technology). For anyone who is unclear on the meaning of the term, epistemology is the study of the nature, origin, and limits of human knowledge — in other words, how we know what we know. It is an investigation into the nature of belief, and what distinguishes justified belief from mere opinion. Bedard describes the problem in this way:

Note: This is a version of my Torment Nexus newsletter, which I send out via Ghost, the open-source publishing platform. You can see other issues and sign up here.

Continue reading “What do we do when the facts don’t matter?”

What do we do when the facts don’t matter?

As a journalist by training, I have what you might call an addiction to facts. I believe that there are things that are true and things that are not, and that we can determine one from the other through observation, rational thought, and meticulous research. Obviously, there are some things that remain open to debate (philosophy for example) and areas where the science hasn’t been completely locked down – psychology and most of the humanities fall into this category, I think, along with things like quantum mechanics and the way that the human brain works. What do we mean by consciousness, and how do we know when something possesses it? That kind of thing. On those kinds of topics, debate is plentiful and certainty is difficult to come by. On the other hand, many things are solidly in the realm of the factual – that the Earth is round (ish), that men landed on the moon, that vaccines are pretty much the greatest thing humanity has ever come up with, that jet fuel can melt steel beams, and so on.

The unfortunate reality of the age we live in is that some people disagree with some or all of those statements, and many others that are usually taken for granted as fact. They don’t just disagree about the nature of the universe, they disagree that the Earth is round; they don’t just disagree about the nature of the moon landing, they believe that a conspiracy theory involving the Deep State (whatever that is) has kept the truth from us for decades. And they don’t just question the efficacy of vaccines, but believe the government deliberately created COVID and then injected us to control our minds. What are these disagreements based on? In many cases, it’s what the kids call “vibes.” Reddit posts and bad videos and Facebook links from questionable people who are a) mentally ill, b) pushing some quack remedy, c) trying to generate fear so they can sell advertising, or d) all of the above. All of this is augmented by confirmation bias, fundamental attribution errors, apophenia (a desire to see patterns where they don’t exist), and a host of other cognitive mistakes that human beings are prone to make.

I think about these things a lot, for some pretty obvious reasons [gestures vaguely in all directions] but most recently my thoughts turned in that direction again because I read a recent piece in New York magazine titled “Why calling RFK Jr. anti-science misses the point – Battling over truth, facts, and evidence doesn’t work in a post-expertise world,” by Rachel Bedard, a doctor from Brooklyn. She describes what America is going through as an “epistemological crisis,” particularly in the areas of health and medicine (although I would argue that it extends into many other areas of science and technology). For anyone who is unclear on the meaning of the term, epistemology is the study of the nature, origin, and limits of human knowledge — in other words, how we know what we know. It is an investigation into the nature of belief, and what distinguishes justified belief from mere opinion. Bedard describes the problem in this way:

Note: This is a version of my Torment Nexus newsletter, which I send out via Ghost, the open-source publishing platform. You can see other issues and sign up here.

Continue reading “What do we do when the facts don’t matter?”

Saddam Hussein had a Koran made using 27 liters of his own blood

From Atlas Obscura: “A locked vault in a Baghdad mosque contains a Quran written in lovely, sweeping Arabic calligraphy which, if not for its ink, could be displayed in a museum. But this holy book was written in blood — Saddam Hussein’s blood, to be precise. Following an assassination attempt on the life of his son, Uday, the former dictator became a devout Muslim. Ironically though, with infinite resources it’s difficult to demonstrate your piety. In an attempted display of devotion, Saddam had roughly 27 liters of his blood drawn and given to a calligrapher over a period of two years. Over the course of two years the artist, Abbas Shakir Joudi al-Baghdadi, wrote some 600 pages of the Quran using the Iraqi president’s blood as ink.”

Japan has a number of “tsunami stones” to warn future generations of danger

From Wikipedia: “Tsunami stones are placed all around the coasts of Japan. Some simply provide a warning, while others list death tolls, are placed near mass graves or say where homes should be built. They have a flat face and some are as high as 3.0 metres (10 ft) tall. Some are over 600 years old and some have aged so much that the characters written on them have disappeared. Most were placed in about 1896 after an earthquake and two tsunamis that year caused about 22,000 deaths.[3] The tsunami stone in Aneyoshi says: “High dwellings are the peace and harmony of our descendants. … Remember the calamity of the great tsunamis. Do not build any homes below this point.”

Note: This is a version of my When The Going Gets Weird newsletter, which I send out via Ghost, the open-source publishing platform. You can see other issues and sign up here.

Continue reading “Saddam Hussein had a Koran made using 27 liters of his own blood”

Saddam Hussein had a Koran made using 27 liters of his own blood

From Atlas Obscura: “A locked vault in a Baghdad mosque contains a Quran written in lovely, sweeping Arabic calligraphy which, if not for its ink, could be displayed in a museum. But this holy book was written in blood — Saddam Hussein’s blood, to be precise. Following an assassination attempt on the life of his son, Uday, the former dictator became a devout Muslim. Ironically though, with infinite resources it’s difficult to demonstrate your piety. In an attempted display of devotion, Saddam had roughly 27 liters of his blood drawn and given to a calligrapher over a period of two years. Over the course of two years the artist, Abbas Shakir Joudi al-Baghdadi, wrote some 600 pages of the Quran using the Iraqi president’s blood as ink.”

Japan has a number of “tsunami stones” to warn future generations of danger

From Wikipedia: “Tsunami stones are placed all around the coasts of Japan. Some simply provide a warning, while others list death tolls, are placed near mass graves or say where homes should be built. They have a flat face and some are as high as 3.0 metres (10 ft) tall. Some are over 600 years old and some have aged so much that the characters written on them have disappeared. Most were placed in about 1896 after an earthquake and two tsunamis that year caused about 22,000 deaths.[3] The tsunami stone in Aneyoshi says: “High dwellings are the peace and harmony of our descendants. … Remember the calamity of the great tsunamis. Do not build any homes below this point.”

Note: This is a version of my When The Going Gets Weird newsletter, which I send out via Ghost, the open-source publishing platform. You can see other issues and sign up here.

Continue reading “Saddam Hussein had a Koran made using 27 liters of his own blood”

His life depended on the outcome of a game of chess

From Chess.com: “Ossip Bernstein was born in 1882 in the small Ukrainian town of Zhytomyr. Although he wasn’t serious about chess until his late adolescent years, he quickly made a name for himself while studying law in Germany. At nineteen, he almost earned the title of Master in his first tournament. A year later, he did obtain the title, and from then on, his rise to the top was incredible. In 1917, the Bolsheviks seized power and were determined to crush any political resistance from loyalists of the tsar, beginning the era of the “Red Terror.” Bernstein, his wife and his two small children had to flee Moscow but were captured. He was imprisoned in a death camp, and one day a firing squad lined Bernstein and a number of other prisoners against a wall to be shot. Then a superior officer saw a list of the prisoner’s names and asked Bernstein if he was the famous chess master,. When he said yes, the official made him play a game; when Bernstein won in short order, he had him led back to prison and later released.”

The creator of MacPaint spent his later years trying to market a psychedelic vape pen

From Boing Boing: “Bill Atkinson, who died on June 5, 2025 at age 74, was famous for being the creator of MacPaint and QuickDraw. But within a private psychedelic community called OneLight, he was “Grace Within” — a mentor who refined and openly shared designs for the LightWand, a device for administering controlled doses of 5-MeO-DMT (known as Jaguar). Atkinson’s involvement began in 2018 when he encountered the original LightWand at a ceremony. Though initially concerned about making such a powerful substance too accessible, he came to see the device’s potential for safer, more controlled experiences. In 2021, he published detailed open-source instructions on Erowid.org, democratizing access to what had been limited to expensive retreats. He went on to gift over 1,000 LightWand sets and meticulously documented the technology’s effects.

Note: This is a version of my When The Going Gets Weird newsletter, which I send out via Ghost, the open-source publishing platform. You can see other issues and sign up here.

Continue reading “His life depended on the outcome of a game of chess”