H.O.M.E.S. Swimming Tour: 2026
In the summer of 2021, I swam in all five of the Great Lakes. I was re-examining the world after 16 months of lockdown and the end of a 17-year relationship. It was a heady, cathartic time. The same weekend I moved to Ypislanti, I took a road trip to Harbor County to hear harpist Mary Lattimore play an outdoor concert — it was my first live show since the pandemic started. At Weko Beach in Bridgeman, I swam out into Lake Michigan and tried to wash away the toughest parts of the previous year and a half. I felt compelled to list all the things I was grateful for, and recited them out loud to the waves. Over the next couple months, I repeated this ritual in Superior, Huron, and Erie, then wrapped up my baptismal tour just west of Rochester, New York, with an October swim in Lake Ontario.
Five years later, the catharsis feels more urgent and outwardly-directed. I wasn’t really planning on doing another swimming tour, but during a camping trip to Ossineke State Forest, I found myself delivering a fresh roll call of thank yous to Lake Huron. In this cynical climate, despite all the drama and political tumult, I still have so much to be grateful for. Between June and August, I bounced around the state, camping, paddling, and swimming in the remaining Michigan-adjacent lakes. On Friday, I took a day trip to Canada to complete my quest in the lake that will always be called Ontario.
HURON
June 23 | Negwegon State Park, Black River, MI
I lash my kayak to the roof and drive four miles up a rutty two-track from the Black River boat launch to lonesome Negwegon State Park. There are no facilities, just a dirt parking lot, a couple pit toilets, and a long gravel path down which I glimpse blue water. Five minutes later, I’m out in it, pristine shoreline behind me, the afternoon sun on my shoulders. I’ve been out in my boat for much of the day, but haven’t yet had a proper swim. Lake Huron is just as beautiful as Lake Michigan, but with fewer tourists. Out of habit, I form a list of all the good things that keep me going and tell it to the waves. Summer is only two days old — I have plenty of time to visit all the lakes.
MICHIGAN
July 2: | Port Oneida Beach, Port Oneida, MI
Late afternoon at Port Oneida. When my parents first came here, they called this Secret Beach. These days, a massive wooden staircase leads down to the shoreline, but it used to require a sketchy descent down a ravine, with only roots and saplings to grab hold of. Now in their 80s, Mom and Dad have adopted the more accessible Bohemian Beach on the opposite side of Pyramid Point. Secret Beach is no longer a secret, though it's still relatively remote. I toss my t-shirt and towel in the beach grass and wade out into the glinting three-foot surf to play like an otter. It’s my best swim in years. On a good day, you can’t beat Lake Michigan. It’s the fun lake, the vacation lake.
ERIE
July 14 | Luna Pier Beach, Luna Pier, MI
After work, I drive south down I-75, past Monroe to Luna Pier. I place my towel and flip-flops in the sand near the concrete barrier, then wade out into Lake Erie's cool brown expanse. Michigan shares about 54 miles of Erie coastline, and this faded beachside town is my preferred access point. I swim out beyond the buoys and gaze eastward into the heart of the lake. Two white sails in the distance and, just visible through the haze, Toledo Harbor Lighthouse, perched on its nest of rocks. Behind me, laughter, a radio playing country music, and the hum of the highway. This is my third Great Lake in three weeks and, so far, the least rustic of my swims. I don’t mind the pontoon boat at anchor down-beach, the pods of splashing teenagers, the sunbathers, or the young mom dangling her toddler's feet in the water — somehow, it all feels reassuring. It's a hot July evening and we're all grateful for this incredible resource. *
Excerpt from Weeknotes: July 13–17, 2026
SUPERIOR
August 3 | Pendills Beach, Brimley, MI
It’s golden hour as I wade out into the largest and coldest of the Great Lakes. Even in the shallows of Whitefish Bay at the height of summer, Superior is chilly. My friend Sky and I are camping on the west side of the bay at Tahquamenon Falls State Park. It’s been a full day of adventuring around the Upper Peninsula, and I haven’t yet notched my official swim. Across the road from Pendills Beach is a fish hatchery. A little creek gathers in a dark pool of tiny jumping fish, before emptying out into the lake. Sky walks off to beachcomb while while I swim out into the sunset and improvise my speech. It’s as beautiful a stretch of northwoods coastline as you’ll find anywhere. Superior never fails to impress.
ONTARIO
September 18 | Fifty Point Beach, Grimsby, ON
I stand on a bluff next to a large blue sign erected by the Canadian government as a rebuttal to Donald Trump’s embarrassing re-naming of Lake Ontario to “Lake America” (it’s painful even to type those words). It’s just the latest offense in a shameful escalation of aggression against our northern neighbors. Before that, I had wondered if I’d have time to complete my swimming tour this year. The season was running out, and I couldn’t seem to find space on my calendar to visit the easternmost of the lakes. Of course, with this new drama, it became a matter of priority. At 9 a.m., I crossed the new Gordie Howe Bridge from Detroit to Windsor, and, after a stop in Hamilton to see local landmark, Uli’s Stairs, I made it to Fifty Point Conservation Area by early afternoon. Across the water, the Toronto skyline is imprinted in the haze. It’s a mild sunny day, the last one for quite a while. Summer officially ends in four days. I step into the sheltered swimming area and wade out to play in the waves.
