Devil’s Kettle
Very few truly know where the waters of Judge C. R Magney State Park fall. Many believe they follow the rapids to the hull of Lake Superior, but only some know that they really fall into the seemingly bottomless hole of Devil’s Kettle. They only know because they’ve seen it.
It was November 23, 1973, the day I had been planning for over a year—the day I would ask for my lifelong best friend’s hand in marriage.
The air was crisp, but strangely warm for mid-November. The vibrance of the fall leaves were at their peak; and the trail was dusted with a thin layer of frost. I was ready. After countless months of preparation, the day has finally come. I had asked Sailor’s dad for permission to marry his daughter and he willingly gave it, her best friends too. The girls had helped pick the cut of diamond and were eager to see all of what I had been planning.
Sailor and I began our day with the 18 mile hike to the top of Magney State Park. I had planned to leave just before sunrise to catch both the sunrise and set. I prompted conversations about our relationship along the way and packed a picnic for lunch. The pace of the water seemed to rise the higher we climbed, eventually overflowing and crashing onto the banks. Sailor began to panic and suggested we turn around, remembering the many horror stories we had heard about the Kettle.
“You’re okay, Sail,” I reassured her. “We’re almost to the top. We can’t turn back now.”
“Okay, I suppose. But I thought you said ‘four more miles’ a while back,” she said.
“Maybe. Probably,” I said, trying to cover up my mistake. “Either way, we’re almost there. Take in the beauty. It's always been on our list, Sail.”
She looked around, skeptical of my assurance, and continued on.
The trail ended directly atop the Devil’s Kettle waterfall. The water, at this point, was basically cascading over the ledge of the trail. Sailor held my arm tightly.
“OKAY, WE SAW THE SUNSET,” Sailor yelled.
I could barely hear her over the roaring noise of the Devil’s Kettle.
“Can we turn back around?” she asked.
I began to bend down, reaching my hand into one of the back pockets of my hiking pants. Sailor knew what was going on and gasped. I kept my head down until I gained enough confidence to look her in the eyes.
“Oh m-,” she began saying. But before she could finish, I felt the rocks beneath me shake. As I looked up to see what the commotion was about, I saw the last glimpse of Sailor before she vanished completely.
Sailor’s scream filled the air, following her as she fell down the endless hole that many have always questioned. I didn’t dare go any closer. The waves would practically eat me whole. I sat aside, waiting for the National Guard to arrive. My body shook as my future flashed before my eyes.
Hours passed before I received an answer to what had happened. Investigators found a figure in the background of one of the pictures the photographer had taken just moments before her death. The shape was that of a man, tall and slender. No one was able to identify any more from the image; however, it helped begin the investigation of The Bride of Devil’s Kettle.
The months following were almost unbearable. New reports came daily; some true, some false. The thought of Sailor missing from my life forever sickened me. She was my soulmate, my best friend, my only love.
The case is still unsolved to this day; making Devil’s Kettle one of the most mysterious places on Earth. The question Where did Sailor go? lives within me. And the thing is, nobody knows.
Cover Photo by Lurii Laimin. Edited by Madison Case.