The Rimouski Run

At 3:30 AM on Friday, August 7, 2026, Terry and I pulled out of my driveway in Calgary in the Ram, loaded with rebreathers, dive gear and camping kit. Ten days and about 8,747 km later, we were home. In between, we dove one wreck: the Empress of Ireland.

Why the Empress

She went down in the St. Lawrence on May 29, 1914. 1,012 people were lost in 14 minutes. That is more passengers than died on the Titanic, and most of Canada has never heard of her. She rests at 45 metres off Pointe-au-Père, in cold, dark water with river current and tidal flow running over her.

Terry and I split the driving and the costs. The whole loop was booked before we left: three long days east with tent nights at Rushing River, Chutes and Camping Rimouski, three nights at a motel in Rimouski for the diving, then a mirror-image run home through Montreal, Chutes and Rushing River.

The drive east

Day one was Calgary to Rushing River Provincial Park, just past Kenora: about 1,560 km across the Prairies and into Ontario, with the first fill of the trip at Indian Head, Saskatchewan.

We rolled into Rushing River for the first tent night of the trip.

Day two was the monster: Kenora around Lake Superior to Chutes Provincial Park at Massey. About 1,400 km of Highway 17, 16 hours on the road, plus losing an hour to the time change just to rub it in. Superior doesn't care about your schedule. You just drive until it lets you go.

The gas stations get thin around the lake. We filled at Dryden, then pulled into a station near Sault Ste. Marie and put 109 litres into a 115-litre tank. We pitched the tent after dark and slept like rocks.

All told, Ontario took 23 hours of driving, and 42.5 hours inside the province once you count rest and fuel stops. Highway 17 around Superior is a beautiful monster. You don't cross Ontario, you serve time in it.

Day three was the final push east: about 1,345 km from Chutes to Rimouski. We stopped in Montreal for dinner on the way through: smoked meat and poutine.

We pulled into Camping Rimouski at 9:30 PM on Sunday. Calgary to Rimouski took 64 hours of total travel time, 43 of them driving. That was 4,222 km across five provinces and three time zones. They took an hour at every border and never gave one back. The truck never missed a beat.

Rimouski, Day 1: meeting her on land

Our first morning at Camping Rimouski, we were woken at 6:30 AM by crows. Wildlife is always calling about sex, so technically we were woken up by horny crows.

Coffee, tent down, and off to the marina to see the current dive team off on their final day. Then we washed five provinces of bugs off the truck.

The Empress of Ireland museum at Pointe-au-Père was impressive, and a great way to introduce myself to the wreck before meeting her in person. Kind of like Tinder. I swiped right. I wanted to see more.

We toured the Onondaga submarine, then went to the Empress mass grave on Rue du Fleuve. 88 of her people are buried there, 68 of them never identified. It puts the whole thing in perspective.

Then an early check-in at the motel, provisions, and gear prepped on the tailgate. Tomorrow, we go see her.

First dive day: bow, anchor and midship

A rainy morning didn't dampen spirits. We were going underwater anyway.

Stephanie gave us a detailed briefing and we loaded the gear onto the RIB. It was cloudy, foggy and wet, but the winds were calm, and out here that is the box you need checked.

We saw the bow, the anchor and midship, with some penetrations, over two dives to 39 m and 42 m. River current and tidal flow make for very challenging conditions. There are no freebies on the Empress. You earn every minute down there.

It was a great day with lots of memories made, and we finished it at the H.M.S. St-Barnabé pub. The plan for next time out was the stern and her one remaining prop.

Blown out

The next day the Empress kept her secrets. The winds came up and the gusts just kept building. We thumbed it and waited for an afternoon window that never came.

Any diver can call any dive. She's waited 112 years. She could wait for us one more day.

That evening the whole crew went out for dinner at Café Bistro L'Anse aux Coques.

Last dive day: the Empress doesn't hand you anything

Plan A was one dive. Plan B, after getting blown out, was two. Plan C was to do the first one and see what the river felt like giving us.

Answer: not much.

The winds had calmed overnight, but the current was ripping again. We sat on it for an hour hoping it would ease. It didn't, so we went live. One diver at a time, dropped right on the buoy, head-first, kicking and hauling down the line while the zodiac peeled off. Buddy down. Next buddy in. The boat backs off and watches to make sure nobody pops straight back up. Then the next team.

I called the third slot of three teams. Partly discipline: if the first crews thumbed it, why splash? Partly logistics: I'm a big boy, and handy to have topside if someone needs hauling out.

Then it was our turn. What. An. Entry.

The current ripped the whole way down. Hand over hand, no letting go, not once. Four minutes to reach 23 m. Viz was poor. Dark. Loud with water. I tucked into the lee of the ship at the mooring and waited on my buddy, who was sorting out a gear issue with his bailout. Twelve minutes gone. A quarter of our run time burned before we'd moved an inch toward the stern.

With everything going on, we called it. The props stayed on the wreck. But before I turned for the line, I got to see her one last time. Brief, just a moment in the dark and the current, but there she was. The Empress. That was enough.

Back at the marina we checked the weather. A storm was rolling in for the afternoon, with thunder, lightning and 25-knot winds. That settled it.

The drive home

With the storm coming in, we packed the truck and said goodbye to Rimouski and the St. Lawrence that afternoon. It was about 560 km to the Montreal South KOA. Tent up, then a proper steak and rib dinner, because three days of fighting current earns you something.

In the morning we were on the road early to visit Terry's family. It was a great visit, the kind where the stories keep coming and the coffee keeps getting refilled. I told them I'd see them in 20 years. Then it was back to Chutes, where we pitched the tent in the dark and grabbed a quick sleep.

Next came Lake Superior, round two. At White River we put 113.5 litres into a 115-litre tank, with maybe 15 km left on the loneliest stretch of Highway 17. That night we camped back at Rushing River, where the first night of the trip had happened, which closed the loop. For our last night on the road, we went out on the town in Kenora to an old firehall for a beer and some grub.

The last day was one more monster: about 1,560 km from Rushing River to Calgary. Our final fill was at the same Petro-Canada in Indian Head where the trip's very first receipt came from. We were home on August 16.

The trip by the numbers

We're not done

I drove 64 hours to meet the Empress of Ireland. She gave us one good day, blew us out on the second, and allowed one brief, hard-won moment in the dark on the third.

Everyone came up. That is the dive that matters.

The props are still down there. Good. Now I have a reason to go back.