DO THE SOUTH COAST
Picturesque Lake Erie getaway is less than an hour’s drive from the city
Summer fades in the rear-view mirror but it’s never too late for beaches and winding ribbons of shoreline blacktop.
And all the better if it feels like a voyage of discovery.
If Hamilton’s beachfront on Lake Ontario remains something of a secret, even for local residents, its southern coast on Lake Erie is buried treasure, yet just a leisurely 45-minute country drive away.
There is no defined boundary for where “Hamilton’s southern coast” begins and ends — the expression has never even appeared in The Hamilton Spectator — so let’s arbitrarily define it for an afternoon road trip.
It begins south of Dunnville at Port Maitland, where the Grand River empties into Lake Erie, the 11th largest fresh water lake in the world. And it ends 50 kilometres to the west at a patio on Nanticoke Harbour.
(Port Dover is not included because it is a bit further away, outside of Haldimand County; moreover it is no secret, thanks to the leather-and-low-rider migration there every Friday the 13th.)
Head southeast from Hamilton through Binbrook on White Church Road East (route 65), then south on Caistorville Road/Niagara Region Road 2 through Caistorville and Canborough, and then Highway 3 south into Dunnville.
You are now on Main Street West, 10 minutes from the lake, alongside a sweeping vista of the river. On your left, at 731 Main St. W., you can’t miss the town mascot, a 50-foot likeness of a mudcat fish — “the largest statue of its kind in the world” — named (what else?) Muddy the Mudcat.
Go southeast on Main and it turns into North Shore Drive, where wind turbines dot fields like docile giants. You are in Lowbanks, and when you reach the water you hit Hippo’s at Mohawk Marina on Lake Erie.
“It’s 5 o’clock somewhere!” declares a sign featuring a margarita-toting parrot, appropriately, because Hippo’s exudes a Jimmy Buffett-esque breezy vibe; the dining area and bar are entirely outdoors, and the jokes flow freely, if not the drinks. (“Free Beer! Tomorrow,” reads another sign.)
Hippo was the nickname of owner Mike Walker’s father, who moved to Lowbanks from Ancaster in 1964. Locals love the place, and visitors, often from the U.S. or Toronto, seem to bump into it by accident looking for directions and inevitably ask: “What lake is this?”
If you go, order the perch burger with heavenly homemade tartar sauce. But don’t wait too long to visit: Hippo’s closes after Labour Day and reopens Victoria Day weekend.
A variety store here stays open, though, where Walker doubles as Lowbanks’ post-
master. (And he also built Muddy the Mudcat.)
You want to head west along the coast but need to cross the Grand River, and the only way to do that is head back up through Dunnville.
While you’re in town, visit The Minga, a café on Queen Street which serves up silky lattes and progressive chic: a not-forprofit supporting youth education, with exposed brick and Che Guevara quotes on the chalkboard (“If there is not coffee for everyone there will be coffee for none.”)
Next door, and much busier on this day, is the more traditional Flyers Bakery and Cafe Inc. where the decor channels Dunnville’s history as a Second World War training site for pilots. Its warplane-inspired breakfast menu options include the Tiger Moth, Harvard, and the biggest, the Lancaster.
Take Queen Street over the river and make a quick left on Port Maitland Road, heading southeast. In five minutes, on your right, is the RCAF No. 6 Dunnville Museum, where 2,436 Allied pilots trained from 1941-44. Forty-three of them died during training, among them, 22-year-old Norman Edward Kirk from Hamilton, whose plane climbed too steeply, stalled, and crashed into the river on Sept. 23, 1942.
In contrast to Hamilton’s Warplane Heritage Museum, RCAF No. 6 intrigues because it is much smaller, and with five hangars still standing, has a ghostly frozen-in-time feel to it, as if pilots will emerge through the doors at any moment.
A few minutes south is the Village of Port Maitland, population 100, first discovered, a sign says, in 1650 by Jesuit Missionaries who took refuge in a storm.
Continue on Port Maitland Road south until it turns into Dover Street, and you hit a tiny parking area. Walk the short path to the public beach on the delightfully named Splatt Bay.
Here is Jean Cowan, a local resident, relaxing in a fold-out chair. She has been coming here for many years. Why does she love it?
“The lake takes a piece of your heart,” she says, wistfully.
Meaning?
“It stays with you; the water, the lake.”
She pauses. “The seasons.”
Just down the beach is a long pier dotted with men fishing. Walk about 400 paces to the lighthouse at the end and imagine what’s beyond the horizon. (The answer is Dunkirk, the westernmost city in New York State.)
Looking back inland you can see where the 266-km Grand River (in Mohawk, O:se
Kenhionhata:tie, or Willow River) empties into Lake Erie (from the Iroquoian Erielhonan, for “long tail,” describing its shape); the river begins just south of Georgian Bay and drains 6,200 square km, the largest watershed in southern Ontario.
You could hang here the rest of the afternoon, but there is more to see. Back in the car, you can head west on a road called Kings Row — or better yet take the scenic route along Lighthouse Drive.
This paved road winds along a brief stretch of Lake Erie’s 1,400 km of coastline, with cottages and homes perched atop steep dropoffs to the water.
At Johnson Road, head north to Kings Row, and west until it ends at Road 49 (Aikens Road). Turn left, south, and continue the coastline trek west on calendar-worthy Lakeshore Road, where willow trees tilt from years of onshore breezes and the water sparkles with golden late day sunlight. Narrow roads that trace the meandering contours of lakes take you back to childhood, when the bending and winding signalled that you were in an adventurous and magical place.
Turn right on Bookers Road and head north; turn left (west) on Rainham Road and pass through tiny Selkirk: stop at the crossroads for an ice cream at the Scoop and Bean trailer, or the Sunflower Cafe for Carol Ann Waldschmidt’s homemade carrot cake topped with an impossibly thick layer of icing.
Her husband, John Jacysyn, says a writer in the area once opined that Carol Ann’s carrot cake belonged on a list of foods to eat before you die. And you know what? That’s not overstating it. And I’m a Black Forest cake guy.
Further along Rainham Road, at Lambs Corners, is a 19th century one-room school house where a picture of Queen Victoria hangs over the blackboard. It is now a museum named after Wilson MacDonald, a poet who attended the school in 1887 and, later, McMaster University when it was still based in Toronto.
Head south here on Cheapside Road to South Coast Drive, and continue west for another eye-popping drive around Peacock Point. At 717 South Coast Dr. is a bed and breakfast called Simply Bliss by the Lake. The owners, Joe and Eva Stacey, moved here from Stoney Creek after marrying last year. It was the second time around for both, and they decided to chase their shared dream of running a B&B.
Joe wanted to locate on the lake, and Eva loves the country, so they split the difference: it’s a short walk to a private beach, and their backyard offers a hammock, fire pit and free-roaming chickens.
“When you find your soulmate and you have the same passions, it just works,” says Eva.
They try to create a unique and personalized dining and social experience for guests, who have visited from as far away as Scotland and New Zealand, and more recently northern Ontario — 11 guys from Elliot Lake for Friday the 13th in Port Dover. (A few stayed in the house, the rest pitched a tent out back.)
Time for one more stop, 10 minutes from Simply Bliss, at Hoover’s Marina and Wharfside Restaurant in Nanticoke. The sky is a hard, flawless blue, and the radler is sweet and cold. A fishing boat glides in to the dock so close you can nearly touch it. It’s 5 p.m. but only a few customers are here; one of them arrived on an eye-catching Harley.
At Hoover’s, as with other stops along Hamilton’s southern coast, it feels like you are among the few who know it exists. Your car tires crunch through the gravel parking lot, and soon you are northbound for home on Nanticoke Road/55 and the mundanely linear Highway 6.
The coast fades, but Jean Cowan’s words linger — “The lake takes a piece of your heart” — along with three of your own: “Until next time.”