History of De Tour Michigan – From Native Encampments to Tourist Life

At the far eastern tip of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula lies De Tour Village, where the St. Marys River meets Lake Huron. In this episode of End of the Road in Michigan, we trace De Tour’s history from its earliest Native American encampments and French voyageurs to the bustling lumber era of the late 1800s.

We revisit the days when the harbor was crowded with freighters, the winters when ships froze in place, and the arrival of summer tourists drawn to nearby Caribou Lake resorts. Through maritime heritage, economic change, and enduring small-town life, De Tour’s story reflects the history of Michigan’s Great Lakes communities.

Episode Transcript

(00:00):
Long before Dator appeared on any map, the land at the mouth of the St. Mary's River was

(00:05):
home to the Masquitan, Ottawa, and Chippewa people. They knew this place as a vital gathering point,
a strategic location along the water routes that connected the upper Great Lakes.
French explorers passed through in the 1600s, and their name for it, Dator, meant the turn.

(00:25):
It was a reference to the sharp bend, ships must make here to navigate from Lake Huron toward
the Straits of Maconaw. Even in the days of Birchbart-Knowes, this was a turning point on the water.
American settlement began in the mid-1800s. In 1850, the area was organized as Warren Township,

(00:46):
named for its first postmaster. Early maps labeled it Warrenville. But in 1856,
postmaster Henry Williams officially changed the name to Dator, a nod to the French name that locals
had long used. Maritime navigation was already critical here. In 1847, a lighthouse was built at

(01:09):
point Dator to help guide ships through the tricky passage. Then in 1855, the Siulox opened at
Salt, Sant Marie. Marie unleashing a surge of steam ships, scooners and freighters onto Lake Huron.
Nearly every vessel traveling to or from Lake Superior now passed directly in front of this tiny

(01:30):
settlement. In the decades that followed, Dator began to grow. By the late 1800s, the lumber industry
reached the eastern upper peninsula. The surrounding forests of Pine and Cedar drew logging companies
north. Sawmills sprang up along the shore and rafts of logs floated into the harbor. This was hard

(01:51):
physical work, but it brought jobs and money to the community. By 1899, Dator had enough people and
businesses to incorporate as a village. The population swelled to nearly 900, impressive for such a remote
location. Superior Street, the sandy main road, was lined with shops, boarding houses, and a modest

(02:14):
white hotel. The general store carried everything from staples to hardware. And the small wooden
post office was the hub of communication where residents picked up letters, caught up on news,
and exchanged gossip. Life here revolved around the water. Massive or freighters loaded with iron

(02:34):
from Minnesota glided past just offshore. Residents knew each ship by sight and by the sound of its whistle.
The daily arrival of the mailboat was an event, bringing news and passengers from far off places.
And then there were the winters. Some years, the great lakes froze early. The freighters that didn't

(02:56):
make it out before the ice set in were trapped, locked fast in the harbor until spring. Old photographs
show a fleet of ice-bound ships moored off to tour, their smoke stacks silent against a frozen
horizon. In the early 1900s, detours economic focus began to shift. The great forests were being

(03:17):
cut over, and the sawmills would not run forever. At the same time, a new kind of visitor was
finding their way to this far corner of the Upper Peninsula. The tourist. Resorts appeared along
nearby Carabou Lake, offering city dwellers a rustic summer escape. Ingersol's cottages
became known for fishing and quiet relaxation. Hamilton's Carabou Lake resort even had a miniature

(03:44):
steam train that circled the property, delighting guests and providing an unexpected novelty in the
northern woods. These seasonal visitors brought fresh energy to the village each summer.
Though tourism never rivaled lumber or shipping in economic impact, it became a steady part of local
life. Some residents found work guiding fishing trips, maintaining cottages or cooking for the summer

(04:09):
crowds. For a few months each year, detour felt busier, brighter, more connected to the outside world.
By the 1920s and 1930s, the lumber boom had faded. The sawmills were gone, and the population began
to shrink. Young people left to find work elsewhere, yet the village's connection to the water remained

(04:32):
unbroken. In 1931 the detour reef light was built out in the channel, replacing the old shore light.
Its powerful beacon stood as a modern guide for freighters navigating the passage.
The ferry to Drummond Island continued to run, keeping detour linked to its island neighbor
and the broader world. And even as the number of permanent residents declined, the village held

(04:58):
onto its identity as a maritime community. In 1950 detour village had just over 600 people.
It was smaller and quieter than at the turn of the century, but still defined by the rhythms of
the water. Ships continued to pass, tourists still came to fish and relax, and neighbors gathered
at the post office, the store, or the dock to trade stories. That's the arc of detour's early

(05:25):
history from native encampments and French voyagers through the boom years of lumber and shipping
into the slower pace of a tourism-based community. It's a history shaped by geography,
industry, and the enduring presence of the great lakes. Today detour Michigan still sits at that
turning point in the water. Freighters glide past just as they did more than a century ago.

(05:50):
Summer visitors still arrive for the fishing and the quiet, and the village, though changed,
continues to hold onto its place in Michigan's maritime story.
This has been the end of the road in Michigan, and I invite you to join me next time
as we bring you more stories from the places where history and the great lakes meet.