La Salle’s Le Griffon set out from Green Bay in mid-September 1679, laden with a rich cargo of fur pelts, under orders to sail back to Niagara. By all accounts, the ship was last seen by La Salle and his companions from shore. The weather was unstable, and Indigenous observers had warned of a brewing storm. But despite their warnings, the pilot ignored them, confident that the ship could make headway. What followed is opaque, to put a generous word on it, and what remains are competing stories, all fragmentary, each plausible in certain respects but none conclusively verifiable.
One of the oldest and most straightforward theories is that Le Griffon was overwhelmed by a storm. According to Father Louis Hennepin, a priest who traveled with La Salle’s expedition (though not aboard the Griffon in its final leg), the ship “was hardly a league from the coast, when it was toss’d up by a violent Storm … and was there bury’d,” possibly upon a sandbar." In La Salle’s own version, after anchoring north of what he called Lac des Illinois, local savages (Indigenous people) warned the pilot that a great storm was coming. The pilot either did not believe them or thought he could outrun the weather. The ship, they said, was soon seen tossed in such extraordinary fashion that she was lost from sight. Some believe she struck shoals near the Huron Islands or Isles Huronnes and was “bury’d” (i.e., broken up or submerged in sand and silt).
If the storm theory is correct, much depends on where the wreck lies. In shallow waters with heavy wave action, cold and ice, wood deteriorates fairly quickly. A survey published in Discover Magazine notes that Le Griffon is thought to be somewhere in a 100-square-mile area of Lake Michigan. However, in water around 80 feet deep over a limestone substrate, wave and ice action would have destroyed the exposed wooden structure over time; one could expect only iron artifacts (fasteners, nails, possibly cannons) to survive in any recognizable form.
Another theory, also grounded in La Salle’s writings and later rumor, is that the crew or pilot intentionally sabotaged or scuttled the vessel, then made off with the furs. La Salle himself seems to have entertained this possibility: he wrote of suspicions that the pilot and possibly some of the crew “sunk the ship and made off with the furs.”
The idea here is that the incentive was immense: pelts were extremely valuable, and law and oversight in those remote regions were weak. If betrayal or mutiny had occurred, it remained uncertain who the traitors would have been and how they planned to escape. Some rumor-traditions say white men matching the description of Griffon’s crew were seen later paddling canoes loaded with furs. But this theory suffers from the weakness that no credible stash of furs, no verified mutineer confession, and no archaeological material confirming intentional destruction or salvage of cargo has been found. If the crew tried to escape, the question becomes: from where and by what route? And did they perish anyway?
A closely related theory holds that Indigenous action, attack, capture, or even murder played a role. In some stories, Griffon was boarded by hostile Indigenous people who killed the crew and either burned the ship or destroyed it. Local rumors and oral traditions, both Indigenous and colonial, occasionally mention stolen goods or sightings of canoes carrying cargo that matches what Griffon had carried. But these accounts are inconsistent, vary by time and place, and lack firm corroboration. La Salle himself mentions rumours but also expresses skepticism in parts. There’s no authoritative record in his letters or those of his lieutenants confirming an attack.
A fourth possibility is that the ship sank in a remote or deep area where much of its structure was lost to time, buried, decayed, or scattered. Over nearly 350 years, storms, ice, currents, biological decay, and human activities (such as salvage and fishing) would have had ample opportunity to disperse remains, break apart timbers, remove iron parts, or bury them under silt. Archaeological surveys indicate that the types of wood used, the exposure in sure lake bottoms, and the shallow depths in some candidate areas make the preservation of significant timbers unlikely. Even when divers believe they have seen large wood pieces, these often turn out (upon examination) to be from later or unrelated wrecks.
In modern times, some explorers claim to have located Le Griffon or its remains. One of the more high-profile searchers is Steve Libert, who has spent decades investigating likely sites. He argues that a wreck field near the Huron Islands of northern Lake Michigan matches enough criteria (wooden frames, fasteners, etc.) and is close enough to historically plausible sailing routes that it might well be Griffon. Libert believes he has recovered or located a timber that could be part of a bowsprit, along with nearby wooden planks and nails, possibly of 17th-century age. However, state archaeologists, such as Wayne Lusardi in Michigan, remain unconvinced. They point out that many of Libert’s finds (a long pole claimed to be a bowsprit, wooden fasteners, etc.) cannot be definitively dated to 1679, and that overall preservation in shallow, wave-agitated, limestone bottoms would make survival of significant wooden structural components unlikely.
Some candidates near Manitoulin Island in Lake Huron are also long considered, in part because in the late 19th century, a lighthouse keeper (Albert Cullis) reportedly found a watch chain, coins from the 17th century, and human skeletons in and around a cave on Manitoulin Island, though none of this has been definitively tied to Griffon. These finds on shore reflect a tradition among Indigenous and settler oral history of a wreck or loss of life associated with the Griffon, but again, physical proof is lacking.
One more strand of speculation involves the possibility that Griffon may have made part of its journey eastwards, perhaps into Lake Huron or even beyond the Straits of Mackinac, rather than sinking immediately after departing Green Bay. Some claims suggest sightings or artifacts far enough from Green Bay to imply drift or partial movement. However, this raises difficulties: colonial records do not reliably report Griffon in those waterways after her disappearance. Additionally, had she been seen or known to be in Lake Huron, Jesuit missions or other colonial outposts would have recorded the unusual appearance of a full-sized ship in those waters.
Taken together, the strongest case seems to be the storm plus remote-wreck theory: Le Griffon likely got underway from her anchorage despite warnings, perhaps underestimating the storm’s power; she was thrown into danger by wind, waves, or shoals; possibly struck bottom, holed, or submerged, and sank in a place where much of her wood was destroyed or scattered, leaving just fragments (iron fasteners, maybe cannons) behind. All the artifacts found to date are ambiguous, possible artifacts but not definitive, fasteners that could belong to many old wrecks, wooden timbers too degraded to confirm origin, and in many cases misinterpreted or found in troubling contexts (for example, stakes used historically in fishing or nets rather than parts of a ship).
La Salle’s written concern, his readiness to send out search parties, the fact that Indigenous observers warned the pilot, the suddenness of the weather, all that leans toward an accidental, weather-driven disaster rather than a deliberate mutiny or attack. However, the mutiny or theft theory remains compelling due to the value of the cargo and the suspicions expressed by La Salle in his letters.
In the end, Le Griffon’s fate remains unknown. If she lies beneath cold, fresh water in an isolated location, her remains may be severely degraded or inaccessible. If she lies in shallower, wave-exposed water, what was once a solid hull could now be broken, scattered, lost. The speculation will persist as long as no artifact, such as one of her small cannons, a dated anchor, or unmistakably 17th-century ship timbers with correct joinery, can be indisputably linked to the vessel. Until then, the mystery of Le Griffon remains perhaps the greatest unsolved maritime story of the Great Lakes.
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