The Legend of Bill

It is long and full of inside jokes, but here it is for those of you who really want the scoop on this summer's canoeing trip. As always, enjoy in moderation...

Chapter 1: Why Are We Here?
The dark quiet of the giving Canadian night had been trampled on by a Canadian thunderstorm. Thor’s hammer smote the sky sending shock waves of thunder on the island where we camped, and the lake around it. And the sparks flying from his hammer lit up the sky. Far down below on an island in the middle of Bear Paw lake eight eyes stared up at the top of there tent, which was bathed in the yellowish orange lightning display.
No one spoke. No one slept. All four of us lay very still. But our minds were racing. The eldest and most experienced voyageur, Henry, was thinking about whether the Duluth pack had been folded correctly to prevent moisture from wicking into it. Tim, a veteran of many such storms, was thinking about another storm years ago where the run-off through the tent was so bad that Henry had gotten out in the middle of the storm to dig a trench and divert the stream running through there sleep bags. Wes, a new father, was thinking that the storm might actually be louder then his baby son Owen when he would wake him up in the middle of the night crying for a snack. And me, Hank, …well I just laid there and wondered….wondered…wondered…
“What in the Hell am I doing here packed like a sardine in a tent with three smelly guys in the middle of nowhere while the Perfect Storm is raging down on top of me?”
The answer was simple, I realized. “I’m on vacation.”
So it was. I was having a nice vacation. I smiled to myself, and started to relax a little. I was a little damp, but it was going to be o.k. I started to drift back to sleep.
Then I heard it. A high pitched, sustained “baawhish” sound which got louder and Louder and LOUDER as it raced across the water. When it hit our island it grabbed the tent and yanked it with all it’s might. But the stakes and weight from the inhabitants of the tent held it down, and the men were not tossed into the drink like and so many flotsam and jetsam were on that night. After about an hour, Thor tired, and moved on to the west, the air cooled, and we got a few hours of sleep. The next morning we awoke to slightly blue skies and continued on in with our quest. A quest to find the hidden lake and the treasures it contained. For in fact, this was really more than a mere vacation. Yea, verily, this was a quest TO FIND BILL LAKE!!!!

Chapter Two: The Legend of Bill.
The locals a few kilometers away in the town of Kenora are a superstitious lot, and they don’t take kindly to outsiders. Henry, a great camp cook and obtainer of canoe maps, had a story to share about how rude the Kenorians had been to him in recently. When Henry approached a local Kenorians official about getting detailed maps of the lakes we would be canoeing in, Henry was informed by the official that there was no reason for him to comply with the request, and implied that Henry and other canoe paddlers were not worth his time in general.
To veteran canoeists like Henry, Tim, and Wes, those are fighting words.
Yet Henry did not take the bait, and he and Tim were able to secure good maps and mapping systems via other more sophisticated electronic tools. An early inspection of maps and route suggestions from a website displayed a lake, called “Bill Lake” in the center of the lakes we would be paddling in during our circular route. Legend has it that the lake is not named after a local guy named Bill, but rather “Bill” is a misinterpretation of the Ojibwa word “Beelosh” which roughly translated means, “lake with fish that have never seen a fishing lure from Wes’s tackle box.” A curiously specific translation to be sure, but certainly a detail that got Wes’s attention, and he mentioned it to me. So before we shoved off to begin our journey, I pulled aside one of the local Royal Canadian Mounties at Rushing River Provincial State Park and asked him, “Is it true that the fish in Bill Lake have never seen a fishing lure?”
He smiled smoothly at me and said, “There is no such thing as Bill Lake. That is just a misprint on the map. It should read ‘block’, as in no access through that area. I do not recommend that you try to get to that lake, Ay.”
“I thought you said there was no lake there,” I fired back at him and then added quickly, “Ay.”
“Yes that is what I meant. There is nothing there. That is just a smudge or something on the map. Ay”.
“Ay,” I replied quietly, but my curiosity had been peeked.
Later on, when Tim and Wes went to park the cars, as Henry and I prepared the canoes for pushing off, I stepped away for a moment and struck up a conversation with a young Indian man and his family who were fishing off of the dock. His family was having no luck, and not really seeming to care on that pleasant June summer afternoon. I asked him if he fished much in the lakes on and around Dogtooth and he said sure. Then I asked, “What about a small lake about 18 miles east of here, Bill Lake. Have you ever been there?”
A shadow seemed to pass over his face and then it turned red as his eyes went dark as he muttered, “Ni wabandanan nabi Beelosh. The louder he repeated, “ NI WABADANAN NABI!” The moment seemed suspended in time, and what had just a second a go been a blue sky produced a cloud which quickly passed over the sun, giving a sudden chill to the air. Then the moment passed. The young man took a deep breath and repeated in English, “I see no fish in Lake Bill. You should not go there.” Then he turned away and would say no more.

We boarded our canoes that evening and our paddles sliced through the clear Canadian waters like Tim Harms through a clearance aisle. We headed West to East through the Northern part of Dog Tooth lake, and made it most of the way across the lake that evening. With Henry’s quick and efficient cooking, Wes’s smooth Duluth Pack Hanging skills, Tim’s woodsmanship at starting fires, and Hank’s….Hank is good at, um, eating the food, forgetting to put stuff in the Duluth pack before you hang it so you get lots of practice hanging it, and warming himself by the fire…we were all tucked in to our sleeping bags nice and snug as a wood tick in pubic hair by 10:30pm. It was around 1:00am when the previously mentioned storm hit. My dreams were fitful that night …the spirit of Bill, or Beelosh-whatever it was seemed to be calling me. I saw thunder and lightning, and a giant Rappala lure with something hanging on the end of it. With a shock I realized it was Tim’s canoe, and Tim and I were hanging on for dear life as the line pulled us closer and closer to the Giant lure’s mouth. Then it had me, pulling me in, I was hanging by my neck. I woke with a start, and a bad neck ache. It was dawn. The quest was before us.



CHAPTER III: To Climb a Cliff
That day on we found that the route chosen and approved by Tim, “Portaging is Fun” Harms was quite do-able. Gone from this years trip was were multiple portages over 2/3rds of a mile. There were no picked apart canoeist skeletons along the side of the portage trail like I saw when Tim had dragged us through the nether-regions of Quatico 3 years ago. We had one Portage that day that was right around a half a mile, and was challenging because there was a significant climb up a hill. Since it had rained the night before there was a stream running down the portage path, which meant one needed to be careful about where one placed there feet so as not to slip and have the Duluth pack carrying all of our camping gear come crashing down on one like Java the Hut on a folding chair. But I made it. At one point late in the morning on Dog Tooth we found a rope hanging out over an inverted cliff face. It went down almost to the water, where there was a place where you could climb up. Tim, Hank, and Wes used the rope to climb up on the cliff to better footing, and then proceeded to hike up the side of that hill/cliff to a place where Henry could take a photo of us towering above the water and flora and fauna. Yet this was a tricky picture to snap. The lake was kind of windy and it is hard to paddle a canoe alone against the waves to prevent it from slamming into the side of a cliff, find three guys 80 feet above you partially obscured by Cedar trees, and get a decent picture. So I don’t think Henry was too successful with that endeavor, although I have not seen the picture yet.

Despite our little hike, we flew across the lake that day, quicker then a prize Northern can hop off a Wes Erwin-casted fishing lure! We went through Dogtooth, Little Dog Tooth,
Hawk Lake, Little Hawk Lake, Manomin Lake and finally ended up camping on Kilver Lake for the night. That evening we discussed our plan. Only a day and a half into the trip, with still two full days available if need, yet we were more than half way done. We talk about possible options. Tim suggested we do two loops instead of one. Wes mentioned the fishing licenses it had taken them several hours to find and purchase on Saturday, and possibly getting some use out of that. Henry, seeing an angle here, started calculating how much money per fish the fishing license would cost. The less fish caught, the more expensive the license per fish. It didn’t take a math professor to figure that one out, and in the end Tim’s frugalness overcame his ambition to paddle hundreds of miles per canoe trip, and he consented that the group should canoe less and spend more time trying to find some delicious fishes (my precious).

Yet few can comprehend the dark thoughts of Tim Harms, or the counsel he gives to himself alone at night sleeping on a hard tree root in the Canadian wilderness. He is nothing if not crafty, and his evil canoeing ambitions are fed by his keen observations of his fellow canoeist. He knew that deep in Hank and Wes’s heart, they were being haunted be a desire to find the hidden legend, the lake that is Bill. Late at night after the others had gone to bed he reached down into his sleeping bag and pulled out…his flashlight and a map. Tim ascertained that they were close, very close, to a river that would lead right into that Bill Lake. A strange place for a river, or was it more like a stream? It looked, perhaps…difficult. With an evil smile Tim flipped off his flashlight and fell into a deep and contented sleep.

Chapter 4: BEELOSH
Dawn came with winds and clouds that third day of the trip, as the Wes, Henry, Tim and Hank continued the debate about their route for that day. The consensus of a shorter route to allow more time for fishing was agreed upon, but where were these elusive fish. Tim and Wes had difficulty getting bites, even with there combination trolling motor and guide Hank along. It was time for a bold new plan, and Tim piped up right away. If Henry was going to have the opportunity to put that hushpuppy batter to use, we would have to go to a place where the fish would practically jump into your boat. A place, that was quite secluded. This place Tim pointed out, could only be Bill Lake. Tim flashed his map quickly to show the other guys, and then camp was broke and the lads set out in their canoes.
From Kilvert Lake where they camped it was just a short jaunt over to “Swamp Lake”, which was fed by a small stream that curled for a mile or so into the unspoiled Bill Lake.
When they reached the swamp…the clouds began to darken overhead. I started to get a feeling of dread I could not explain. Perhaps Bill does not give up his treasures that easily, I wondered. I was just about to ask Tim if I could take another look at the map when we entered the tall reeds and the maze of the swamp channels. Picking the widest channel the two canoes navigated there way through the middle and then out along the south shore of the lake. But then the channel led back North West into the middle of the swamp again. As the canoes followed it the water got shallower, and more read filled, and the channel got narrower and narrower. Soon it became just 3 or 4 inches wide, with the canoe scrapping the bottom. We were forced out of the canoes to pull them and wade through the muck in a valiant attempt to get through the swamp. The river or stream was nowhere in sight. Then the thunder came, and the lightning. Each of us lost our footing at times and fell up to our waist in the “moose muck.” Still the rain and thunder came, and then again the wind came out of the west with a big “Bwish” sound like it had that first night on the island. As I listened to the wind I realized the sound the wind was making was not “Bwish” but rather “Beelosh!” The Ojibwa word! The wind was the spirit of Bill Lake screaming at us, warning us. It would not allow Bill to be defiled by Wes’s fishing lures, not today, not ever.
We turned our canoes around and wet-tailed it out of there. Tired, wet, hungry, and somewhat exhausted (except for Tim who looked kind of satisfied), we paddled back to the main channel of Kilvert Lake and continued on. As we reached that lake, the rain stopped and the sun came out. Bill had been appeased.

Chapter 5: Canoodles
The rest of that day’s canoeing was fairly uneventful. We traversed south to the end of Kilvert and started a gradual turn back to the East that would take us the next day back to Dog Tooth. By that time the lessons of the canoe trip had started to be established. Here is a quick list of what we learned.
Never come back from Canada on Saturday during the summer. As we entered Canada the line was miles long and the wait was hours for people to come back from their week of resorting.
Most food packages contain foil. Foil does not burn. Here is a helpful saying to help you remember that. Foil foul food package littering! Pack out your food wrappers.
With small amounts of boiled hygienic water for dish cleaning, it is important not to do the slimy dishes first. Here is an acronym to help you remember the order in which to wash dishes. S.O.A.P. ‘S’ is for Silverware, ‘O’ is for circular dishes or (plates or bowls), ‘A’ is for Apparatus (cooking Apparatus such as spatulas, stirring spoons), and ‘P’ is for Pots and Pans.
Some people (Tim) keep track of who snored the most and the loudest, and make a point of giving the “snoring update” every morning. Funny how they never mention themselves in that report. There might be a spot for Tim if Wes and Paul ever revive their KNOE radio broadcasts. In addition to there other find programming in the morning, such as the traffic report and weather report, they could have Tim drop by the studio to give a snoring report.
It is a little known fact that in the directors cut “extended version” DVD of Al Gore’s documentary movie on global warming, there is a whole segment on the damage caused to our environment by people who tear the tops completely off food wrappers. Al states if they just stopped at three quarters of the way when ripping open a package, they would cut garbage volume in half in this country. Uncle Al appreciates people like Henry, whom continue to fight the good fight to make one piece of trash instead of two.
A debate has raged for years on these Canadian canoodling trips about whether we should filter our water or not. Wes is a staunch proponent of filtering, to avoid “cryptosporidium flavored Kool-aid,” as he calls it . Tim and Wes however, claim after years of drinking unfiltered water in Canada, that they have never had even one bout of the “gitchegoomies.” I believe that I have settled this argument for once and for all: Any drinking materials that will give you the chance of having a number two during a 4 or 5 day canoe trip should be strongly considered. If that means going “unfiltered”, bring it on. For despite bringing a large supply of Fiber Splats Bars, I was unable to seal the deal until our last night before we left. Enough said on this subject, sorry.
Wild life survival tip: if it has nipples, well than you can milk it.
Canoodles: Exotic wilderness pasta dish…or lifestyle choice? I’m still not sure.
When local Kenorians get secretive about there lakes, pay attention!
There are cell phone towers even in the middle of the Canadian Wilderness…but don’t tell my boss. If they ask, I can’t be reached while I am canoeing.
Try as a may I can not explain or glean any lesson from the fur-lined jock strap gift Wes and Henry keep giving each other. Except to say, generally speaking, I’m all for as much padding and protection as possible in that area. Being a former kick-off coverage special-team football player from Rochester Youth Football League days, I realize you can never have enough protection in your athletic endeavors. But canoeing? I’ll let Wes and Henry try to explain that one.
Don’t count your hush puppies before they are fried.

That Evening we camped between two lakes, on a ridge overlooking a clear stretch of water. The evening’s weather seemed to mellow, and in fact it was down right warm. A cool swim in the lake definitely did the trick, and after our adventure with attempting to gain access to Bill Lake, we all were tired and fell asleep quicker then Tim can put away a map when he doesn’t want you to get a good look at where he wants you to go that day.


Chapter 6: Tim and Wes’s Shore Lunch Recipe.
It was a fairly uneventful day of canoeing. The weather was nice. The afternoon canoeing had us facing some fairly staunch head winds coming out of the West on big Dog Tooth Lake, but we handled it without too much trouble. The morning provided some nice scenery as we paddled through some narrows between lakes. Luckily this time the channel did not disappear on us! We stopped canoeing around 11:30am by an outcropping of shoreline that had a campfire arrangement which looked like it had been used often for shore lunches for fishermen (or women). While Tim and Wes fished for an hour, Henry and I readied the camp for shore lunch. Here is Tim and Wes’s recipe for a “Fisherman’s Shore Lunch.”
Prepare fish batter using 8 oz. of Ritz crackers.
Instead of crumbling the crackers to make batter, remove them from the bag.
Reach into Duluth pack and get cheese and salami.
Place cheese, salami, together between two Ritz crackers.
Wash down with some Blue “mystery-flavored” non-Canadian Kool-aid.
Discuss how Kool-aid has gone down hill over the years.
Repeat steps 2 through 6 until appetite is satiated.
Don’t bother packing toilet paper, as a regular diet of this recipe negates the need for it.


Anyway, the trip concluded back at the Rushing River Provincial Campground where we had shoved off from 4 days earlier. After one more squashed together night in a using a bag stuffed with clothes for a pillow that smelled like Henry’s underarm hair…wait a second that was Henry’s armpit hair!!!! We packed up the gear and took off.

We had not gone a couple of miles when I saw a small black bear sitting in the weeds next to a big rock on the side of the road. For some reason, the bear looked kind of happy to see me go…I’m not sure why but I will say I was happier to see him through a car window then a tent flap. I couldn’t quite tell whether that bear had nipples or not, but if it had I’m pretty sure you could have milked it.

We parted ways at International Falls, another educational trip, relaxing, invigorating adventure in the books. But we’ll be back. As Wes would say, “See ya on the other side.”