Travellers and writers, poets and pilots, have
contributed to the lore of the north. The rigors of life in
the bush are told in tales of man eating mosquitoes, of
murderous hordes of black flies, of the lumps of flesh
carried away by the giant bull dog flies.
The stories of record breaking trout, walleye, and pike
are legion. There are tales of sights and sounds heard deep
in the spruce forests:
The crashing of moose, tearing through brush and
breaking down trees. The drumming of grouse. The incessant
hum of insects. The cackling quackery of ducks feeding on
quiet ponds and placid bays.
Once heard, the intermittent song of the loon is never
forgotten. It's voice the signature of authenticity of a
northern scene.
If the wildlife in the northern bush land seems
different than found elsewhere, so is the life of man. It
takes a special breed of person to live in the north. The
farther one travels, the more this becomes apparent. The
Southerner, whether on his first or fiftieth trip north of
53, never really becomes aware of the implications of
northern living.
Generally, the owners of "cottages" on southern lakes
have more amenities at hand for a weekend of "roughing it"
than most northern dwellers have on a year round basis.
The modern cabin on a lake shore near a large
metropolitan center is equipped with electric service, a
telephone, paved roads, natural gas pipelines, and cable
television.
