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.