A fun and fishy canoe trip ~ May 24, 2000

David Heiller

We had paddled safely down the Little Indian Sioux River a couple miles before Paul broke the news to me.

“I’ve got a new air mattress this year.” We were heading into the Boundary Waters for our annual canoe trip.

“Oh yeah?” I tried to answer calmly. “Great.”

That was about the extent of our brilliant conversation. But I sensed that a red flag had been hoisted.

I don’t have a big tent. Tents are like packages of food. If the macaroni and cheese is supposed to serve four people, two people will probably eat it and still be a little hungry.

My tent is called a four man tent, but it can sleep two people OK, provided that one of the people doesn’t have a queen-sized air mattress.

That’s what Paul had brought, which we discovered three miles later when we found a campsite on Upper Pawness Lake. He even had a battery-powered pump to fill it.

Scoping out the possibilities.

Paul’s Air Mattress (it has to be capitalized) left about six inches of space on my side of the tent. Paul isn’t a whole lot smaller than his Air Mattress. He could play nose tackle for the Green Bay Packers.

Paul retired early that first night. He was already sawing logs when I went to bed a bit later. Did I mention that he snores? Loudly. I was worried that a lovesick moose would come and answer his call.

I crawled up on the Air Mattress. It was like climbing onto the deck of a storm-tossed ship. Every time I moved or scratched, every time Paul shifted and snorted, the Air Mattress would pitch and roll.

Five minutes later I left the Air Mattress for a grassy bed under the stars. That’s where I slept. Actually, I didn’t get much sleep. It was cold! But what a beautiful night. I enjoyed watching the full moon travel over the calm lake waters throughout the night. Every cloud has a silver lining in the Boundary Waters.

Besides, I had caught a mess of fish that afternoon, and good fishing will lift the spirits of even the most sleep-deprived soul.

The next morning, Paul stumbled out of the tent. “Did you sleep outside?” he asked when he saw my frost-covered bag. He hadn’t woken once.

Camp nap-time.

We spent the next day sitting around the camp, reading, talking, sleeping (yes, I took a nap), and eating. And of course we fished. Jim and I paddled up the river to one of the portages into our lake. The water tumbled over rocks and boulders for about 50 feet before spreading out into a pool 100 yards wide.

It looked like a postcard for a good fishing hole, and it was. We jigged minnows and worms across the bottom, and the fish grabbed hold. We caught one—or lost one—on almost every other cast. Walleyes, rock bass, northerns, perch.

At one point, after I changed to a spinner, I put the lure in the water next to the canoe while I prepared to cast, and a northern grabbed it right there.

It’s good we caught a lot of fish too, because a fair amount of the food had been left back at Dave’s house. He had discovered that the taco sauce was missing the first night when he was making supper.

Then when Jim went looking for his home-made deer jerky, Dave recalled that it was still in the fridge. Along with the turkey loaf. And the eggs.

I’m not pointing any fingers here. I didn’t get angry, even though I’m still dreaming about that jerky. Let’s just say that if there is a bed open soon in the Alzheimer’s Unit at Mercy Hospital. I’m going to submit Dave’s name for honorary membership.

Stringer full of dinner.

On the second night, I prepared to sleep outside again. Jim, always an adventurer, said he could ride out the night with Paul, and I could have his spot in Dave’s tent. I had to smile at Jim’s upcoming voyage. Jim was already grinning too.

I lay in Dave’s tent, which is the size of a two car garage, and listened as Jim crawled up the Air Mattress next to Paul.

“Whoa,” I heard him say. “This is like riding a bucking bronco.” I knew what he was talking about.

That’s when the laughter started. Remember those days in church when you were a teenager and you couldn’t stop laughing? That’s the way it was, for me in my tent and for Jim on the Air Mattress. We laughed till we cried. My face hurt, my eyes burned, my body shook. Every time Jim or Paul moved, Jim would start laughing again, and I would follow suit.

That laugh was worth a stringer full of fish. Jim mentioned it the next day too. He said that once he stopped laughing, he had been able to sleep just fine. I was glad to have slept in Dave’s tent, because a thin layer of ice covered the water in the pans and cups by the fire the next morning. I would have frozen outside.

Dave Landwehr and Paul on an expedition.

We explored a few nearby lakes and rivers over the next two days. That’s my favorite part of these trips that we have been taking since 1987. Getting a feel for the country, looking for wildlife. The main species we saw were beaver. They were everywhere.

I tested the waters with a lure that I read about called a Tiny Torpedo. I had to special order it, but it was supposed to be a sure bet for small mouth bass. Only one small mouth struck it. The fish danced on the water just long enough to see who was in the canoe, then it spit out the bait.

Small mouth bass are not native to the Boundary Waters. They were introduced in 1942. Now they are considered one of the premier species there, because they are such scrappers.

We had a good trip. Lots of fish, lots of laughs. I took a roll of pictures. My one regret is that I didn’t get a picture of the biggest catch of all, the Air Mattress.

Some good reasons to head north… ~ May 17, 1990

David Heiller

There are a lot of good reasons for four grown men to take a canoe trip.

David, Paul, Dave, and Jim heading to the BWCAW

For Dave, it might be to leave his woodshop and clear his lungs of sawdust and take out his ear plugs. The air is pretty clean and quiet where we are headed.

For Paul, it might be to leave the metropolis of Duluth and the pressures of working with low-income people who rely on him for so much to go canoeing with three other low-income types who also rely on him, and he them.

For Jim it might be to leave the mental mazes of social work. Or could it be he simply comes to his senses and leaves Wisconsin for Minnesota?

I can’t speak for them, but I have to admit it’s nice to leave some baggage behind and head out for a four-day trip into canoe country.

Two years ago, on the eve of our trip, a guy called me at home, slurring his speech and cussing me out for making a mistake in an ad. It wasn’t a big mistake. Not worth getting drunk and swearing about. It bothered the heck out of me, but only for about half a day. By then we were well onto the Kawishiwi River, and that jerk sank with every stroke of the paddle until he was long forgotten, and still is, pretty much.

Last year, it was a school board squabble and some letters to the editor that I felt were unfairly critical. Again, it wasn’t long until I had paddled them out of my system too.

A canoe trip can put things like that in perspective. But there are lots of other reasons too; things that help ease the toothaches of everyday life.

One is talking with my buddies on the trip. Not like I’m talking to a bunch of psychiatrists. We don’t even have to talk about something that’s bothering us, though we might. It’s more the simple act of visiting. Like when you wash dishes with someone. Sometimes small talk, sometimes deep enough to go over my head. If you like the person you’re with, just about any conversation is good stuff.

The words are tied in with the adventure. Having a course set, but not knowing quite how you are going to get there. Following a map, looking for landmarks. Not sure what you will find along the way. The cliché people call this is “adventure,” but what the heck, if the cliché fits, that’s what the trip is, and it’s something we don’t have enough of in our daily lives.

Using your body the way it LIKES to be used is nice too, not behind a word processor or a table saw or a desk or a steering wheel, but lifting, moving, carrying, working. At first there^’s stiffness and aches. You careen over a 20-rod portage, panting with a canoe on your shoulders and a Duluth-pack front and back.

Then muscles harden, and you crack off a 100-rod portage. It feels good in a perverse way and you wish you felt like this all year.

This will sound silly, but last year when I came home from our canoe trip, I walked into the living room and did 30 push-ups. Cindy was dumbfounded. I grinned at her stupidly, but it felt good. I bet I couldn’t do 30 push-ups right now. But in about seven days I will. That^’s one good reason for taking this trip.

There’s plenty more too. I’ll tell you about them next week.

The wrath, and the mercy, of the Kettle River ~ May 15, 1986

David Heiller

The names ring with adventure, a touch of danger: Blueberry Slide, Mother’s Delight, Dragon’s Tooth, Hell’s Gate. Names on a map, on a river, names of rapids on the Kettle River as it passes through Banning State Park, south of Askov.

One of the rapids in Banning
State Park on the Kettle River.

But look at those rapids now, with the water level nearly five and a half feet above normal, and adventure disappears, swallowed up by danger and death. The water curls and sprays through the narrow valley, shaking and roaring its brown, foamy head like a lion. Look at it from shore, and you likely will grab a tree for safe footing. Look at it from a canoe, and your life will pass before your eyes.

Randy Rantala and David Weier put their canoe into the Kettle River at Highway 123 landing Monday afternoon, and headed downstream, toward those adventurous names. Their car was parked down river at Highway 70, some 30 miles away. David took the stern. The 20-year-old had more canoeing experience than his college buddy. He had been on the river before. The water was lower then.

Neither man was wearing a life jacket.

First they heard the dull roar, then saw the orange danger signs, warning about the upcoming rapids. The signs were put up three years ago, when a man drowned after the fall rains of 1983. Then the river split open in front of them, a river even experienced kayakers avoid when water levels reach 8.4 feet, Monday’s reading.

No canoe could have made it through even the first wave, some four feet high. Dave and Ron were spun sideways, and flipped over. Ron lost his grip on the canoe. That may have saved his life. Water pushed him under, carried him downstream towards Dragon’s Tooth, the meanest rapids of the four.

“All I could do was swim toward the surface, and keep my head above water,” Ron remembers. “Swim to shore, and try to grab on.” That’s what Ron did.

David kept his grip on the canoe. Ron saw him disappear down the river, toward Dragon’s Tooth. It^` was the last time he saw his friend.

Pulling himself onto shore, Ron Rantala stumbled downstream, searching the banks, looking for David The river had taken his glasses, so he had trouble seeing much. He turned around and headed back to Highway 23, to the car. He drove to Banning Park, found park manager Randy Gordon at about 4:30. They drove to the boat landing in the park, made a quick search to see if David might be on a trail, walking to safety. Then Randy called the Pine County Sheriff’s office.

The canoe, and personal belongings, were discovered below the dam at Sandstone, two miles away. Authorities are still looking for David Weier’s body.

Randy Rantala was not hurt by the accident. “Not physically,” he says. Does he feel fortunate to be alive? “Not right now,” he said on Tuesday.

How can you feel fortunate when you lose a close buddy, someone you live with, someone who leads you on adventure? It’s hard to understand how David was lost, this 19-year-old athlete who liked to climb cliffs, who skied on the University of Minnesota cross-country ski team.

“He was in much better shape than me,” Randy says.

The loss of a friend will remain. But Randy Rantala will feel lucky soon enough. Anybody who goes through Blueberry Slide after three inches of rain in a loaded canoe, without a life jacket, will learn to love life again.

The Kettle River, with her adventurous names, isn’t usually so generous.