In 1957, shortly after graduating from MHS, Quentin Gilman and I loaded my 1955 Pontiac Star Chief with a 5 1/2 horsepower Johnson outboard motor, a tent, duffle bags, fishing gear and eight cases of Army C Rations.  We then filled the car with gas at Zoeller's Texaco on 3rd Street, and headed to the Far North.  Our destination was Reindeer Lake on the Manitoba/Saskatchewan border.

After driving three days, and experiencing a number of self-inflicted misadventures, we arrived at the end of the road, Cranberry Portage, Manitoba.  Our first sight, as we entered the outskirts of town, was a small log cabin with a huge wolf pelt nailed to one wall, steel traps hanging from under the eaves and a pair of snowshoes leaning against a post on the front porch.  We had arrived!

Cranberry Portage's main street was straight out of the Western movies we use to see at the State Theater - dirt streets and board sidewalks.  If Johnny Mack Brown, or Lash LaRue had ridden up in a cloud of dust, I doubt either of us would have been surprised.

We didn't make it to Reindeer Lake.  We were at the end of the road, and to go further North meant hitching a ride on a freight train to a Cree Indian village and then hiking 70 miles to Reindeer Lake, where there were no boats, or the prospect of getting one.  So, we opted to fish Lake Athapapuskow, upon whose shores Cranberry Portage rested.  This in itself was an adventure.  It would easily fill a volume equal in bulk to anything Dosteyevsky produced, but a heck of a lot funnier.  However, the Reindeer Lake dream stayed with us for the next 43 years.

In the fall of 1999 Quentin, Tom Dunn and I initiated the second attempt to conquer Reindeer Lake.  We picked, for the target of our assault, Reilly Lake, which is connected to Reindeer.  Reilly Lake has two rivers feeding its 70 square miles, with a  single outlet river of about two miles in length that flows into Reindeer Lake's Vermillion Bay.

Reindeer Lake has 2500 square miles of water, is 150 miles long and about 40 miles wide (not to mention up to 700 feet deep), with thousands of islands, bays, and inlets, which seemed to be perfect for devouring eight unsuspecting clodhoppers from the Kansas plains.  This being one of the reasons we selected Reilly as our headquarters.  Reasoning that since Reilly Lake only had 70 square miles of water, and fifty or so islands, bays, and inlets, we could only get lost for a few days.  On the other hand, if we felt the need to get lost until the next millennium, we could easily wind our way to Reindeer. 

This time we would venture North more fully prepared.  We first assembled the assault team.  This elite unit was made up of friends and kin. Tough, hard-bitten men who were known for their ability to survive the rigors of the North, and who also lacked any common sense whatsoever when it came to fishing.  

We then analyzed the points of failure of the first expedition and quickly came to the conclusion that a 1955 Pontiac Star Chief would not be a suitable mode of transportation, plus they are hard to find.  In addition, the outfitters we used for the previous expedition, Sike's Army Surplus and General Store of Leonardville, and Smith Brother's Sporting Goods, had slipped into memory, therefore we were confronted with a second major roadblock.  Where were we to find pre-owned and dented mess gear, not to mention such essential items as helmet liners and leather flying caps with goggles?  This was compounded by the "tent issue".   Tom quickly pointed out that our team of eight men might possibly become unruly if required to share sleeping accommodations in a 4' X 6' canvas structure.  He prevailed after a lengthy debate, but only after citing the effects of pork and beans in a confined space.  Noting that Tom had a certain grasp of the important culinary and accommodations issues, we gave him the honorary title of Captain Canada.

It should also be pointed out that Tom "Captain Canada" Dunn had an ancestor who traveled with John Charles Fremont's expedition that opened the West by finding trails to places then unknown to white men.  Our deductive reasoning told us that this was the man for the job.  It also told us that he was the only one among us who had a map, not to mention the really neat Captain Midnight compass ring with secret decoder.

Logistics were also of some concern, since several of the team would have to travel many miles to our rallying point - Winnipeg, Manitoba.  It was decided that Captain Canada would organize what was to be known as the Salina contingent, while I had the task of guiding John Gilman, Quentin's dysfunctional older brother (REALLY OLD), from Manhattan to Kansas City prior to sallying forth to Winnipeg.  I would like to say that the trip was without incident, but a slight problem arose 8 miles from Manhattan when John and I stopped for fuel.  It seems that Ford has built a number of anti-theft devices into their Expedition's to thwart any attempt to retrieve keys left in the ignition of a locked vehicle.  Although the two hour delay was a source of some irritation, it was compounded by the fact that John's cell phone was also, for some reason, unavailable, which lead to the near destruction of a pay phone, a device placed at the perimeter of service stations to trap the unwary and induce fits of rage.  However, we arrived at my homestead in Overland Park without further duress once we gained access to the vehicle.  I do think John's wife, Lou, might have been a bit more conciliatory when bringing the extra set of keys.  Hysterical laughter did little to bolster the spirit of my companion, but did set the tone for the remainder of the trek.

The trip to Winnipeg went smoothly for the assault team.  These men, hardened by their many miles of travel, rendezvoused at the lodging of my mother-in-law, who lives on the bank of the Assiniboine River, and enjoyed a simple, but hardy, repast of Canadian victuals and potables.  It was noted by Captain Canada that the Quiche Lorraine was particularly palatable when combined with the Chateuneauf du Pape.

The next morning, as light began staining the Eastern skies, we met the wagon master at a pre-determined rendezvous and boarded the conveyance that would take us to Reindeer.  We noted that some of the younger members of the team, those who had spent the long night hours pouring over the details of the mission, while simultaneously pouring Old Stumpblower over their tonsils, showed the aftermath of the long and tedious hours of the evening planning session.  Greg Gilman, John's son, and Jeff Hawkinson, his right hand man, were particularly exhausted by their yeoman's effort.  

Since words pictures speak louder than words, what follows is a synopsis in pictures and captions of the Return to Reindeer..

Page 2>>>