Many of the first white men to settle on the north shore of Francois Lake were trappers who lived alone in small cabins linked by a rudimentary pack trail. Isolated from each other, most used the lake as a highway and lived according to unique tenets. For this reason, by the time government officials began constructing a proper road to Colleymount in 1926, those who hadn鈥檛 succumbed to cabin fever or simply 鈥榙isappeared鈥� (sometimes without a trace) were fairly set in their ways.

Arthur Ramsey was a bachelor who took up residence in 1913 on land once preempted by Bill Herkelraad, an old timer who vanished around 1907 while running a trap line at the end of the lake. In later years, Ramsey was chiefly remembered for his boat-building skills (he and Harry McLean constructed the scow that served as Francois Lake鈥檚 first ferry) and his ability to survive despite himself.

Ramsey, it is said, once set blasting powder under a stump he hoped to pry loose, lit the fuse, and then absentmindedly sat atop his intended target. The charges went off on schedule, throwing him into the air. He survived the mishap, but not one that occurred later and was allegedly related to his principal hobby, making homebrew in four-gallon gasoline cans.

When Ramsey鈥檚 house burned down, his neighbours poked through the debris to discover the cause of the conflagration. Several concluded that the forgetful shipwright had accidentally placed four gallons of gasoline (and not brewing mash) atop his wood stove to cook.

Jasper Stanyer, a former resident of the area, had another version of events.

Jasper, whose family homesteaded near Brown Road in 1919, went to live with one of his sisters so he could attend school at St. Paul鈥檚 United Church at Francois Lake. His sister was married to Jack McLean, who carried mail from Francois Lake to Wistaria by horse and wagon at the time.

According to Jasper, a mysterious trunk carefully secured with rope arrived in McLean鈥檚 consignment of mail a few years before Ramsey鈥檚 disappearance. Because the item lacked a forwarding or return address, the postman had no option but to hold onto it. Sometime later, when no one claimed the package, McLean grew curious and opened it.

Inside the trunk was an alcohol distillery. Not a homemade still, mind you, but an expensive manufactured one made of bright copper, the likes of which had never been seen in the Lakes District.

The distillery became a communal asset and was passed from one old timer to the next until, says Jasper, it came into the possession of another bachelor named Tom Humphrey. After making himself a batch of moonshine, Humphrey allegedly turned the device over to Ramsey.

When word of the fire at Ramsey鈥檚 cabin spread through the community a short time later, Humphrey hastily made his way to the distillery's last known location. He arrived ahead of the police and found the still's copper coil protruding from the ashes of Ramsey鈥檚 home like a curled tombstone. The cause of the accident was obvious; Humphrey, perhaps not wanting to be implicated in the demise of his friend and fellow distiller, stomped the evidence into the ground.

The police failed to uncover the truth. In the weeks that followed, residents of Colleymount mourned Ramsey. If any of them secretly lamented the loss of the still, they refrained from making their grief public.

Jasper, in recalling the story of Ramsey鈥檚 demise, subsequently remembered Wiggs O鈥橬eill鈥檚 boat and the barge that served as Francois Lake鈥檚 ferry.

The legendary Skeena River captain transported his launch to 亚洲天堂 Lake, where it was loaded on skids and dragged to Francois Lake by three teams of heavy horses and Amross Blayney鈥檚 oxen.

Bruce Little was the captain of O鈥橬eill鈥檚 launch and used it to tow the large scow Ramsey had built. This primitive ferry, based at Southbank, could be summoned to the north shore of Francois Lake by raising a flag or hanging a coal oil lantern on the dock.

On one fateful occasion, the scow did the towing.

One summer morning, O鈥橬eill鈥檚 launch and its attendant scow left Southbank with a team of horses and a wagon aboard. Partway across the lake, a big storm hit. Waves and wind buffeted the makeshift ferry; it missed the dock at Northbank and nearly washed ashore just east of the present landing.

The horses were removed from the scow, and residents led them to higher ground on a hastily constructed trail. Because O鈥橬eill鈥檚 launch had been damaged irreparably in the accident, Little beached it in Church Bay. He subsequently salvaged the engines and put them in a larger boat, which continued in service for several years.

鈥淭he old hulk of O鈥橬eill鈥檚 boat,鈥� said Stanyer in the late 1970s, 鈥渄rifted around the lake for years.鈥�

Just like the alcohol still.

漏 2022 Lakes District Museum Society