“How aboot `dem Blues, heh?” Sil asked, when hearing I attend college in St. Louis. Yes, it’s Canada: the nation to the north.

It’s also known as O, Canada! I prefer to call it Heaven, a week’s vacation from work and my mom’s tuna casseroles.

Canada is a land full of majestic beauty and uninhibited wildlife. And don’t forget darned good fishing!

For the last 15 years, my family has made the nine-hour trek from our Milwaukee area home up to the United States-Canada border.

This past summer was no different. The 11-person group included my dad, my three older brothers, a brother-in-law, two of my nephews, a cousin, some family friends and a partridge in a pear tree.

After passing through customs, we entered Fort Francis, Ontario.

We then gathered some necessary supplies (mostly booze and liquor) and prepared for our time away from television, the Internet and the Dow Jones Industrial Average.

Since the next step of the journey was impassable by vehicle, we had a pontoon plane waiting for our arrival.

After an hour flight we had reached our final destination: Beak Lake, Ontario.

Sil, the owner of this remote cabin, greeted us on the dock. With a cigar in his mouth and red suspenders holding up his sagging jeans, the witty old Canadian watched as we unloaded the plane.

The water was calm, and the day showed no signs of darkness. It was a perfect Canadian evening. After feasting on steak, baked potatoes, corn and salad, we sat back and relaxed. Sil, like all Canadians, is an avid hockey fan. So we shot the bull.

“Yaw know, Pronger’s from my hometown, heh?” he said in his thick accent.

“He used to work down in the mill when he was a kid, heh?”

Wow, that’s just great, I thought. But I was more curious with the cabin itself and all the animal heads staring me down from the wall.

The lakeside log cabin, set back in a sea of towering pine trees, was one of only two places on this three-mile long lake.

It was a well-built cabin with electricity and hot water. A loft with three beds overlooked the large kitchen and family room.

The walls of the cabin were covered with an assortment of mounted game, including bear, moose, deer, wolves, owls, ducks and a variety of fish.

According to Sil, one bear was shot inside the cabin scavenging for food.

However, this was no Playboy mansion. There were few luxuries. The wood-fueled kitchen stove was the only source of heat. The bathroom was a mosquito-infested outhouse 100 yards in back. And there was no telephone.

There were no high-powered motorboats or Jet Skis. It was just the 11 of us, with our seven-horsepower motors and nearly inoperable fishing boats, filled ankle deep with water, due to cracks in the hull. And you know what? We would have it no other way.

Each night we reminisced about that day’s catch and talked about any topic that arose.

The hassles of everyday life were long past, at least for our time in this simple, yet beautiful setting.

The fishing was good, but that’s secondary. The camaraderie of the group and the perfect location to enjoy each other’s company is what lures us back every year.

The week was over, and it was time to pack up the gear and head back to the world of cell phones, clients, and yes, more tuna casseroles.

Next year’s trip won’t come soon enough. As our plane rose above the Canadian tree line, I looked into the horizon of conquering pines and breathtakingly placid lakes.

If it wasn’t Heaven, it was sure damned close.