I slid by the muddy banks of the Grand River, gliding my kayak into the shadows of the trees. It was quiet, except for the gentle gurgle of water. Just then, I came upon a cow standing in the water. She looked at me – silent and still. I glared back, not sure of the situation. We were about 8 feet apart.

She slowly turned her head tracking my every move like a guided missile. Then I noticed another face, and suddenly another. It was a small herd. I assumed they were pastured at a farm just over the bank. Judging from the condition of the bank, this was their watering hole. They were enjoying the evening by drinking and quietly standing in the river and on the bank. They were huge hulks of domesticated beast. . . fixedly looking at me, pondering. . . my every move. Such a strange site.

But, I was on the river to search for a missing person. I was the lone kayaker of the marine unit for Kent County Search and Rescue – my favorite team. A large search effort was underway for a missing middle aged man who had disappear after shoplifting a bottle of alcohol from a local store. Apparently, he escaped to the river and disappeared the day before.

Our tracking team just found his shoes on the banks of the river, not far from the “point last seen”. I was tasked with “sign cutting” the banks of the river (sign cutting is looking for evidence of human passage – tracks, clues, etc). I had a kayak, I was experienced in all aspects of search and waterborne search. Plus, I was the only one to show up at staging with a kayak – so I was assigned to sign cut the river. My search area was a six mile stretch of the Grand River from Lowell, Michigan to Ada, Michigan. It was based on the location of the subjects shoes that our trackers had just found.

As I smoothed along passed the silent, statue like beasts of cow-ness, I dipped a paddle quietly in the water, scanning the shore for tracks. Suddenly, I felt a dull sting on my arm. It was immediate and annoying. I looked down at my forearm to see the awkwardly, curvy figure of a fat mosquito. Without thinking, I release my grip on the paddle and swatted my forearm. I swatted with that immediate reaction you do to relieve a sudden and galling discomfort. The dreaded mosquito bite.

I was suddenly reminded of the Tlingit legend of the Cannibal Giant. The Tlingit are a Pacific Northwest Tribe that populates mostly on the Canadian Pacific Coast. They are known for their Totem Poles and their obscure legend of that annoying little bug that plagues our outdoor adventures in the summer. In honor of the beginning of the spring season, I thought I would honor their next coming and annoying little hum with their story, according the the Tlingit people here:

Long ago there was a giant who loved to kill humans, eat their flesh, and drink their blood. He was especially fond of human hearts. “Unless we can get rid of this giant,” people said, “none of us will be left,” and they called a council to discuss ways and means.

One man said, “I think I know how to kill the monster,” and he went to the place where the giant had last been seen. There he lay down and pretended to be dead.

Soon the giant came along. Seeing the man lying there, he said: “These humans are making it easy for me. Now I don’t even have to catch and kill them; they die right on my trail, probably from fear of me!”

The giant touched the body. “Ah, good,” he said, “this one is still warm and fresh. What a tasty meal he’ll make; I can’t wait to roast his heart.”

The giant flung the man over his shoulder, and the man let his head hang down as if he were dead. Carrying the man home, the giant dropped him in the middle of the floor right near the fireplace. Then he saw that there was no firewood and went to get some.

As soon as the monster had left, the man got up and grabbed the giant’s huge skinning knife. Just then the giant’s son came in, bending low to enter. He was still small as giants go, and the man held the big knife to his throat. “Quick, tell me, where’s your father’s heart? Tell me or I’ll slit your throat!”

The giant’s son was scared. He said: “My father’s heart is in his left heel.”

Just then the giant’s left food appeared in the entrance, and the man swiftly plunged the knife into the heel. The monster screamed and fell down dead.

Yet the giant still spoke. “Though I’m dead, though you killed me, I’m going to keep on eating you and all the other humans in the world forever!”

“That’s what you think!” said the man. “I’m about to make sure that you never eat anyone again.” He cut the giant’s body into pieces and burned each one in the fire. Then he took the ashes and threw them into the air for the winds to scatter.

Instantly each of the particles and burning embers turned into a mosquito. The cloud of ashes became a cloud of mosquitoes, and from their midst the man heard the giant’s voice laughing, saying: “Yes, I’ll eat you people until the end of time.”

And as the monster spoke, the man felt a sting, and a mosquito started sucking his blood, and then many mosquitoes stung him, and he began to scratch himself.

So. . . on that mosquito infested summer evening on the lazy river a few years ago, I could identify with the man of the legend. It is a legend written in the style of the “Dragon Slayer” genre. A good story to tell yourself as you scratch layers of skin off due to their maddening bites. Now, you know why those whispy and persistent little bastards exist. They were born of evil and they continue to live out the promise of the Cannibal Giant (Is a Giant who eats human really a “cannibal”? I don’t know. I just report the legends, I don’t write them. So. . .).