Mountains, man, myth: The story of Bill Drinnan

The Valhalla Range is populated with geographic features named after Norse characters such as Gimli, Hoder, Asgard and Woden. But high among the pantheon exists a peak, pass, lake and dome named for a mortal more comfortable among mountains than men.

William (Bill) Drinnan was a pioneer of the Slocan who became legendary in his own time and mythical in ours. Not much is known about this mountain man, but his story deserves to be told. His tale is one of love and loss, solitude and self-sufficiency.  

Bill’s story began in Montreal, where he was born in 1860. He was the third of 11 children born to Scottish immigrants William Sr. and Isabella.

Bill Drinnan’s baptismal certificate. (Courtesy of Jim Drinnan and Ancestry.ca)

The elder William laboured as a farmer and a prison guard after arriving in Canada. Census data shows that by 1871, he had moved his family to North Simcoe, Ontario. By the spring of 1882, the family uprooted and set out for southeastern Saskatchewan. Once there, William Sr. and three of his sons, including Bill, filed for homesteads.

It was likely there that Bill first met the Aitkin family, who had also filed claims in the area. Mr. and Mrs. Aitkin hailed from Manitoba; mother Elizabeth was 41 and father Alexander was 29 when their daughter Maggie was born. At some point, Bill became smitten with the lovely Maggie, who was 11 years his junior.

By 1891, the younger Bill had struck out on his own, moving west to Lethbridge where he plied his trade as a carpenter.

Maggie Aitkin and James Drinnan, Bill’s younger brother and Maggie’s husband. James was a farmer and carpenter. (Images courtesy of Ancestry.com)

One source claimed that at some juncture, Bill proposed, and Maggie accepted, although we do not know for sure. We do know that Bill eventually pushed further westward, seeking his fortune in the rich hills of BC. He arrived in the booming Silvery Slocan between 1894 and 1896. Bill’s carpentry skills were quickly put to good use as he helped construct some of Slocan City’s first hotels and stores. It must have been an exciting time to be in the young city, during its genesis and apex.

Bill corresponded with his beloved. The story goes that his younger brother James was to escort Maggie to Slocan City, where she and Bill would be married. Instead, in late December 1897 or early 1898, Bill received a letter that would change his fate. Margaret had married James. The news devastated Bill. His heart broken and dreams dashed, Bill packed up and retreated to the wilderness of the Little Slocan, where he built a hermitage approximately half a mile up Hoder Creek (see pictures below).

Bill Drinnan’s home on Hoder Creek, circa 1943. Pictured are David Willford and Jack Farrell. (Slocan Valley Historical Society 2013-01-0938)

Another view of Bill’s cabin. (Slocan Valley Historical Society 2013-01-0939)

It’s said that Bill didn’t emerge from the bush for the next six months.

He took solace in the solitude. By 1900, Bill had “tramped the virgin valleys, ranging from Koch Creek in the south to Caribou Creek in the north; from the headwaters of the creeks draining into Slocan Lake to the shores of the Arrow Lakes,” according to Slocan historian Innes Cooper.

Bill was likely one of the first settlers to explore the vast Valhalla range, a place that would come to shelter and shape him.

It was around 1900 that Bill switched to trapping as his livelihood. In his autobiography Daylight in the Swamp, neighbour Irv Anderson (and this writer’s grandfather), wrote that Bill took on a trapping partner early in the venture. The partnership was short-lived, however, as Bill struck out on his own. Anderson remarked that eventually, “the bleached bones of the other man were found grouped about the steel jaws of a bear trap.”

Bill’s new career proved successful: Hoder, Bannock, Berry, and Cougar Creeks boasted plentiful marten, bear, and goat. He would take large bales of furs out of the lonesome hills, pulling them by hand across the crusted snow.

Trapper Gene Hird Sr. described seeing Bill packing beaver pelts balanced on his head: he would walk half a mile, row another five and then walk the final 10 to Vallican. From there he would ride the bus to Nelson, ship the furs, then turn around to make the trip home. Bill was said to visit town twice a year under cloak of darkness, rousing storekeepers from their sleep to replenish his supplies. He was even known to traverse the mountains to buy supplies in Burton. Given his infrequent trips to town and plentiful furs, some assumed Bill to have a stash of cash up in the hills.

In this primeval landscape, Bill constructed a network of trails, bridges and cabins. Hird described one shelter as “very small, just five feet wide and maybe eight or nine feet long. It had a very steep peaked roof on it all covered with cedar bark. He had a stone fireplace in it but he’d filled it up with logs and put in a little tin stove made out of one coal oil can. He just had sugar and heavy gunny sacks sewed together for blankets.” (See pic below of his first trapping cabin.)

Bill’s first trapping cabin on Hoder Creek, circa 1943. (Slocan Valley Historical Society 2013-01-0937)

Just as Bill’s placement of trails, bridges and cabins was strategic, so too was the way he hauled his supplies. He used a relay system to move hundreds of pounds of goods from the outside world to Hoder Creek. He would pack one for a few miles and then turn back for another, essentially leapfrogging the supplies all the way home.

Bill augmented his subsistence by fishing in Upper and Lower Little Slocan Lakes. He crafted rudimentary boats by hollowing out cedar logs. Anderson, whose family had homesteaded along Upper Little Slocan Lake (or Beaver Lake to locals), recalled that his family would note that when Bill was on the water, it was time to follow suit: “We came to know that when Drinnan went fishing the kokanee were biting.” Gene Hird also observed that Bill had a “fishing pole with a hook at nearly every big fishing hole” along his traplines. He would pull char from the plentiful creeks and preserve it in salt in a wooden pickle barrel.

The Anderson family came to trust Bill’s judgment. He had warned Irv’s father not to build his ranch house where he did, noting that it was in a slide path. The Andersons ignored his advice; sure enough, a slide came down, thankfully missing the structure and anyone in it.

Only a few accounts exist of people who met Drinnan. Everyone agreed he had a fearsome reputation as someone who would not tolerate trespassers or visitors. Perhaps his fierce independence, solitary existence and tendency to avoid others fueled the fantasy, along with his long-barreled rifle.

Slocan historian Innes Cooper acknowledged the mythos surrounding Bill but asserted that many of the “stories told about him seem to be unfounded.” For instance, some claimed he would have nothing to do with women, but Bill was known to have visited his neighbour, Mrs. Hall.

Those who crossed paths with Bill help to further separate the man from the myth. Gene Hird recollected stumbling upon Bill’s cabin and seeing the man emerge backwards from the dwelling. Upon shouting “hello,” Hird was astonished to see Bill jump “six feet in the air” and spin around to point his rifle squarely at the young man. “Talk about a quick draw artist … I didn’t have a chance to move a muscle before I was staring into a gun barrel.” Bill greeted Hird politely, saying “sorry son, you startled me.” He told him he had been resting after hauling his year’s worth of supplies in from Slocan. He then quickly bid farewell, saying he “had an appointment with a bear” before darting through the bush, cougar-quiet.

Despite their agreeable meeting, Hird continued to be wary of the man. He and his trapping partner John Avis once unknowingly ventured onto Bill’s trapline up Hoder Creek. Realizing their mistake and “fearing for their lives,” they rushed down the dark mountain through thick brush so as not to be spotted. Days later, Hird saw Bill at the Vallican post office and nervously admitted that he and his partner had strayed onto his line. Bill replied that he knew — he had followed their tracks looking for signs of poaching, his rifle slung across his back.

Irv Anderson was similarly cautious of Bill but was unable to avoid him on the shore of Beaver Lake one day. Bill replied to Anderson’s greeting politely. He went on to regale Anderson with two tales of daring do: one instance saw him come into close contact with a pack of wolves that had killed a deer near the lake. He recounted seeing “several pairs of eyes in the beam from [his] lamp.” Another misadventure saw Bill slip off the icy log he used as a bridge across Hoder Creek. He was carried several hundred feet down the creek before pulling himself out of the frigid, tumultuous water.

Bill also admitted to nearly being killed by a grizzly. Ultimately, man won over animal when Bill slayed the bear. To preserve the carcass from flies, Bill coated it with 14 pounds of pepper procured from the Winlaw store.

Gene Hird Jr. recalls his grandfather telling him about the time Bill discovered his traps had been “meddled with by the Burns logging crews.” Bill showed up at the camp just as the men were gathered in the cook house eating supper. He told them why he was there and said “if it happens again ...” and patted his rifle in emphasis. He then slipped off into the darkness.

It is through these first-person accounts that we can imagine Bill. We must, as no photos are known to exist of him. He was described as tall, around six-foot-three in his youth, but hard work and age stooped him over in later years. Bill possessed wide-set piercing blue eyes and sported a handle-bar mustache. A worn felt hat covered grey hair that fell to his shoulders. His voice was “soft and melodious.” He was spry with a lynx-like stride and said to walk fast and far (up to six miles per hour). 

Gene Hird remembers once coming across Bill laying near the road up Mulvey, his “two big feet sticking out" out onto the road . He was plucking saskatoon berries from surrounding bushes, “having a rest and a feed at the same time.”

Photos of his brothers may also offer further clues as to Bill’s appearance.

Bill Drinnan’s brothers: top row, Robert (Presbyterian minister) and John Keith (merchant, rancher, teacher); bottom row, Angus (doctor), Daniel (occupation unknown). (Images courtesy of Ancestry.com) 

The last time Irv Anderson encountered Bill he got to see the old man up close. It was February 4, 1940. The 18-year-old Anderson was bound for Varneyville at the south end of the Lower Little Slocan Lake when his father suggested he check in on Old Bill. (Varneyville was the ranch belonging to Irv’s relatives.) 

The Anderson family had not seen smoke hovering over his cabin all through January. Irv trudged through the deep, heavy snow on his snowshoes to Hoder Creek. When he arrived at the cabin, the only tracks were those of coyotes and rabbits. Irv knocked at the cedar-bark door, realizing that Bill was inside as the door had been secured from within.

When Bill didn’t answer, Irv peered through the window and eventually made out a “form under the rags on the crude bunk” in the dim interior. Irv briefly pondered what to do, not knowing if Bill was merely resting, ill, or worse. He pulled on the door; the twine fastener snapped. Irv stepped into the dark cabin to see litter on the floor and boxes covered in dust. The dead quiet was shattered by the scurry-rattle-thump of a packrat overhead.

Irv struck a match to shed light on the surroundings. This is what he saw:

I found myself right at the head of the bunk and the feeble light revealed a wisp of iron-grey hair protruding from under the edge of an old sack! The match burned my fingers so I scratched another. I gingerly lifted a corner of the rags. The old man was laying on his right side, knees drawn up, head on arm. He appeared to be fully clothed. His sunken eye sockets were full of dust and cobwebs and his skin looked brown and tight. I touched his cheek and it felt like cold leather.

Irv hastily fled the scene and travelled to the Varneys, where he asked his cousins Chuck and Roy to accompany him to Vallican. Once there, they called the BC Provincial Police to report Bill’s passing. Irv recounted not sleeping much that night, disturbed by his experience.

The next day a police constable and the game warden met the youth to hike to Bill’s. Once there, the warden suggested they bury the body under the floorboards of the cabin rather than make the long trek to Nelson. The constable pointed out that would be illegal; further, a coroner’s inquest would have to be held to determine the cause of death.

The resourceful lot made a toboggan out of skis on which they pulled the corpse to Varneyville. From there, they transported their cargo by horse to Vallican, where they then piled into a one-ton truck. Irv well remembered that trip, saying “Roy sat in the warm cab, but Chuck and I huddled in the open back with no place to sit except on Old Bill.”

Having discovered the body, Irv had to testify at the inquest. The coroner determined that Bill had been dead for at least two months given the perfect preservation of his frozen corpse. We do not know the exact cause of death but it was listed as "natural causes." However, a theory arose regarding Bill’s demise: he had probably come in from the trapline and being tired, removed his boots and crawled into bed. Perhaps he had frozen to death or succumbed to a heart attack. Possibly he was just bone-weary and never woke up.

The police dispatched Irv and his cousins to gather up Bill’s valuables. The boys noted that the old man had lived a sparse existence, his only possessions of worth being his Winchester rifle and a pair of binoculars. Also on hand were a hammer, a plane and handsaw, all the tools he needed to eke out a living in the backcountry. He had 15 pounds of tea, 50 pounds of beans, a slab of spoiled bacon and a sack of sugar. This latter item sat near Bill’s bunk; it was known that he would often eat sugar as a restorative. A coat pocket offered up only $4. Despite rumours that he was wealthy, his bank book showed a balance of $400, approximately $7,800 in today’s money. Receipts from his fur sales led fellow trappers to surmise that he only made enough money to get by.

Perhaps the most valuable items in Bill’s cabin might have been ephemeral, were it not for the diligence of Anderson and the Varney brothers. While cleaning out the hermitage, they found several letters, thick with dust, on a shelf above his bed. The letters were written to Bill by his mother, his siblings, and his niece Ella. The letters from his mother were bound together with a blue ribbon.

Anderson and his cousins read the documents before handing them over to the police to deliver to Bill’s family. Their curiosity turned out to be a blessing as Anderson recorded much of the letters’ contents.

Most of that time-worn correspondence did find its way to Bill’s survivors, who have cherished it for nearly 100 years. The letters offer a cursory glimpse into Bill’s life and his relationship to his family. They also tell us that Bill kept in contact with his family via mail.

Some of the letters were from the brother who seemingly betrayed him. In a 1911 letter, James referenced a $1,300 loan Bill had enquired about. It’s not known what the loan was for; however, James wrote that if Bill needed the money to invest in property, he should sell his homestead in southeastern Saskatchewan. He even offered to purchase the property but added that he “would much rather [Bill] come back and work it” himself. James signed the letter “your affectionate brother.”

We do not know if Bill ever got that loan, but we do know the fate of his prairie homestead. In 1912, James followed up with a letter containing papers to transfer Bill’s land to their mother. He signs off by asking Bill when he would be coming for a visit, as “Mother longs very much to see you again and we cannot help to have her with us much longer.”

Irv Anderson clearly recalled the letters written by Bill’s mother:

Up until she died Bill’s mother corresponded regularly with [him]. She spoke of his brothers – a missionary, a merchant and a farmer. One of these letters told the plans of the merchant and the farmer (James) who were planning a visit to him. She entreated him to respect their arrival, for although the way of the transgressor is hard, God in His Judgment is just.

Bill's mother, Isabella Drinnan. (Photo courtesy of Ancestry.com)

Undoubtedly Mother Drinnan was referring to James’ marriage to Maggie. The brothers did make that trip, which Slocan Valley farmer Harold Avis described:  

One day this old fella’s brother from Ontario shows up and hires one of the young boys in the neighboring family to guide him up to his brother’s place. There was a small stream just before the cabin which had a couple of logs across for a bridge. Just as they got to the bridge, a gun barrel pokes out of a hole in the wall and someone says “Don’t you move a step farther, you put a foot on that bridge and I’m going to shoot ya.” ... So his brother says “Well, come on out and talk, let bygones be bygones, I want to make up to you.” But the old fella wouldn’t make up and they left. Now just two or three days later, they found that old fella dead of natural causes in his cabin.

As tragic as that story is, the latter part is not correct; Bill would live on for several more years. Nevertheless, we do know that two of his brothers tried to visit him, for their mother referenced the reunion in a letter to Bill. She expressed “sorrow at the reception he had given them but hoped that the bitterness would someday leave his heart.” She concluded her letter by expressing her wish to see him one more time and couldn’t he come to visit her?

Mother Drinnan’s wishes went ungranted. She died in January 1913, without having seen her son one last time.

A year later, James wrote Bill to say he would be sending him some of their parents’ things: Father’s old revolver and underclothes, as well as Mother’s album. Neither a revolver nor an album was found in Bill’s cabin after his death, so one wonders if the items never arrived or if Bill disposed of them.

Perhaps the most fascinating of the letters were from Bill’s niece Ella, the daughter of James and Maggie. In 1918, 12-year-old Ella wrote to Bill saying “are you not meaning to write or are you waiting … for us to write. You will think it funny for me to write when I never saw you. From your affectionate niece, Miss Ella Drinnon” (followed by several x’s).

We can only speculate what Bill’s initial reaction would have been to receive a letter from the child born of James and Maggie. He corresponded with Ella for several years. She wrote of her parents, farm life and her career as a teacher. She constantly enquired about her uncle’s trapping endeavors.

In 1929, Ella again implored her uncle to visit, writing “I don’t see why you do not take a trip down and see us.” This was a common refrain – Ella wanted her uncle Bill to visit and could not see why he would not do so. One cannot help but wonder if Ella knew of her uncle’s heartbreak and that her parents were the cause of it.

Anderson pointed to another recurring theme in Ella’s letters, stating “we could not help noticing that her mother always wishes to be remembered!”

In fact, Bill received a letter from Maggie, his former love, in 1928, three years after the death of James. She refers to Bill as “Brother” and apologizes for taking so long to respond to his letter. We don’t know what Bill wrote to her, but she refers to James’ death and speaks about her family’s financial struggles. She also shares that “Ella always says she has seen all her uncles, but Uncle William and she wants to see him too.”

The letters that Maggie sent to Bill during their engagement were not found among his things so we can assume that Bill destroyed those.

On February 8, 1940, four days after Bill was found, the Nelson Daily News ran the headline “Body of W. Drinnan, Aged Trapper, Conveyed Down Mountain Upon Skis.” The article mistakenly gave Bill’s age as 85 instead of 80.

Clippings from the Nelson Daily News, February 1940

Bill was laid to rest in the Nelson cemetery two days later. Reverend A.J. Donnell officiated. Pallbearers were Bruno Bourgeois (taxi driver in Nelson), Claude Hooker (machinist and miner), Gordon Ferguson (bus driver), Edgar Jamieson (civil engineer), and Thomas Edgar (rancher and postmaster in Vallican). Bill would have known Edgar from the post office, and it is possible that he rode Ferguson’s bus to Nelson. We don’t know why the other men were chosen as pallbearers. The attendees sang the hymn “O Love That Will Not Let Me Go.”

Fifteen years after Bill’s passing, the Nelson Daily News published an ad that read: “Notice to Creditors In the Estate of William Drinnan Late of the Postal District of Passmore in the Province of British Columbia: Trapper Deceased.”

The notice was placed by the Canada Permanent Trust Company in Saskatchewan and was seeking claimants who may have had an interest in Bill’s estate. Why the notice ran a full 15 years after Bill’s death is not known. In a letter to a Drinnan family friend in 1983, Gene Hird said that Thelma Wilford, a former resident of Varneyville, speculated that Bill would have left his money to his “favourite” niece, Ella. We do not know if that was the case.

Nelson Daily News, Dec. 13, 1955

In 1953, the BC Gazetteer identified one of the lakes in Valhalla as “Drinnon.” The name was officially adopted in 1961. In 1976, a mountain peak took on the name as well based on a recommendation from Pat Ridge of the Kootenay Mountaineering Club. In 1986, the Geographical Names Board of Canada finally changed the names to Drinnan to capture the correct spelling. However, even today, Bill’s surname continues to be misspelled by many.

Drinnan Peak (Wikipedia photo)

Bill’s Dome, an unofficial name, on Drinnan Peak. The red line indicates the climbing route taken by mountaineer David Lussier and friend. (David Lussier photo)

Drinnan Lake (Jim Drinnan photo)

Bill’s story, in part, was captured in the memoirs of Irv Anderson and Gene Hird and in books written by Patricia Barnes and Innes Cooper. Other than these recollections, a few newspaper notices, three photos of his cabins, and a cup retrieved from his cabin by Irv, little physical evidence exists of Bill.

Also lost was Bill’s home, which Anderson and Hird lamented. Hird wrote: “Bill’s empire has been logged off, completely ruined. The loggers even built a bridge near the beautiful cabin and bulldozed it flat and built the truckroad over it. It should have been preserved as a relic and park.”

Bill has not been lost to the dusty archives of history. He lives on in Valhalla. In 2014, Bill’s great-grandnephew Jim, the grandson of James and Maggie, made a pilgrimage to the Slocan from Alberta. Jim grew up hearing Bill’s story from his father.

Jim, his wife, his sister Linda, his cousin Janis (daughter of Ella) and Janis’ daughter Megan visited the mountains where Bill trod. Bill’s family honoured him by hiking to the lake named after him, drawing water from the alpine body.

They later placed a headstone on his previously unmarked grave in the Nelson cemetery that fittingly reads: “Not forgotten.”

Jim Drinnan at Drinnan Lake in 2013 with his wife Cathy (middle) and sister Linda (right). (Courtesy Jim Drinnan)

Jim Drinnan beside his great uncle Bill’s headstone in the Nelson cemetery, 2014. (Greg Nesteroff photo)

Source materials:

Daylight in the Swamp, Irvin Anderson, 1992

Gene Hird Prospector, Innes Cooper, 1992

The Valhalla Mountains, Innes Cooper, 1996

Slocan Legacy: Pioneer Stories of the Silvery Slocan, Patricia Ray-Barnes, 2013

Letters to Bill Dooley from Eugene Hird, held by Slocan Valley Historical Society

Nelson Daily News

Special thanks to Dave Fredrickson for the maps; Gene Hird Jr. for his remembrances; Jim Drinnan for sharing his family stories; David Lussier for the photo of Bill’s Dome; Fannie Anderson for keeping a diary; Aline Anderson Winje for photos and support; Eric Winje for the lesson on rifles; Innes Cooper, Gene Hird Sr., and Patricia Ray-Barnes for recording these stories before they were lost to history; and Greg Nesteroff for his urging me to write this story. Thanks most of all to my Grandpa Irv Anderson, who always delighted me with his stories and encouraged me to write. This one’s for you, Grandpa.