INDIAN LEGEND OF CATFISH BAR
The Northwest is particularly rich in legendary lore of the white man’s predecessor and therefore it is not extraordinary in the least to find a mystic Indian legend enveloping, like a mantle, the surrounding hills and waters of Afton, including the Wisconsin shores.
It was an old established custom among the Chippewas and Sioux that when defeated in battle, the survivors were not to partake of any food, particularly fish, as a measure of self-inflicted discipline or abasement, until their return to the tribal village.
At one time, so runs the legend, the Chippewas went on the warpath against the Sioux and engaged them in a skirmish, on the present site of Red Wing. The battle proved disastrous to the Chippewas–all but two being massacred. Sadly these two surviving warriors wended their way northward, despondent and broken-hearted over their defeat.
Before their eyes rose the picture of grief and wailing that would be their reception when they reached their village, and told the news of their tragic defeat. No more would these departed warriors, now resting in the arms of the Great Spirit, taste the pleasure of the chase or enjoy the thrills of the war path and never again would they sit in the council of the wise hearkening to their elders, old in years and in wisdom.
Famished and fatigued they reached the eastern shores of Lake St. Croix, after many weary hours of travel over hills and streams without food or rest. Here they paused for a brief rest. “Brother,” cried Hard-Heart, “my body is hungering for food. I must eat or I perish.” “But,” expostulated Light-Foot, “we will incur the wrath of the Great Spirit if we transgress this law. Remember our sacred traditions.” Just then they espied a raccoon up in a tree with a fish in its mouth. “Ah!” exclaimed Hard-Heart, “here is an answer to my desires, and since you do not wish to eat, I will.” “Beware, Brother, it is but a temptation placed there by the Evil One,” warned Light-Foot.
But Hard-Heart was deaf to the other’s warnings. He retrieved the fish, and gathered twigs for a fire to prepare the forbidden repast. Light-Foot firmly refused to eat and only reluctantly agreed to carry water to the thirsting Hard-Heart, while he ate.
Finally, overcome by exhaustion, Light-Foot fell asleep, and when he awoke the following morning, he found to his consternation his comrade-in-arms had turned into a huge catfish.
Mercifully, the waters of Lake St. Croix gradually spread a coverlet of sand over the metamorphosed warrior, shielding him forever from the gaze of man, thus forming what is known as Catfish Bar. And sometimes at early dawn or at twilight of a summer’s day, a wraith-like mist may be seen hovering over the Bar. This is the restless spirit of the departed brave again visiting the scene of his transgression.
