With a gentle, thump, we place the canoe from the rocky shore into the lake. We are on day six of our eight day journey, and the routine is really setting in. I want to take a real shower, not a lake shower. I want to sleep on a mattress. I want to eat food not cooked over a fire. I want to use a toilet. I feel tired and worn down as I lug a large Duluth pack from up near our campsite down to the canoes. One of my campers holds the canoe as I try to strategically place the pack in it. Ungracefully, I end up just plopping it in as best I can. I've given up on trying to make things perfect.
That's the thing about being on trail. People always talk about how great it is to be in nature, to really embrace the beauty of the outdoors. Of course I wholeheartedly agree that camping is one of the most fulfilling experiences a person can have. However, I always forget how tiring and challenging camping is as well. Getting from point A to point B before sundown, facing the elements with little to no real protection, making every meal over a campfire, and having to dig holes to go "number two" can become quite a drag after a few days. About halfway through almost every trip I've ever been on, (usually around eight days total,) I start to feel like I just want to go back to civilization. I feel the urge to be clean. I want to eat Dominoes pizza. I want to be able to text my pals and keep my Snapchat streaks alive.
Simultaneously, I love that about being on trail. I love realizing just how much I take for granted. I love being forced to become comfortable with the uncomfortable. I love the feeling of knowing that I am capable of building a fire and cooking my own food. I love knowing how to keep my shoes dry at night by flipping them upside down so if it rains, the water only hits the waterproof, rubber bottoms. I love the feeling of jumping into the lake after a long day of canoeing and portaging, knowing there's still work to be done but that I deserve a break.
After getting all of the packs into the canoes, we take turns getting in slowly. One person sits on the end of the canoe while the others get in slowly, careful not to offset the balance of the canoe. From there, the person sitting on the end pushes the canoe away from shore and hops into is boldly, causing it to rock dangerously. We all grasp the gunnels tightly, waiting for the canoe to stop rocking, then we laugh about it and settle in. Throughout the process, various jokes and exchanges are made between all of us. Being stuck together for six days has been the ultimate bonding experience, which is another thing I love about camping.
We set off. Although it is still early morning, perhaps around eight, the sun is powerful. Good thing we had put on layers and layers of sunscreen before leaving our campsite. The water is still and blue, reflecting the cloudless sky. Our paddles dip gently into the water, creating ripples and tornadoes as we glide across the lake. Conversation dwindles as we take in the beauty of the morning. Suddenly, everything comes into perspective. This is what matters: the nature around me, the life of everything, the colors of the trees and rocks and water, and the feeling of the sun, warm on my face and arms as we paddle, barely making a sound. The people I am with: alive and colorful in their own ways, all wonderful and unique. Unity is what I feel when I am in nature. Well, maybe unity is not the best word for it. I feel too insignificant to really feel that I fit in with the nature around me. I feel in awe, appreciative, astounded, and happy. I am a part of something amazing. And that's pretty neat(ure).
Mwahaha, see what I did there?
