My blade sliced through the water, each rhythmic stroke marked by a distinctive splash. I reached forward and continued, in a trance, flawlessly executing each precise motion. As the paddle strokes blended into each other, the incessant sounds of the water against the canoe’s hull died, consumed by the violent roaring of waves crashing against themselves. As we got closer, the crashing of the rushing water filled my ears, and the fine mist expelled from the roaring current speckled my face and filled my lungs. As we approached, I could feel the canoe surging forward as I continued to paddle, guiding it down the river. As the current sped up, so did the canoe, until before I knew it, we were traveling at tremendous speed. The hull cut through the water, oblivious to what was coming. The horizon suddenly disappeared and was replaced with a scene of jagged rocks and rushing water, cutting and churning violently, smashing against the rocks, and spraying water. Surveying the threatening obstacle in front of us, my canoe partner, Billy, and I decided to pull up to the shore and wait for our counselors. Even on my first canoe trip, I knew the signs of a waterfall when I saw it.

***

I spent a restless night trying to get sleep before the big day. I was going to camp for the first time. I bolted awake when I heard my alarm, eager for the day to come. I quickly pulled on my clothes, bolted down the stairs, and scarfed down my breakfast. I gripped the handles of the bulging bags I had packed the day before, full of clothes, books, and all the camp necessities. I put on my shoes, opened the door, and hauled my bags to the car, barely keeping them from dragging along the ground.

The car ride was mind-numbing, with the constant rumble of the engine filling my senses as the city slowly turned into forest. The pristine, smooth concrete road changed to a bumpy and unpredictable dirt path. As we sped down the road, kicking up plumes of dust, the camp sign slowly came into view, giant wooden letters spelling out WANAPITEI.

Thoughts of spending weeks away from home with random strangers filled my mind with doubt. Would I even be able to do this? What would happen without my parents? My palms were sweaty as I dragged my bags to the cabin. My knees felt weak with every step, my arms growing heavy under the weight. My feet sunk into the moist grass, enveloping my shoes in dew and stray blades of grass. The cabin, a large barn-like structure, had a looming presence. The door creaked open, and I dropped my bags onto the floor, a cloud of dust rising into the air.

The counselors entered our cabin and gave us two choices for trips. We could either take the easier Yodeler Trip or the harder one with the infamous Barn Portage, along with technical rapids. Overconfident twelve-year-olds that we were, we chose the harder Barn trip without realizing what we had signed up for.

The rest of our day went on as normal, participating in camp activities: playing on an ancient, crumbling playground, having fun on the dock, or playing cards in the cabin.

Before I knew it, the day before our big trip arrived. The counselors came into the cabin and told us to pack only the essentials, giving us a packing list. I spent thirty minutes wrestling with my dry bag, trying to fit the last of my clothes before triumphantly sealing it, gleaming with relief.

My entire cabin was then provided with paddles (mine being a pristine new one), bags, and life jackets. We marched across the warm grassy field, the sunlight blinding us and the sound of cicadas filling the air with a constant rhythmic clicking whine. Soon, the docks came into sight, holding four massive green canoes with PATHFINDER plastered across the sides. The counselors led us down to the canoes. This was the moment we had all been waiting for. I lowered my bags into the canoe, and they slammed into the bottom, rocking it as ripples shattered the tranquility of the lake. After that, I carefully stepped in, stabilizing the vessel.

We set off. Our canoe sliced through the water as we paddled, each stroke propelling us forward as the sun shone upon us, warming my skin and creating a blinding glare off the surface. The water stretched endlessly, with a blue expanse. Gazing towards the shore, tall evergreens dotted the landscape, jagged cliffs breaking through and jutting out of the ground, their reflections on the water creating an inverted world disconnected from our own. The air was moist as it filled my lungs with the deep scent of pine, diluted by the earthy aroma of the lake.

Days passed in a blur of paddling and setting up camp. With only two days left on our trip, we took on our first rapid. I woke up that morning to the tent walls feeling damp and cold against the crisp morning air. I scrambled for my belongings: a small pillow, my sleeping bag, a mesh bag filled with snacks, my camera, and a toothbrush.

By midday, we reached the rapids. The rhythmic slaps of my paddle slicing through the water had become second nature. Billy and I had been paddling ahead of our group when we hit the rapids, the peaceful rhythm shattered. The thunder of rushing water blasted in my ears. And even though this was my first canoe trip, I knew this was not the time to be on our own.

With a precise stroke of my paddle, I guided the canoe to the shore so we could wait for our counselors. We maneuvered the front of the canoe against the flow of the river, making the water rise in waves against the side of the hull. As our canoe turned, so did our luck. We began to gain speed and were pushed towards the rapids in front of us. As this realization dawned on me, the canoe bucked forward, no longer under our control. The sound of a rock against plastic reverberated throughout the hull. A boulder had crashed into the hull, throwing us off course. I felt the canoe warp and bend around the rock. As panic set in, I realized that we had turned backward, picking up speed as we approached a maze of rocks. We spun wildly. My heart pounded. I yelled to Billy, bracing myself, paddling frantically. We went on our knees, preparing to ride out the rock-filled rapids. The control was in Billy’s hands now. I paddled as hard as I could backward. We hit rock after rock. Every impact sent shockwaves through the canoe, sending us lurching from side to side as we continued to desperately paddle. Billy managed to turn the canoe around, but as soon as control was back in my hands, and before we had time to catch our breath, we came face to face with our greatest fear: a three-foot waterfall, with jagged rocks on either side of the drop-off. No room for error.

I calmed my mind, pushing out all other thoughts, focusing only on what I had to do to keep the canoe from flipping. As we approached the waterfall, Billy and I paddled as hard as we could, splashing wave after wave of water into our canoe, as I scanned the river for rocks, avoiding them by inches. Our speed continued to increase, the distance to the drop shortened with every second, and then, we dropped. A surreal moment of weightlessness. Suspended in the air for an instant, the world silent except for the muffled thunder of the churning water below. Then I felt the canoe in free fall.  We braced for impact as the water flew toward us, and the canoe plunged in, the nose cutting under the water’s surface and flooding the canoe with water. As we passed the waterfall, the nose slowly rose, and Billy and I were drenched below the waist. We battled for balance in the canoe, fighting to keep it from tipping with all the extra water inside, until finally, after what seemed like an eternity, we brought it to shore. We had done it.

That night, as I lay in my sleeping bag, I thought back to my first day of camp when I was full of doubts and worries. I never could have imagined myself here. The sound of rustling trees filled my tent. I grinned to myself. I had come here unsure if I was ready. But now, I knew I was.