The hope when a lone loon’s call echoes across the lake and the joy when another answers.

The sense of power in the wingbeats of an eagle.

That super creepy feeling of a leech latched to a defenseless toe; even if it was Kent’s toe not mine.

A true sense of “in the moment” as the paddle enters the water and the canoe slides silently across the water.

A special oneness with nature found only when using an open air pit toilet.

Halfway back a portage, the full weight of gear on your back, mosquitoes buzzing everywhere, picking your way along a rock strewn muddy trail; the fleeting thought, “Am I too old for this?”.

A near continuous sense of awe at the wonder of this place.

The taste of just picked blueberries and raspberries discovered alongside the portage trail.

That first sip of coffee

Dark chocolate Hershey’s pudding for dessert.

The sound of air whistling through the feathers of a loon passing overhead.

A roar that is a dragonfly in flight.

The crash of a mighty tree falling.

The crack of a beaver tail against the mirror still lake and its echo against the shores.

The soft yipping of beaver as they feed together among the lily pads.

The boom of thunder and its long lasting echoes rolling back and forth across the lake.

That tight  knot feeling in the lower back after a couple hours of paddling and a rocky, root tangled portage or two…then the feeling of arching that back across a just right sun-warned rock.

The insane itching of what feels like a thousand mosquito bites.

The soothing feel of warm soapy water after a week on the trail.

The clear clean smell of pine.

The sulfur smell of the muck at reedy portages.

Campfire smoke.

The first glimpse of the shimmering surface of the next lake at the end of a hard portage.

A full moon reflected in the lake.

Cow and calf moose tracks along the portage.

The flash of bright white plumage of a loon on the water.

The view from the throne (privy set back a long winding trail out in the underbrush)