My drive to Algonquin Park lasted longer than expected. After running into traffic and

making a few wrong turns along the way, we got there late in the afternoon. My dad paid

the fees at the front gate and receded to drive the remaining kilometers into the park.

We eventually found a way to the canoe launch and got out of the van, stretching our legs.

My dad and Uncle Steve were looking over the maps, which appeared to have been hand-drawn

by park rangers and were encased in clear plastic. I watched as they traced the route we

would be travelling. They both agreed that it shouldn't be too complicated to make

it to the campground, despite the fact that we've been delayed getting there.

A little bit late in the day to start a portage intro, said a park ranger to my dad as

we were packing the last of our camping supplies into the canoes. We immediately met some

friends who were out there waiting for us. They've already set up camp, so we've just

got to make it to the island. Well, be careful, once it gets dark in Algonquin Park, it becomes

a whole different world. You folks be safe now. Thanks, we will.

My dad had lectured us the whole way there in a similar fashion, and I couldn't help

but grin to hear and get a taste of his own medicine. Apparently there were people who

got lost in the park every year, never to be seen again. There were bears and wolves,

coyotes and other animals in the wilderness, and we would be guests in their domain.

I climbed into the front of one boat, and my uncle took a seat in the back. My brother

was in the other canoes, and my dad climbed in orderly, nearly tipping over in the process.

The water was crystal clear and pristine. I could see minnow swimming in the shallows,

frogs and tadpoles. I took a deep breath in and joined the crisp fresh air of the northern

outdoors, and admired a great blue heron that was resting in the shade nearby.

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