By Jack Skippon

I woke up to my counsellor yelling at us to get up, it was time to leave. I opened my eyes to the orange, round top of my tent, and I rolled over to look at the door that I would soon be leaving from. I got out of my sleeping bag and started to deflate my air mattress. I stuffed all of my dry clothes into my dry bag, along with my sleeping bag and air mattress. I got all of the clothes and contact lenses that I needed from my dry bag and stepped out of the tent. What had just been a campsite that was bustling with all of the people that were on my trip had turned into a quiet place with only us and one other group leaving. I walked over to my counsellor where he had been preparing the cereal that we had been eating for the past thirty-five of our thirty-six-day canoe trip called Quetico. I grabbed my food and ate half of it, but I could not finish the soggy yellow Vector cereal that was brimming with white powdered milk that I had put in. The mood of the campsite was the same mood as before an exam with everyone, including myself, very anxious about the Grand Portage that we would soon be embarking on.

I grabbed a large wooden box with straps around the side that attached to a head strap that I wrapped around and onto my head. The box is called the wanigan, and it is used for holding pots, pans, propane, and sauces. I walked through the makeshift campsite that four years earlier was made by another trip. It was hard to call the place much of a campsite where the grass was growing up to my ankles and there were so many trees that the place was dark. I walked to the Pigeon River that was around twenty meters wide and led us to the campsite. One of my cabinmates grabbed my wanigan and loaded it into the silver metallic canoe that may or may not have had a hole in it. I helped to put more stuff in the canoes and then jumped into one. We left the campsite, the last of our groups to embark on the Grand Portage. We paddled for around 3 minutes to the start of the Grand, around three hundred meters away. I jumped out of the boat and caught the canoe on the beach that was the landing to the Grand.

We brought our stuff to the sign that marked the start of the portage. It showed the fourteen-kilometer portage that connects the Pigeon River to Lake Superior. My counsellor told us about the safety risks and what we needed to look for on the path, and he started his timer. My goal for the portage was to try and get under three hours. I started off at a small run; however, my counsellors started running as fast as they could. At the start of the portage I pulled ahead of the rest of my cabinmates with a light jog. That portage started off like many other portages, but when I got what felt like around one km in, it started to get muddy. The mud was black and very slippery. I was very careful not to slip as that could hurt and would slow me down. I stepped down off a rock and got my foot stuck in the mud. I pulled as hard as I could, but it was really stuck. My cabinmate offered his hand, and I grabbed it. Together, we pulled my foot out of the mud and kept going. At points, I felt that my legs could not move and I had to will myself to put one foot in front of the other, but I thought of my goal and kept going.

We got to a long boardwalk that went over a swamp and was easy to run on. My friend and I kept motivating each other by talking to each other with words of encouragement and support. Later, at around what we thought was 7 km in, the rest of the cabin caught up with us. We got to a road that our counsellors told us to go on for a bit and then moved back on the portage. As soon as we hit the road, I tripped and fell. However, I was able to get up without the wanigan falling off my back. I wanted to stop, but the goal of running to my friends and comrades at the end pushed me on.

All of a sudden, we ran into another group and a sign that said 4 km until the end of the portage. This pushed all of us to run, knowing that the end was close, but for some reason, I kept going past my cabinmates. In pursuit of my goal, I kept running even though it was hard. I ran through a muddy area, and I kept going. But while I was running to the end, I came to a hill that was so steep it needed stairs. Each step hurt and pain shot up my legs, but I kept going. I got to the top of the hill and I felt celebratory, knowing I was getting closer. I got to a large road that had trucks rumble down it. I remembered my counsellor telling us that when we get to a road we were very close, and I started going even faster.

I turned past a corner and I saw a group of people talking with lots of canoes lying on the ground. Everyone turned to me and started to cheer and I felt joy run through me. I ran through and I saw my counsellors. They told me to not stop and run to Lake Superior, so I started to follow them. They started running, and I followed, giving everything that I had to get to the end. I looked out to see the wide expanse of water that went out as far as I could see. I put my wanigan at the start of the lake, and it hit me, I had just completed the Grand Portage. My counsellors told me that it was a tradition to jump into Superior after you are finished, so I stepped down onto a platform and jumped in.  It was the coldest water I had ever been in, but it refreshed me, and I felt immeasurable. Then I asked my counsellor what time I got and he told me two hours and fifty-five minutes. I was ecstatic as the goal that I had been pushing for had finally been achieved.

Now, whenever I am working on other projects and other things in my life, I always think back to this event. I remember whenever things feel hard, and I just would like to stop studying or slow down in a cross country race, I dig deep and keep going, because in the end, I know I will feel happy and fulfilled as I did at the end of the grand portage.