2 parts hydrogen, 1 part oxygen

I was born and raised in the great state of Michigan, the "Great Lakes State", where we collectively scoff at the 10,000 lakes of Minnesota. I grew up with a lake in my backyard and spent a lot of my free time in and around the water. My Dad and I would put in the dock* sometime in May and take it out in October. My brother and I would use the dock to launch canoes, rowboats, experimental craft* , and ourselves into the lake. We had a few uninhabited, by people anyway, islands behind our house that had good swimming beaches and lots of interesting things to explore. Many of our childhood pets were captured on and around those islands (sorry PETA). In the winter we were out on the lake playing hockey and sabotaging snowmobile trails and ice fishing shanties (sorry, but you never should have dug those holes in our rink). As I grew up, so did my connection to the water. In college I studied the ecology, biology, and politics of water (Go Blue!), I work in a water profession, and my wife and I base many of our travels on visiting different bodies of water, intentionally or not. One of our favorite "water" places is Isle Royale, an archipelago in Lake Superior.

For some reason, this time of the year always reminds me of the two spectacular kayaking trips we’ve taken to Isle Royale. I know a vacation that involves taking a 6 hour boat ride (pier to pier) to a remote island in Lake Superior, wilderness camping, paddling in really, really cold water (dock to dock), and portaging a 90 pound kayak up and down steep, rocky hills doesn’t sound like a lot of fun to most people, but to me it’s Xanadu. There is nothing in the world like getting up at the first signs of dawn so that you can get on the water before the big lake gets churned up by the afternoon sun and winds. The colors are magnificent and the air is crisp. The air tastes fresh during the morning on Superior, like it was changed out during the previous night. We break down the camp, eat some breakfast, load up the boats, and head to the next camp. The scrape of the plastic hull on the granite lake bottom as we shove away from camp is quickly followed by the sound of our paddles as we regain our balance and begin to put some water under our rudders. We’ve paddled with swimming moose and diving loons, wildlife viewing seems easier from the water, almost as if the animals aren’t expecting to see you, so their defenses are down. We usually spend 8 days on the island, and, for me, it’s more refreshing than a beach resort, golfing trip, etc. We haven’t been back since June in 2003, but we are planning on a trip in 2006. Maybe that’s why I find myself thinking of IR, it’s time to start planning for next year.

* Dock v. Pier – there is some discrepancy regarding the difference between these two words, especially if you’re from Indiana. As a self-proclaimed expert I can assure you that a dock is the backyard sized version of a pier. In order to refer to a dock as a pier, the structure must be able to moor a boat of substantial size; I’ll say somewhere north of 60 feet. A ship of this size can dock at a pier, but not at a dock.

* When I was around 10 my Dad came home from work with an amazing boat called a Whirlytub. The Whirlytub consisted of a yellow fiberglass "tub" that sat inside of the innertube for a large truck tire. It was probably 3’ across and could comfortably sit 3 kids or an adult and a kid. One side of the tub had a bench seat and a small trolling motor provided the power. The motor was located on the inside of the tube, which served two purposes; first, it allowed the tube to make awesome donuts. Second, the motor and propeller were protected if you had to use the Whirlytub to ram into other watercraft in the area, most notably those pansy ass paddleboats. The Whirlytub was great until one night my Dad and one of his friends decided to take it out on some sort of mission that also involved a 12 pack of Strohs. The Whirlytub began to take on water and list seriously on the far side of one of the islands. Although, my Dad and his friend returned unscathed, the Whirlytub was never the same again. The Strohs were not as lucky; all we ever found were the empties.