Tuesday, June 24, 2025 I wake early on my penultimate day. The morning is cool and chilly, with a slight breeze, and I grab my jacket as I exit the tent. I get my stove going and start boiling my water. My goal for the day is lake trout tacos for breakfast. I paddle around for three hours without a fish or a bite. I decide to head back to camp for breakfast. I eat my dehydrated eggs with my instant steel-cut oats, along with another cup of coffee. Even though I haven't caught a fish, the morning is nearly perfect: slight breeze, cool morning, birds singing, and a cloudless sky. My trout taco breakfast will have to turn into lunch—I hope! I catch a small laker and I'm hesitant to release it, but it's too small, so back to the depths. Forty-five minutes later, I'm ready to have a troutless lunch, but as I'm paddling to where I'm having lunch, my rod begins to bend, and I'm on another laker. Reeling in a laker, no matter what the size, is always stressful. Lots of times they feel like dead weight until they are 10–20 feet from the surface—then the true fight is on. This is where most people lose their fish. With my heart racing, I reel in, and with my rod in my right hand, I grab my net with my left hand and struggle to land the fish. This is where a partner comes in handy. It takes a few runs, but eventually I'm able to land a 17-inch lake trout—a perfect size for my lunch. I make it to shore and fillet the trout. Along with the trout, I have instant guacamole, brown rice with Mexican seasoning, and tortillas. I take my first bite, and I'm in heaven. I look out across Oyster Lake and think, "What a perfect day." My trip is complete! I head back on the water to do some more fishing, but I don't catch anything else for the remainder of the day. By 4:30, I take a break and doze off for a few minutes. As I float between consciousness and dreaming, random memories of my sister enter my thoughts. I never thought my older brother and older sister would be gone. I enjoy paddling in the evening after dinner and fish until sunset. This is a great time to see wildlife, especially deer, moose, and beavers, but tonight, my last night, I am content to sit by the fire. The sun has gone down below the tree line, and I can feel the evening starting to cool down. I can smell the earth, the trees, and the woods cooling down. Doing a solo trip means doing everything by yourself: paddling, portaging, eating, setting up, and taking down. But there is also a mental aspect to soloing. Can you spend time alone? Can you be at peace with your thoughts? I have had several trips where being alone almost caused me to leave early. That feeling can settle in your gut, and it's nearly impossible to shake it sometimes.