Afterword
As hard as I try to ease the transition, it’s difficult to accept that our trip is over, and in just a couple of days I’ll be back at work, surrounded by technology, distraction, and throngs of people. Paddling out on Sag this morning, the air was crisp, cool, and thick with the glorious scent of balsam. I inhaled as deeply as possible, countless times, thinking I could somehow seal off the sights, smells, and sounds of our trip into a hidden corner of my soul, where I could visit anytime, stay as long as I wished, and always feel at peace, enchanted by beauty, and connected to my son. Some elements of this experience will remain, indelibly etched into our minds, forever captured in our photos. But most of it will pass into the ether.

Andrew is on the precipice of untold challenge, adventure, and growth in his life. While I have no earthly idea how he will react to all the changes that lie ahead for him, I am infinitely grateful that we have taken these sojourns into the wilderness together. While I eagerly anticipate introducing his next younger brother to the park next year, as well as a shorter trip with Andrew, it’s uncertain when he and I will both have the time to take a trip as long as this year’s was. I want to maximize every single moment with him, but I know that so much of that process is out of my hands as he spreads his wings over the coming years. The Boundary Waters has provided us a means of pursuing not just moments, but uninterrupted days together for adventure, challenge, and connection. Even if this is the last trip we’ve ever taken together, I can confidently say that these trips have altered the trajectory of our relationship for a lifetime.

Many who sojourn in canoe country talk about how it takes a few days for their mind to feel settled in “wilderness time,” to appreciate each moment and place, whatever it brings, without concern and worry about their affairs outside the wilderness. For me, the whole trip changed when I realized I didn’t have to cling so tightly to each moment up here, squeezing all the life out of it, trying to make it perfect, but only needed to let the wilderness work its magic, as it has for decades for countless fathers and sons. In the same vein, letting go is a vital, healthy part of our father/son relationship. Andrew’s growth from a boy to a young man is wonderful, and sometimes frightening, but it is only a changing of our relationship…not an ending. Savoring moments together, but then releasing them with a grateful heart and a hopeful eye to what lies ahead gives him space to grow, learn and change…and subsequently deepen our understanding of each other as he grows up and I grow old.

While Andrew’s dinky Smallmouth caught off the Sag campsite was the final fish of the trip, the last fish caught on Ashdick felt mystical, an ethereal word from our Heavenly Father on the beauty of letting go as our trip drew to a close. As we approached our campsite at the end of our fishing session, Andrew’s rod doubled over and the stillness of that perfect evening was pierced by the sounds every Boundary Waters fisherman lives to hear. His drag screamed as the Northern peeled off a long initial run. I tossed the anchor bag overboard with a kerplunk, banged the net against a thwart as I hurriedly snatched it from the bottom of the canoe, and chuckled aloud at Andrew’s fishing success. Before long, I netted the Pike, measured it, and handed it up to Andrew for a photo. Measuring a skinny 29”, it wasn’t the best fish we’d caught, but we made sure to take the time to appreciate it nonetheless, knowing that another year would have to pass before we would be back to catch a Pike. After the photo, he gently released it into the water, where it calmly Iingered, suspended next to our canoe for several long seconds. Having left Knife, we were in the process of a long, slow goodbye to our favorite place in the world, the Boundary Waters. And now it felt like this, my favorite game fish and favorite animal of the north, was saying goodbye to us as it hung there, slowly waving its tail. A long moment later, it angled its body downward, propelled itself toward the depths with three languid waves of its tail, and was gone.