One year ago I was in the final stages of planning for a 45-day canoeing expedition in the far north.  I had spent three days swimming in frigid Minnesota rivers for a Swift Water Rescue Course, three days renewing my Wilderness First Responder certification, two days of shivering through Wilderness Water Safety and several days in the buggy rain of a training trip.

Aaron—my co-leader—and I had been looking at maps for months, talking to our six participants, paddling a lot, reading logs of previous expeditions, repairing gear, menu-planning and more. We had narrowed in on a route that left from Northern Saskatchewan, moving through the Northwest Territories and Nunavut to the small Inuit Community of Baker Lake.  The route gave us a mix of lake and river travel, starting in the Boreal forest, moving through the taiga and swiftly onto the tundra, following the Dubawnt, Kunwak and Kazaan Rivers.  We knew the route had been traveled—we had the logs to prove it—but not much.  Just a handful of canoeists in all of those thousands of square miles of wilderness.  It was a quiet we were longing for.

The trip brought surprises: like finding Dubawnt lake still frozen in July.  Dragging our canoes across miles of ice in shorts and t-shirts, jumping over leads and plowing through miles of jigsaw break-up.  The trip was as amazing as we’d hoped. And that’s not saying much.  I could write a book (and maybe should) on my northern travels.

But for the first time in 15 years, I don’t have that kind of adventure before me. It’s okay. I know that’s just part of life. But I have this feeling—guttural, instinctual—that says it’s time to pack a couple changes of clothes, a journal, a book and head north.  Return to a simple life where each day is laid out before me: rise, eat, break camp, paddle, eat, paddle, eat, rest. Of course there are the amazing conversations and silences, the empty space and awesome landscapes. But the spare quality of that life carves me back to my core, reminds me what I hope to do and who I hope to be.

I can get there without the woods, but it’s a lot harder. My trips north, both as a participant and leader have been the best anniversaries. A time to sit still and remember the good story that has been my life.