The tradition, born out of a full moon, a cold November, a half-frozen lake, and a romantic Paul (thank you very much), fell a bit by the wayside as we then bought a house, got married (nice work, romantic Paul), fixed up the house and got pregnant. But now with spring rapidly approaching, we put the Sweet Sarah(that's the canoe) into the water for the first time this year. Twas an awesome voyage indeed, as me and my first mate sallied forth undaunted to the boundless depths of Wrightsville Reservoir, a vast expanse so unexplored and wild that scientists are reasonably certain that on the farside "there be dragons."
Nothing quite like the open seas to really put things in perspective.
Me first mate, me mess mate, me best mate. Plus the little lieutenant a-growing down in the brig.
The quartermaster shows off the rations for the journey, salt pork and grog. We successfully had a scurvy-free adventure, long though it was.
Celebratory hand-stand once we sailed back into port.
This is before we put in the ice-breaking canoe, with the floes mostly intact. Oh how little they knew.
And this is after we charged through - perhaps we could've taught Amundsen a thing or two. Luckily, none of the icebergs calved while we sailed betwixt them.
Being back on dry land always fills me with the joy of seeing home and hearth again. And yet, the sea - she calls me back.
Even our cat had an adventure the likes of which we haven't seen!