Personal Narrative About Canoeing

It was a clear, warm afternoon. Canoe Lake was calm. At least we had that going for us. My partner, Eton, and I were focused. Today was the Villison. The two of us had been thinking about it since we arrived nearly four weeks ago. Lunch had just finished. We went and picked out our canoe. Eton and I joked about completing the challenge in less than thirty minutes.

Eton was a cabin mate, but that’s not why I chose him to do this challenge with me. No, Eton was an accomplished paddler; likely, a bit more accomplished than me. I was determined not to let him down.

The Villison was a long-standing tradition at Camp Ahmek. Each summer, young campers tested their canoeing skills. It had been going on for almost a century. Successful boys had their names engraved on a mug that sat at the front of the mess hall. I wanted my name on that prestigious trophy.

Eton and I began our quest at the main camp dock. We paddled north around Chubby’s Island. Leaving Chubby’s, we headed due west beneath Windy’s Island. Five minutes of hard paddling straight east, put us at the seniors’ dock. Out of the canoe we jumped. Coons, the senior camp counsellor, helped us flip our canoe onto our shoulders. We carried

How my arms ached! I thought my lungs would explode! Just a bit more effort. Just a few more strokes. I could hear people screaming, “Come on, you can do it!” Things were becoming blurred.

The canoe’s bow crossed the line. A roar erupted from the campers on the dock. “You did it! You did it!” Yes, I thought, we did it!

The senior camp director congratulated Eton and me. Our legs were wobbly as we stood on the dock, and he lifted our hands heavenward to victory. The whole event had taken just twenty-eight minutes and thirty-seven seconds. We had broken the thirty-minute barrier. We had seized the day!

Though I had spent the whole month at camp, it was that one half-hour that had defined my summer. I will never forget that memorable