Written by Whitney Buchli
When I think back to my childhood summers in Canada, I think of camping trips with family and friends. I think of fishing from the dock, riding my bike through the forests of provincial parks, catching fireflies in glass jars, and spending long summer days outdoors with family and friends. I think of family game nights around the picnic table, telling scary stories around the campfire, stretching out on warm rocks in the sun, and lying beneath a star-filled sky in the evening.
Life felt wonderfully simple. We spent entire days outside, exploring, swimming, and creating adventures of our own. There was freedom in those summers. Freedom to wander, to be curious, and to spend long stretches of time immersed in nature.
Looking back, what I remember most isn't any one campsite or activity. It's the feeling those experiences created. A feeling of connection: to the outdoors, to the people around me, and to the simple rhythms of life lived outside. Those are the memories I hope my daughters carry with them one day.
This summer, our family set out on a backcountry paddling trip on Georgian Bay, Ontario. We hoped to give our girls a small taste of that same freedom and connection. What we found was a chance to slow down, live simply, and fully immerse ourselves in the rhythms of life outdoors.
Why We Came
At six and eight years old, our girls were already familiar with outdoor adventures. As a family, we've spent nearly two years living and travelling out of a campervan, exploring remote places and learning to feel comfortable outdoors.
We had hiked into backcountry campsites and paddled to islands before, but this was the first time we combined the two. More importantly, it was our first time reaching a remote wilderness campsite entirely by water, making the experience feel like a new adventure for all of us.
The trip required a lot of preparation. Weather forecasts, emergency gear, carefully packed food, dry bags, and a long drive north. A year earlier, my husband and I had paddled out to these islands on our own to scout the route and make sure it felt realistic for our family. Ever since, we had dreamed of returning with our daughters.
Even after all the planning, there was still uncertainty. Weather conditions can change quickly. Campsites are first-come, first-served. There is never any guarantee that your favourite spot will be available when you arrive. But that uncertainty is part of the adventure.
Not everything worthwhile comes easily. Some of life's best experiences require effort, flexibility, and a willingness to let go of control. Those are lessons we hope our girls learn along the way.
Finding Our Island
When we finally rounded the point and saw that our favourite campsite was empty, we felt immediate relief. The gamble had paid off. A year earlier, standing on those same granite rocks, we had imagined bringing our daughters here. Now we were finally arriving together.
The campsite sat among windswept pines overlooking a quiet bay of granite shoreline and open water stretching toward the horizon. The smell of warm pine needles drifted through camp. It felt both familiar and wonderfully wild at the same time.
As we unloaded gear and set up camp, everyone had a role to play. Dry bags were carried ashore, sleeping gear unpacked, and tents pitched among the trees. Decisions were made together: where to place the tents, where to cook, where to swim, and where to watch the sunset. After months of planning, it felt good to finally settle in.
Life on the Island
Days on the island quickly settled into a simple rhythm. We paddled between islands, explored hidden coves and smooth granite shorelines, and swam in the cold, clear water until everyone was tired and hungry. We sketched our favourite island in watercolour, read books in the hammock, and searched for wild blueberries growing among the rocks.
Canada geese drifted past camp in the evenings. Chipmunks visited while we cooked dinner. Every night ended with us gathered around the fire sharing stories, songs, and a warm meal together.
There are, of course, easier ways to travel as a family. Trips with less preparation, more comfort, and far fewer mosquitoes. But these are the kinds of experiences you remember.
Life outdoors has a way of making responsibility feel tangible. Fires don't start without dry kindling. Water doesn't appear without effort. Meals aren't finished until everything is cleaned, packed away, and secured for the night. Everyone contributes, and over time, those small responsibilities begin to feel meaningful.
At the end of the day, we celebrated with roasted marshmallows over the fire and fell asleep beneath the stars listening to waves moving gently across the rocky shoreline.
The Journey Home
On our final evening at camp, we checked the weather forecast on our Garmin and saw a storm moving in for the following day.
The next morning, we woke early while the water was still calm. Sleeping bags were stuffed away, tents packed down, dry bags sealed shut. Everyone helped. After days spent settling into island life, camp disappeared surprisingly quickly. By 6 a.m., we were back out on the water, paddling toward the mainland before the storm rolled in.
The bay was completely still. The dark water stretched out like glass beneath our kayaks.
Somewhere in the distance, loon calls echoed across the rocky shoreline, and the girls answered back with calls of their own. To our surprise, not long after, a loon surfaced quietly beside our canoe. Usually shy and distant, it lingered near us for a moment before disappearing beneath the black water again. It was a small moment, but one we won't forget.
We paddled steadily toward the mainland beneath darkening skies, and just as we reached the put-in and lifted the canoe from the water, the rain began to fall.
Together Alone
Out on the islands, there are no roads, shops, or crowds. For a few days, it feels as though the rest of the world has fallen away.
Something shifts when there's nowhere else to be and very little to distract you. Conversations stretch longer. Small moments become easier to notice. You begin paying attention to things that often get lost in everyday life.
We came looking for the same feeling I remembered from my own childhood summers: freedom, adventure, simplicity, and a deep connection to the natural world. What we found was something even better.
We returned home tired, mosquito-bitten, and in need of a proper shower. But the best adventures rarely leave you rested. They leave you with stories, memories, and a deeper appreciation for the people you shared them with.
We found ourselves alone in the wilderness, but together as a family. The girls still talk about the island. We are already planning our return, hoping once again that our favourite campsite will be free when we round the point. There are no guarantees. Maybe that's part of what makes it feel so special.
