Try and remember a time in your life when you forgot all of your troubles. Or, maybe you didn’t forget, but they shrunk. They became much, much smaller – almost as small as they should be.

I feel this way as I wake up on the morning of September 14th, suspended in the fresh, open air.

The temperature was in the low 60’s overnight, and hammocks don’t have a lot of insulation. At one point during the night I got chilly enough to grab my sleeping bag, and used my wool blanket as an insulator beneath me. This way, I was “quite snug”, as C.S. Lewis would iterate.

There’s something very surreal about waking up outside. Sleeping in a hammock is very different from sleeping in a tent. In a tent, you have the hardness of the ground beneath you, and at the very least, you have a canopy and polyester walls in between you and the rawness of nature. In a hammock? Not so. I didn’t even use my bug net for this first night, so when I wake up in the quiet, sleepy woods of Big Bay State Park, there’s nothing separating me from the trees and the clear, dawn sky.

I begin my day. First, breakfast over a campfire is in order.

I’m overjoyed to find that I still have embers from my fire the night before. If I play my cards right, I won’t have to light a fire for the rest of my time here. This is camping.

After what is quite possibly one of the tastiest skillets I’ve ever made, I make myself comfy by the fire and work through a devotional. It consists of Bible reading (I’m in Psalms…again) and a book I’ve recently started called Transplanted by Amy Kimball. This book is slowly taking apart my faith – and putting it back together again.

To give you an example, I’ve always been hard on myself. Especially when I disobey God. You could say, I’m very self-condemning. But, this book reminds me that when we look at Scripture, we see that “there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus” (Romans 8:1). So, that means that when Jesus died, he not only saved me from the condemnation that is deserved because of my sin, but he saved me FROM me condemning MYSELF.

When I read that for the first time, tears fell. I have a lot to learn.

After my quiet time (well, extra-quiet time, since this is an entire weekend of…quiet time), I set out to find a few geocaches. I’ve got some time before my Apostle Islands boat tour. The cache I shoot for is almost on the other side of the island. As I drive there, the paved road turns to gravel, snaking through thick, wild, island woods. Eventually, I find the trailhead.

I follow the trail for about a half mile before finding the edge of Lake Superior. The cache is an easy locate, with lots of fun collectibles. I leave a toy dinosaur – or a unicorn, or maybe a safari animal. I can never remember. Small plastic animals are my geocaching trading signature.

As I’m following my GPS to the coordinates of the geocache, I suddenly realize something. This revelation blows my mind.

I’m on an island, and I’m hunting for treasure.

Doesn’t that make me…a pirate?

I wrap up and head for the Madeline Island Ferry. I have to pay for another round-trip ticket, but it isn’t nearly as expensive since I’m not bringing my car. I have some downtime before the tour once I get to Bayfield, so I check out the local gift shop and try not to spend too much vacation money on a small keychain compass, and of course, a hat.

Soon I’m standing in a very long line, waiting for the next Apostle Islands tour. It’s a long wait, and it’s hot on the docks, and there are bees. But, while I wait, I discover that I can take pictures through my binoculars –

This discovery is quite possibly the highlight of my day.

The tour is about 3 hours long. And, by the end of it – it feels three hours long. Sure, it’s relaxing to meander throughout the Apostle Islands and hear all about the rich history, but after a while, I get tired of sitting and want to explore. I want to get off the chugging boat and get in a kayak and go explore these islands. Overall, it’s an educational experience, but it leaves me craving a practical education in sea kayaking.

We finally chug back in to port in Bayfield. I’m very hungry, and I quickly locate the nearest restaurant so I can eat fresh-caught, fried whitefish on the ferry back to Madeline Island. On the drive back to my campsite, I find one more geocache on a beautiful hidden beach, off a gravel road on the south side of the island. I finish the day at my campsite, with a hearty supper of fire-roasted hotdogs and chips, and a massive, messy s’more. Then I light my lantern and climb back into my hammock, where I finally finish The Voyage of the Dawn Treader before falling asleep.

The next morning, I wake up at about 6:17am.

The sun hasn’t risen yet, but the faintest hues of pink mix with the grayish-blue of the cloudless sky. I decide to check the weather app on my phone. There is information there that tells me when the sun rises and sets, based off my location.

The sun is going to rise at 6:40.

Problem is, I’m still sleepy. Part of me wants to go back to bed. It’s a chilly morning, and my hammock is nice and cozy. As I consider my life choices, I shuffle to the camp bathrooms for the classic morning dump, and somewhere along the way I decide that I cannot miss this sunrise.

Before I know it, I’m in my car, which is hopelessly covered in morning dew, and the windows are all fogged over. At this point, I have minutes, or I’m going to miss the sun coming up over the lake. I commit a mild traffic violation by going the wrong way down a one-way road and start speeding – as much as I dare – to where an overlook is. I can hardly see out of my windshield, and it isn’t clearing up even with the defroster at full blast. I stick my head out the window. There’s no other way. Thankfully, it’s early on a Monday morning, and nobody else is around.

I barrel into the overlook parking lot, shut my car off and start running. I’ve never exerted this much physically at this ungodly hour of the morning. I’m almost at a full sprint as Lake Superior finally comes into view. As I rush down a set of wooden stairs and sit on the edge of the cliffs, I can see a sliver of deep orange on the horizon.

I made it.

Before going back to my campsite to start packing up, I notice a selfie board on the overlook. It’s got a little stand for your phone and the instructions to hashtag your photos on social media and whatnot.

Well, this looks fun, I think to myself.

I meander back to site #35 and sadly start packing up. The only thing left to do on this island is try and find as many geocaches as I can. That’s how I spend the rest of the morning.

This trail, circumnavigating the outer edge of Big Bay State Park, is where my final, and most daring adventure takes place.

Now, you need to understand something. I love water. I love swimming, boating, kayaking – all the water things. So, as I’m hiking along the outcroppings and cliffs along Bayview Trail, looking at that gorgeous, clear water, I think harder and harder about going for a dip. There are, of course, a few problems with this idea. First of all, I don’t have swim gear. No swim trunks, no towel. Second, it’s been years since I’ve been in Lake Superior, but I know one thing – this is a cold lake. Very cold.

But believe me when I say – I cannot get the idea out of my head.

Finally, I find myself standing on a cliff that’s no more than ten feet above the water. Below me, I can see that it’s relatively deep – and crystal clear. I can see the bottom. I think to myself…will I regret walking away from this moment? Will I recall this situation with longing for what I could have done?

Or will I remember the time I killed my fear?

I set my backpack down on the rock slab. I take off my boots and socks. My pants stay on – they’re mostly polyester, so I’m not afraid of them getting wet. I keep creeping up to the edge of the cliff and looking at the water below. Back and forth, back and forth – check the water, look at the trail to see if anyone’s watching…

I’m not sure when it clicked, but finally I mutter to myself, “Alright, don’t psych yourself out,” tear off my shirt, and jump.

Well, it wasn’t truly a jump. I wasn’t that brave. I pretty much just step off the cliff.

When I hit the water, I almost panic.

I’ve heard stories about people who fall through ice on lakes or rivers. They say, when your body hits that freezing-cold water, the shock itself can lead to drowning. Your muscles tense and basic movement becomes extremely difficult.

I wasn’t prepared for the initial shock. For a split second, my eyes are open and I can see thousands of bubbles in the beautiful, clear water. Then, I fight for the surface and start swimming towards shore as fast as I can. The water stings, it’s so cold. My feet feel odd, as if they’re going numb, as I front-stroke back towards the rocks. At some point, basic survival instinct kicked in, telling me to breathe. I focus on taking longer, deeper breaths. The lake is relatively calm, but even a calm Lake Superior is poweful and dangerous. I take extra caution once I arrive on shore, so I don’t get bashed against the rocks.

As I clamber onto precious land, my heart racing and my extremities shaking from adrenaline, I look up higher on the bank and see an older gentleman watching me and smiling, making sure I’m okay. I give him two thumbs up, beaming from ear to ear.

I did it. I killed my fear.

So ended my first solo camping adventure.

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I’ve been through a lot in my lifetime so far. There’s been a lot of death in the family, and divorce, and other such tribulations. Sometimes, I’m overwhelmed by it. I forget that my Creator is with me – through all of it. And he connects with us and heals us in his own special way. For me, part of that healing process is being out here. Just me and him and his creation.

We need to relearn how to connect with God.

We need to learn how to break free from the bustle of everyday life and go jump in a lake, or sleep in a hammock, or fry eggs over an open fire.

We need to learn how to take the broken pieces of our soul, and start putting them back together again.

This was my biggest adventure yet, and now it’s over. But I get the feeling that we’re just getting started.