I first fell in love with kayaking when I was a ten-year-old girl at a cottage with my family. Being ten years old and having a sibling meant that I got very little time to myself, and alone

time was something I highly valued. I remember the incredible sense of independence I felt out on the water, and while I had to stay close to the shore because my dad said so, I felt free. After that cottage trip I was hooked on the sport. I would unrealistically beg my parents for a kayak for my birthday and try to convince them that it could stay in my room. I began to hopelessly think that kayaking would be something I’d only get to do at friend’s cottages, and as an adolescent, I was right. I did always maintain the belief that someday in the distant future I’d get to take up the sport for real, I just didn’t know where or when I’d get to start.

My first real kayaking experience as an adult was a fantasy come true. Once again, I was out on the water feeling independent and free, just as I had once felt as a child. I was lucky enough to have met the right people who were able to introduce me to the real world of kayaking and make my childhood dream a reality. I did not care what the weather was going to be like, although it happened to be a perfect fall day. Even if it had been freezing cold, raining or snowing, nothing could have tainted the perfect sense of unity with nature, and nothing could have stopped my desire to be reunited with the water.

I will admit that I was worried about my ability to keep up with my new friends, who have much more kayaking experience than I do. To my surprise, I was able to maintain what felt like a reasonable pace, and despite having kayaked 20 kilometres I did not feel tired during our trip (afterwards was another story). We were out on the water for about seven hours, having stopped many times along the way to appreciate the beauty surrounding us, and to take a few photos of course. The time went by too quickly and before I knew it we were reaching our destination. Nonetheless, I was not sad that the day was over because I knew that it was really just the beginning, and so many incredible adventures were yet to come.

We noticed a stone structure on the banks of the river as we were passing by. Since it was time for a break, we decided to stop to explore. Good thing we did!! According to some research online, this place is called the German’s Woollen Mill. Built in 1867 by brothers Alva and Sydney German. The ruins are said to be haunted, in 1941 the house was the site of an unsolved murder. Since then, the house has become over grown and collapsed partially. Walking around inside, it had a very eerie feeling to it. If you find it, I highly recommend you take a look around.