On my last day in what we all dubbed "paradise," I wandered on down to the docks, took a seat on damp aluminum, and started the motor as easily as my brother had shown me the day before. Driving the little tin boat away from Camp Lochalsh alone was never something I pictured myself doing, but all of a sudden it felt like something I just couldn't pass up. Camp does that to you, I suppose.

Stopping in the middle of the lake to get a picture of the sunrise is now something that I hope I never forget. That was when I really knew I had to go back to that place.

Arriving at the island and catching the rest of the sunrise with the dockhand (who had to be there, might I add, and is a champ for putting up with me that entire morning) was never something I planned either when I first stepped foot in Canada, but I thought I made a friend that day at fish camp.

Fish camp-- two words that I never thought I'd pair myself with.

When my father first told me he wanted to spend an entire week in Canada at a fishing camp, I was doubtful, to say the least. I went along with it, but figured there was no possible way that we would make it that long. Now when I look at it, an entire week isn't even close to being enough time.

Camp Lochalsh. Loch Island. If you haven't been there, you can't possibly understand the magnificence of it. I could sit here all day and talk about the fish and the people and the gorgeous scenery, but the magic would be missing from it all. The fact that the boats leak and the fish shack houses an "astronomical" amount of mosquitoes would still seem off-putting. Because without seeing it firsthand, you can't appreciate the imperfections that make it so perfect. You have to be able to take a step back, and take it all in for what it's worth.

The best two weeks of my entire four month summer were spent at that camp. I can say that with absolute certainty.

I was fortunate enough to go back a month after my first trip and acquire just as many wonderful memories as the first time. There is a mysterious forty-foot deep hole and a blue pool that are now calling our names. My brother and I will find them the next time we get the chance to go up there-- you can count on that.

I got to become friends with some of the people I missed the first time around, and spent hours upon hours talking to the equally impressive guests. My favorite ragtag group of engineers, who liked to rattle off a bunch of big words and equations that I still have zero clue the meaning of, told the most entertaining stories and also took it upon themselves to double as my shrinks. Oddly enough, they actually gave me some pretty solid advice about staying true to myself and making sure I am the one who is happy with what I aim to do in life. To top off my final night there, I even got a unique concert by one of the greatest guys (just not at basketball). The Mayor, everyone. He'll be there all week.

From my trip to Loch Island, I learned that I'm too polite of an American because Canadians are the ones who are supposed to say "sorry"; you need to glare at your partner straight in the eye when slow dancing, and never lose focus; you probably shouldn't chase a snake across a lake with a net, but if you do, don't pick it up by the tip of its tail when it's squirming around the boat with you; if you over-mix cake batter, all hell will break loose; I must always, no matter what, stay on the "pointy end of the spear" (still trying to figure that one out myself); if one has a true story to tell, one must repeatedly declare it as being true, or no one will believe that it is in fact true; a guy can, and does, have better hair than me; the queen of spades is one nasty gal; when crocs and rusty nails are pit against one another, crocs will lose every damn time; belly buttons apparently make very good reference points; and manatees are hidden away somewhere in a far off lake, or at least that's what my 100% drug-free brother believes.

Most importantly, I was reminded that there are genuinely good, good people out there. It only took an hour plane ride to find them, and I consider myself lucky for that. I'm also excited that a river is now all that separates me from some of them (and she should never hesitate to shoot me a message some weekend).

I sincerely hope I get to see them all again soon.