GIGI

Summer came, and again I made my way to Eagle River and camp after picking up my certification as a National Trip Leader with the American Youth Hostels. Preparations for trips were in full swing - new bikes to assemble, old canvas tents to waterproof and patch, and paddles and canoes to check.

One of the first trips of the summer was a canoe trip with sixth grade girls. We put in on the Wisconsin River near camp, where the highway comes close to touching the banks of the river. We scrambled up and down the steep banks to load the canoes with the supplies and the campers ready for launching.

A rarity occurred. The girls had sufficient canoeing skills to arrive at Planting Road, our destination, earlier than expected. It was a beautiful sunny day, with a light cooling breeze.  I asked if they wanted to continue down the river to the Rainbow Flowage, figuring we’d find a good campsite along the way.  This group enthusiastically said they did!

Several hours of paddling carried us onto the Rainbow Flowage, a vast, open expanse of water that stretched like a silver mirror under the sun. Headwinds whipped up whitecaps that slapped against the canoes, and spray stung our faces with every stroke. The girls paddled steadily, but even their skill couldn’t fully counter the relentless push of wind and wave. What had begun as a near-perfect glide became a tiring struggle: shoulders burned, arms ached, and the rhythm of the river seemed to slow with each passing minute.

At last, we spotted a clearing along the upper reaches and pulled over. The site wasn’t one I’d used before, but it had road access and enough space to set up camp. We pitched tents, got a fire going, and settled in as the sun slipped down. I thought we’d found a great new spot—just a short walk to the trailhead in the morning to guide the truck that would return us to camp.

I walked down the road to figure out how to let our driver know where we were. I knew they’d be coming down Oxbow Road looking for us—but they didn’t know where to turn in.

I spotted Oxbow Road ahead, maybe a quarter mile from the camp site. Relief quickened my pace. But as I got closer, my stomach sank. What I hoped would be an easy access and pickup became a nightmare. A heavy locked chain stretched across the road, anchored into posts, and just before it yawned a deep pit—built to make sure no vehicle could ever reach our site. My nerves began to fray. How would we get the canoes, the gear, and the campers out of this blockaded spot?

Back at the camp site, I decided on the only solution I could come up with: start carrying. I hoisted a canoe onto my shoulder and began the long walk toward the roadhead. With five canoes to move, I knew it would take multiple trips, and the next morning would be swallowed up by hauling gear, so getting the canoes out of the way made sense. At least it was a plan—a way forward.

The gunnels of the canoe pressed down on me in that familiar way, every step a mix of balance and strain and knowing that each round trip would feel heavier and longer.  Then I felt tugging and pushing at my back.

“Who’s there?” I called.

“It’s me, Gigi!” came the reply. Gigi, is a petite eleven year old who throughout the trip kept a smile on her face as well as her cabin mates.  One of those unusual kids who meets the moment and enjoys the adventure and who makes all feel comfortable in her presence.  She darted into view, her grin nearly as wide as the canoe itself. “I’m here to help you, David Nature.”

With that, she pressed her small hands against the canoe, steadying it as I walked. Her laughter bubbled up in the dark, lighter than the load on my shoulders. In that moment, the weight of the canoe seemed lessened—not because the work had changed, but because it was shared.

By the time we reached the roadhead, I realized something I would carry long after the canoes were hauled and the campers safely home: leadership isn’t always about being the strongest or solving every obstacle. Sometimes it’s about making space for others to step in with their own courage and joy. Gigi reminded me of that truth. What could have been remembered as a grueling, exhausting mistake became instead a story of resilience, laughter, and an eleven-year-old who taught me what it means to truly help carry the load.