Our ancestors have walked over these same spots for thousands of years. They have left their marks, but they have blended back into nature and are scarcely visible. It’s things like this little firepit, the remains of tent posts, a narrow path that winds between the trees, following the shape of the terrain.

Our history isn’t written up in big books. It’s inscribed in the landscape, silent testimony to our long presence here.

Sam tells me to take the bow.

“Watch the water. We have to be careful. There are a lot of stumps and deadheads that have drifted away from the log jams just below the surface.”

Pinamen sits behind me in the bottom of the canoe. Manie, who is heavier, sits in the middle with the packs. Sam is standing at the stern. He starts the old motor, and it coughs to life. We follow the shore slowly at first. Then Sam speeds up. We head right to cross the big lake, Lac des Rapides. The nose of the canoe lifts as we pick up speed. The stern carves a deep silver wake in the black water.

From the front, I watch the surface of the lake carefully, my eyes trained far in front of me. The early evening wind turns my cheeks pink. I have to squint so I don’t get tears in my eyes. From time to time I turn around to look at Pinamen. I am still amazed that I’m here with her. She is wrapped in a big plaid shawl that she hugs around her. In the wind her long hair streams out and flattens against her golden cheeks, hiding part of her face. She looks happy.

When I look at her, I know everything is going to be all right. I fill my lungs with the fresh lake air that presses against my body. My shirt flaps in the wind.

Logs that the lumberjacks have lost are drifting in the water, floating like wreckage at the mercy of the current. Sam has the eyes of an eagle. He gently skirts around them in broad arcs.

Sam shifts into neutral.

“Look, the camp is at the back there, at the mouth of the river.”

Across from me the red sun is slowly setting behind the mountain. I love this time of day when the soft light suddenly plunges us into twilight. I spot a column of smoke in the fold of the mountain. I follow it with my eyes to the camp tucked into the far end of the bay. My face lights up.

“I set my fishing net just to the right there.” Sam points to a string of white floats tossed by the waves of our wake.

“Tomorrow at dawn, you can go and lift them. We’ll get some big trout and pike for sure.”

“Okay, sure!” I nod happily, but I’m also a bit worried.