AKE ONE—A southwest breeze kicked up a little chop as we eased our canoes into the water at the Lake One landing last Sunday afternoon. The air temperature—well into the 70s— hinted of summer, but the golden tamarack and the yellow aspen leaves still hanging on told us we were nearing mid-October.

In the North Country, it’s that time of remarkable transition and we knew this would be our farewell paddle to what has been a spectacular autumn.

It was particularly sweet since it, unexpectedly, was a trip my wife Jodi and I were able to take with our son Max, who had surprised us the night before having secretly taken the opportunity of a long weekend to drive all the way home to Minnesota from Cornell University. We were sitting in the living room watching a movie when he unceremoniously waltzed in the front door, leaving his mom and dad momentarily speechless.

Our canoe trip, from Lake One to the Farm Lake public landing, had already been planned, thanks to a great suggestion from Paul Schurke, who brought the canoes, including a three-person Wenonah that accommodated our unexpected trip mate perfectly.

It was the kind of weekend, of course, that demanded acknowledgement in some form or fashion. Record-setting warmth had set in thanks to the southwest flow ahead of an approaching low pressure system. We knew the weather would take a dramatic turn for the worse on Monday, but Sunday was a day to live in the moment—to settle into that almost hypnotic rhythm that comes from a long paddle in the wilderness.

And a jaunt it was, about ten miles of paddling (most of it into the wind) numerous lift-overs and three portages, including a half-mile long haul around Murphy’s Rapids. It’s technically the Kawishiwi River, but it’s really a series of small, interconnected lakes aligned northeast to southwest. The five of us, including Paul Schurke and Levi Lexvold in a separate canoe, left Lake One just after 1 p.m. and pulled into the Farm Lake access right at dusk.

Along the way, we enjoyed a trail lunch on a nice overlook, with a conversation appropriate to the setting.

Yet the best part of the trip came late in the day, when the wind fell to calm and the sun was making its slow but steady dip towards the horizon. The water turned to glass as the soft and slanted autumnal light put a dramatic touch on the lingering fall colors and shoreline reflections. We paddled on for about two hours, hardly daring to break the silence, lost in our thoughts and the satisfying tiredness of muscles that have put in an admirable effort.

As we neared Farm Lake, we were headed straight into a sun that hovered just above the horizon. It was almost painful at times, but it made for some surreal images as shadow and light played tricks on our eyes. Islands seemed to hover above the water. Shorelines alternately glowed or disappeared altogether.

We timed it all perfectly. We pulled into the landing just as darkness descended— and we couldn’t help but feel contented. It was a rare day, spent exactly how we’d wanted. And how often can you say that?