I’ll always appreciate the ease and comfort of everyday life after last summer.

The others were already gone about ten minutes, portaging the first round of gear, food, and canoes. JM and I we were all alone, surrounded by uninhabited, dense woods.

The buzz of the mosquitos was overwhelming. As I wiped beads of sweat off my forehead, I saw about twenty of the maddening little pests fly off of me. It was day five, and JM had just torn his ACL on a portage trail. Sam, one of our staff men, told us that we had to backtrack three days to move JM to a lake that was large enough for him to be evacuated. However, we would not be backtracking the same way we came; we would go solely over land because it was the fastest route.

I had never seen bugs like this. The harassment was unremitting. One moment of stillness and they would be gnawing through every article of clothing on my body. I looked at JM, and saw his face was puffy from all of the bug bites. I took my backup head-net out of my pocket and gave it to him. He let out a little grunt, but I knew that he appreciated it. The head-net was useless. As he lay on his back and gravity pulled the net to a rest on his face, the bugs bit right through it. I couldn’t help him. I looked at his leg, protected by a makeshift splint of branches and jackets. I knew he must have been feeling pain unlike anything I had ever felt. His face had lost all of its color and he hadn’t moved in a long while. It was as if he were dead. All of a sudden, I started to laugh. I couldn’t think of a more abysmal situation to be in. JM laughed too, most likely for the same reason.

Remembering JM’s love for Cliff Bars, I took one out of my bag and handed it to him. As he grabbed it, he said half jokingly and half seriously, “Why the hell are we here?” I smiled, pleased to see that there were still some jokes inside of him. I paced around for a few seconds, avoiding the relentless mosquitos, and then screamed at the top of my lungs “AHH!” It was probably just letting off steam, but that scream made me feel loads better. However, the looming 2-kilometer portage and yet another mosquito biting my ear quickly ruined my short respite.

I started looking at my watch more frequently, wondering when the group would return. Thirty minutes passed, then forty. Where on earth were they? Finally, after 47 minutes with JM, Chris came into my line of sight. When he reached me, he collapsed. I understood why. He just carried a canoe two dreadful kilometers and walked back on the same pitiful, thorny trail. My eyes went to his legs. I don’t know how he did it, but Chris wore shorts all the time. His legs were swollen, with dried blood and scabs masking much of his pale skin. We were all still for a moment, and Chris ended the silence by moaning and simultaneously slapping his leg, hoping to kill a mosquito. He lifted his hand and showed it to me. There were five crushed bugs on his palm. “New record,” he said, and his head fell back into the dirt.

I let Chris lie there for a minute, and then asked him to tree my canoe. When I got the massive hunk of plastic on my back and felt the all too familiar wood digging into my neck, I thought about JM’s leg—a torn ACL sounded like a gift right then.

For some reason, my mind remembered how much I loathed math class, but how I would do anything to be in class at that moment. I thought about my couch, as well as the girl I liked and what she might be doing. It came to me that so many great things in everyday life go unnoticed and unappreciated. Right then, I valued those little things like treasures.

My knees felt wobbly and soft as I bent them and hunched my back over. The rear of the canoe slowly lifted off of the ground and all the weight was transferred to my shoulders. I reached my hands out towards the gunnels and grabbed them so that I could balance the canoe. I stood still for a moment with the canoe in equilibrium. I felt crushed, like a little mosquito at the mercy of a human hand. Suddenly, a vicious wrench of pain hit me. I felt the source of it and looked at my right hand. It was the only part of my body not covered in clothing. A moose fly sat there buzzing, its rough green eyes looking at my wrist. I took my left hand off the gunnel and swatted at the little pest. I felt the canoe wobble and my right arm flex as my left hand slapped my right hand with no reward. The fly got away.

I was fifteen minutes into the portage and I wanted to fall down and cry. The heavy canoe was overpowering and every step on the trail seemed to add another pound of weight. My mosquito net was foggy with sweat. I could barely see where my next step was taking me. As I bushwhacked my way along the un-groomed trail, I felt two thorns enter my right arm and a tear trickle down my right cheek. There was no way I could get them out without dropping the canoe.

My anger was on and off. For a minute, I would let the fiery rage towards the situation motivate me. I would walk without feeling pain. The next minute, I felt like I was deteriorating, like every bone in my body was about to give out on me. Each step was a struggle.

Thankfully, Mason was walking back along the trail during one of my worst breakdowns. He screamed, “Eh, Michael!” The sound of a friend was comforting beyond words. My voice cracked as I struggled to say, “Tree me.” He grabbed the front of my canoe and held it up. As the back of the canoe hit the ground, I felt pure relief. My body wanted to stay in that moment forever. I thought about walking through the hallways in school and enjoying a respite every second I didn’t have a canoe on my back. I remembered the feeling of stress and having lots of work back at home. It did not compare to the pain I felt at that moment.

I longed for a hot shower, a bed, a warm blanket, and TV. I would have none of those things for another five long days. I promised myself that no matter how hard things got, I would always relate my struggles back to that moment. Then, my everyday life would never feel so bad. I thought about a clean pair of clothes, brushing my teeth in my bathroom, and checking my phone. I missed them dearly. They felt far away. I appreciated their simplicity and the subtle delight that they gave me. They were little things, but the little things add up.

Everyday life is a luxury compared to that trip—waking up at 5am, paddling for hours, portaging, paddling again, portaging again… the days were endless. We paddled lakes that we couldn’t see the end of. I was worn out by the time we arrived at a campsite, but then came setting up the tent, collecting firewood on a rainy night, filtering water, cleaning dishes in the dark, and other bothersome chores. I’m just not meant for trips like that.

During the school year, one of my least favorite classes was History. It felt like torture in relation to the other parts of my school day. By that day five portage, I would have done anything to sit in History class.

I learned that life is all about perspective. Math and History seemed bad until I was portaging a canoe for hours on end, bugs relentlessly eating me alive, thorns entering my body in a multitude of places, and all I wanted to do was cry. I felt weak and flimsy. I felt like I wouldn’t get to day ten. Every minute seemed like an hour. I was blinded by my own sweat and about to give up. That’s when I heard a friend’s voice. He came to me and treed my canoe; all the weight was lifted off of my shoulders. I never thought I would be so happy to hear someone’s voice. All of a sudden, I realized how meaningless a friend saying “hi” to me was on a normal day. I told myself that I would appreciate my friends and all the things I generally overlooked.

Now, I often stop and think about how hard the trip was. I remember wanting to give up and throw down my canoe. But most importantly, I remember the things I missed so much during those ten days—the basics in everyday life—a shower, dinner at a table, privacy, cleanliness, a bed… I now place a high value on those life essentials. I’m forever grateful for them.