Philbony's World: Memory Lake

So I decided to play hooky from work last week.

I had been slated to meet a customer near Toronto on Wednesday. But after 2 hours into the four-hour trek to Canada the afternoon before, my contact calls to postpone the meeting. For the 3rd straight time. I'm guessing this particular customer is still in development.

Now I still had firm appointments later in the week. But what to do with the newly open day? Being disgusted with the cancellation -- on top of the regular stream of nonsense & noise in these troubled times -- I resolved to bag the day completely.

Hmm, got a car. A night in a hotel is expected. Meals too. The boss just left for China. Freedom.

But where to go?

As it turns out, I've been having recurring dreams lately about a cabin my family owned back in the day. I recall it was great -- accessible only by boat across a lake in the Canadian wilderness, on a small bay nestled among the trees in solitude and peace. It lacked electricity and indoor plumbing and all manner of modern luxuries. But it was absolutely perfect for swimming, hiking, boating, chilling. I could still find it though I was entirely sure it wouldn't be nearly as good as remembered.

But hell! I suddenly had an extra 10 hours to spare for the round-trip drive.

And drive I did -- after kidnapping my father to ride shotgun. He loved the old place too. We got there just before 9 AM, after overnighting an hour & a half away and reminiscing the whole way.

It was two days after Labor Day. We found Aylen Lake deserted at the end of the summer season. The weather was glorious.

Dad & I rented a boat at the landing store from a guy with no other customers, who was simply excited to get an extra 80 clams -- more than he ever could have hoped to rake in that whole week.

When it all was over I found myself a little more at ease with life. The cabin and its surroundings turned out to be nearly identical to how I remembered -- aside from a hideous paint job and half-assed addition. A few less pines perhaps, but made up for with a bounty of white-bark birch, poplar and Canadian maple trees.

I was deeply struck by how little was had changed - from the natural serenity to the two-man saw hanging in the rafters, right down to the hinges on the outhouse.

It was perfect.

In fact, I'm going to get in touch with the owner (as it turns out, the same guy to whom my Dad sold) to see if he's interested in renting it out for a week next Summer.

Who's in?

Some candid photos below to entice and envy.

Landing Approach