Born in Montreal, Quebec, Canada

Algonquin Provincial Park

It all started with a family canoe trip to Algonquin Park. We were a suburban family, none of us had done anything like this before. Despite the relentless mosquitoes, there was something magical about paddling through real wilderness, following a map and selecting the perfect campsite. It wasn't long into our journey that our beloved Labrador, Sadie, enthusiastically launched herself out of the canoe directly into the middle of the lake. Watching my family scramble to recover a soaking wet, wildly excited dog while trying not to tip the canoe remains one of the defining moments of the expedition. At the time, I had no idea that this trip would quietly plant the seed for a lifelong obsession with paddling and backcountry adventure.

Mauricie National Park

First adult backcountry kayak trip with a friend. We had cheap gear, almost no idea what we were doing, and nearly froze during a late May night and were petrified of a bear encounter. We survived and it was great place to learn some beginner skills. My Lawson hammock tent and off brand water boiler are still key parts of my gear.

Bought My First Kayak

With limited knowledge about sea kayaks and an even more limited student budget, I found a used 16-foot Clear Water Designs Gaspé that came bundled with basic accessories and just enough promise to justify the purchase. At the time, I barely understood what made a good sea kayak. I only knew that being on the water felt right, and I wanted more of it. That kayak became the beginning of everything that followed. It carried me through my first solo trips, my first mistakes, my first rough water experiences, and some of the most important moments of my adult life. Looking back now, buying that kayak feels less like purchasing gear and more like accidentally opening a doorway into a completely different life.

Thousand Islands & Aubrey Island

My first solo backcountry kayak camping trip, and one of the most important turning points in my life. I had wanted to explore the Thousand Islands for years. When I mentioned the idea to my girlfriend at the time, she immediately encouraged me to reserve a campsite for the two of us. Excited, I booked the trip. Then, somewhere between making the reservation and launch day, she broke up with me. I almost canceled everything. Thankfully, a few friends convinced me to go alone. Nervous and unsure of what I was doing, I fully loaded a sea kayak for the first time and launched into the mouth of the St. Lawrence River. The next few days changed everything. Somewhere between the islands and the campsite, where I made some new friends, I realized I did not need to wait for everyone else's schedules, plans, relationships, or availability to align perfectly before living the adventures I had imagined for years. That trip taught me independence in a way nothing else ever had. Since then, solo paddling has become something I deeply value.

Saguenay River

I had driven through the Saguenay region a few times before and was always awe struck by the rolling hills over each side of the river that I could see from a distance. I finally had a vehicule to take me closer, and despite knowing almost nothing about the area's water behavior or conditions, I made the six-hour drive to Parc national du Fjord-du-Saguenay near Baie-Éternité. Equipped with a discounted sleeping bag rated for -18°C, I was expecting to survive the September nights. However, some doubts set in when it started snowing during the drive. The doubts grew stronger, as the park staff that greeted me upon check in, wanted to ensure that I was prepared for the overnight weather conditions. My actual paddling distance that trip was modest, mostly because I approached the river with a healthy amount of caution and respect. But even the limited time I spent on the water was unforgettable. The cliffs, the scale of the fjord, the landscape, it felt completely different from anywhere else I had paddled before. I knew before leaving that it would not be my last trip to the Saguenay. And surprisingly, that ridiculously oversized sleeping bag turned out to be one of the best gear decisions I ever made. It has extended my camping season ever since.

Thousand Islands & Beausoleil Island

I returned to the Thousand Islands with friends camping on Beausoleil Island and honestly, some of my favorite memories are not necessarily the dramatic landscapes, but the people I shared them with. I still remember the laughs, the conversations, and the complete chaos of trying to organize camping gear with a group of paddlers who all had slightly different ideas of what this trip would be about. We explored Half Moon Bay, wandered between islands, and spent evenings staring at the stars while listening to The Tragically Hip drifting across the water from a nearby anchored boat. It felt impossibly Canadian in the best possible way. Trips like these reminded me that while solitude would eventually become an important part of paddling for me, sharing adventures with good people creates a completely different kind of memory.

Algonquin Park Return

Returning to Algonquin Park as an adult was a nostalgic experience. It was the same wilderness that had quietly inspired me as a child during that family canoe trip years earlier. The trip involved multiple portages, and the hunt for the perfect campsite that I had longed for. I remember meeting other paddlers who launched at the same time as me, and later crossing paths with a couple visiting from the Netherlands. Talking with them made me realize how fortunate we are to have access to wilderness like this in Canada. Places many of us take for granted are destinations people travel across the world to experience.

Second Kayak

With a bit more experience under my belt, I upgraded late in the season to my second used sea kayak: a Riot Regency. Compared to my first kayak, it felt professional, longer, slimmer, faster, and noticeably more refined for high angle paddling. It provided better outfitting, more storage, and enough “bells and whistles” to make me feel at least slightly more legitimate as a paddler.

First Fiberglass Sea Kayak

Reluctantly, and with more financial anxiety than confidence, I bought my first fiberglass sea kayak. It was old, visibly damaged, and far from perfect . Underneath the scratches and questionable repair work was exactly the type of kayak I had been searching for. Narrow enough to properly practice high-angle paddling, long enough to cut through waves, and equipped with fixed foot braces that offered better stability than a pedal-controlled rudder systems. At the time, I knew P&H had a strong reputation and that fiberglass was a higher end material, but I did not fully understand just how fortunate I was to stumble across that kayak while still surviving on a student budget. Over the years, I learned fiberglass repair and kayak maintenance largely because of that boat. Every scratch, repair, and patch slowly made it feel less like equipment and more like a trusted expedition partner. I genuinely cannot imagine ever getting rid of her. To this day, I remain eternally grateful to the gentleman who sold it to me, mostly because he was too tall to enter the cockpit . Somebody else's storage problem transported me to places I could never have imagined.

An Unexpected Setback

Kayaking motivated me to push my fitness further than I ever thought possible. Growing up as a chubby kid, I had always been self-conscious about a sport that frequently involves spending long days shirtless. But over time, paddling transformed both my physical fitness and my confidence in ways I never expected. Ironically, just as I was beginning to feel stronger and more capable than ever, I suffered a serious back injury that abruptly changed the course of the season. Trips I had been planning suddenly became impossible. New coastlines and larger adventures had to wait while I focused on recovery instead. At the time, the frustration felt overwhelming. But looking back, that season taught me something important: our opportunities to pursue the things we love are never guaranteed. Health, time, weather, circumstances, all of it is temporary and unpredictable. That realization would eventually become one of the driving forces behind many of the adventures that followed.

First Bruce Peninsula Trip

One photograph changed everything. I came across a picture of Flowerpot Island online and immediately became obsessed with figuring out where this place could possibly exist. After locating the Bruce Peninsula on a map, I decided I needed to see it for myself. It was the first summer of the COVID lockdowns, and nearly everything was closed or heavily restricted. With very little planning and an unreasonable amount of optimism, I drove overnight to Tobermory, arriving near Big Tub Harbour around four in the morning. In my mind, I was heading deep into untouched wilderness where I could quietly throw up a tent somewhere along the shoreline and disappear into nature for a few days. Instead, I discovered that Tobermory was considerably more civilized than expected. After sleeping only a couple of uncomfortable hours in my car, I realized Bruce Peninsula National Park was closed due to COVID restrictions. Slightly panicked and very underprepared, I started asking around for advice. Eventually, someone pointed me toward Dunks Bay, and a park employee casually mentioned that Flowerpot Island was technically reachable from there. Then I saw the water.

Growing up around the dark, opaque water near Montreal, I genuinely could not comprehend what I was looking at. The water was emerald green. Transparent. It honestly did not feel real. Running on almost no sleep and entirely too much excitement, I loaded my kayak and launched toward Flowerpot Island despite knowing the campsites were technically closed. About two kilometers into the crossing, reality finally caught up with me. I realized I was inexperienced, poorly prepared, and attempting something far more serious than I had understood. I turned around. Abandoning the original plan became the best thing that could have happened. While trying to navigate back toward shore, somewhat lost, admittedly, I discovered the surrounding coastline instead. I spent the rest of the day and the following one exploring in complete disbelief that places like this even existed, let alone a day drive from where I lived my entire life. That was the trip where kayaking transformed from a hobby into something life changing.

Return to The Bruce Peninsula

After ranting for months about how incredible my last trip was and how epic the Bruce Peninsula is, I convinced some friends to join me. I did one day trip with them from Dunks Bay to the Grotto, which was way more paddling than they expected. It left me to enjoy Burnt Point, and Little Cove solo the two following days. Paddling from Dunk's Bay to Little Cove isnt too far, and when I got to the beach, I encountered about 4 other sea kayakers returning from their morning paddle, chukling to me that 'Im going to have fun', and progressively hinting to me that it was getting windy. I made it about halfway to the point that connects Dunk's Bay to the adjacent Bay where Little Cove is located, before I turned back due to the size of the waves. I took a deep breath and decided that I could handle those waves, it was right at the limit of my skill level, and I made it. By 6PM, when it was time to come back, and started turning the corner of that bay, I noticed the weather intensified. It was too late to turn back, I was in it, the full brunt of the open Georgian Bay and the furry of the waves reflecting off of the cliffs. I had no choice but to continue, doing a 180 in my sea kayak would have exposed my side too much chop, I needed to face these waves, literally. The 200ish meter shoreline appeared to stretch miles into the distance. I did my best to balance keeping some distance from the shoreline where the swells were intense enough to capsize me and/or bottom out my hull on the rocks, and the scary open waters. Before I knew it, continuing my full panic paddling, I noticed a recognizable country home, a sign that I made it to a more protected coast. That was the last time I ever paddled the Georgian Bay, or anywhere else with a nylon skirt, knowing any breaking wave would cause it to implode and flood my kayak. I started my next season by investing in a proper neoprene skirt.

First trip to Killarney

Compelled by a growing obsession with discovering new places and venturing deeper into Crown Land, to truly find my own, perfect campsite, in the wilderness, I made my first trip to the Killarney region. My goal was Phillip Edward Island. I launched from the public beach in Killarney Bay, unaware of the Chikanishing access point. Still, that accidental longer route came with one major reward, my first distant glimpse of the La Cloche Mountains shimmering on the horizon. I did not yet know what I was looking at, only that I had never seen anything like it, and needed to get a closer look. After many enthusiastic paddle strokes in the wrong direction, I missed the Killarney Channel and found myself nearly halfway around George Island. Far from my intended destination, but a beautiful spot to re-navigate my route. Eventually, while attempting to push toward Phillip Edward Island, a powerful thunderstorm presented itself in the distance. Fortunately, I managed to land and unload my kayak just before the lightning and heavy rain arrived near Thomas Bay. Even more fortunately, I had accidentally chosen a reasonably good campsite. As the sun set, the mosquitoes emerged in numbers I previously believed only existed in exaggerated Canadian folklore. The constant buzzing became psychological warfare. Sleep was technically achieved, though only barely. The next morning, thoroughly humbled and significantly less confident, I fled home like the inexperienced beginner I absolutely was. But despite the storm, the exhaustion, the navigational confusion, and the mosquito-induced trauma, one thing was certain I would return to this beautiful land of pink granite and that was impossibly different from Tobermory's limestone just 30-40 Kilometers away on the same body of water.

Sharing Kayaking

Introduced my girlfriend at the time to kayaking early in the season in preperation for this trip. Together we explored parts of the Bruce Peninsula including Lion's Head and Dyers Bay. The cliff's of Lions were more spectacular than either of us expected, and Dyer's Bay was stunning with it's crystal clear waters, white cobbelstone beaches and dramatic cliffs and vegetation. Our day in Dyer's Bay started out with somewhat rougher water and potential rain, but the weather cleared up, we made it as far as Cape Chin South before returning. We noticed an absolutely sureal rock garden on our way back and stopped for a few pictures, a moment I hope I never forget.

McGregor Bay & Baie Fine Attempt

Returned to the Killarney area bringing a bit more paddling experience with me, attempting to reach Baie Fine via a potential portage I located on Google Maps. I planned to take as much shelter as possible through a few chains of islands before making a modest 1.4 Kilometer crossing. Strong winds forced me to take a longer route deeper into the bay, until eventually reaching where I planned to make a portage. Portaging would have been complicated but I did pick a reasonable spot to set up camp, and enjoy some breathtaking sceneary.

Phillip Edward Island Region

With 2 nights left before needing to return to my day job, I launched out of Chikanishing River and located an island south of Phillip Edward Island, within a reasonable distance for me to return early enough to make the road trip back to Montreal. I Spent two nights on Etches Island, and kayaked some of the bays and islands between Etches and the Foxes. It was a mind blowing experience that deply inspired me, as I imagine it does all paddlers that have made such a voyage.

Preparing for Bigger Trips

Started the season early on Victoria Day weekend in the Thousand Islands to help prepare my girlfriend for longer backcountry expeditions. Half Moon bay was certainly the highlight of the trip. Sharing the river with white swans, loons and other waterfowl that we dont see in Montreal was also memorable.

Killarney & West Fox Island

Returned to Killarney with a bit more knowledge of the area, and camped on West Fox Island along with and islands, enthraled with the epic scenary this area provides. A noteable highlight was 2 seperate black bear spotings, prowling around different islands, as we enjoyed the encounter from a safe distance in our kayaks.

Solo Benjamin Islands Expedition

Completed a solo trip to the Benjamin Islands launching from Spanish, one of the most challenging but memorable and rewarding expeditions so far. I remember my assumptions that the Benjamins would't be much different than what I had seen in the Georgian Bay, but would require a longer route and more uncertainties. To this day, I am surprised but happy that these islands don't seem to be known beyond a handful of boaters and paddlers.

Day Explorations

After returning from the Benjamin Islands, I improvised a few day paddles that absolutely exceeded what I expected, including an adventure in the Bay Of Islands and kayaking out of Manitoulin Islands' Providence Bay to the Timber Bay Nature Preserve. These day trips crystallized my mindset that there was still much exploring to be done in Lake Huron, and none of it would ever be dissapointing.

Bruce Peninsula Exploration

Continued exploring sections of the Bruce Peninsula shoreline, returning to the turquoise water and dramatic cliffs that first inspired a deeper obsession with the Great Lakes. The day trips included circumnavigating the Lions Head peninsula, launching in Dyer's Bay and paddling North toward Cabot Head Provincial Park, stopping at the Lighthouse and another day trip from Dunk's Bay to the Grotto.

Martins Island Expedition

Completed a four-night expedition staying on Martins Island, spending extended time exploring the fox islands, and visiting some of the bays and islands to the East. I was intially intending on making my first trip to Lake Superior. Due to a few complications, I remained in more familliar territory.

Another Baie Fine Attempt

Once again attempted to reach Baie Fine, this time from Killarney via Frazer Bay. Due to high winds and inacurately planning another abandoned portage attempt, I stopped in Snug Harbor for shelter and reached as far as Creak Island, where the wind and waves were too intense to venture into the vast and open Frazer Bay. This was the trip where I promised myself, I would never plan another shortcut via a portage during a sea kayak trip.

Return to the Saguenay

With another week of resonable weather before the end of the summer, and some postential time off from work, along with post vacation blues, I packed up my gear and returned to the Saguenay. I remember immediately getting stuck in traffic the second I entered the highway. By the time I reached the first exit, I realized I forgot something crutial. Better to realize 2km into the trip even though it took almost half an hour to get to that point, than 500km into the trip. I arrived at the Parc well passed midnight, approaching a full moon. I launched at low tide the next day, trudging my kayak through th mud to the water with all of my gear. With a bit more experience, but well aware of the water temperature and how the steep cliffs all arund leave little room for error, I kayaked a few kilometers in the direction of Lac St Jean, unsure of how much current I may have to fight, or when, or in what direction. The next day, I paddled a bit further in the other direction, again, launching at the lowest tide possible, making the launch as laborious as it could be. I almost made it to l'Anse a Tabatiere, before returning, again, unsure of how much a potential current may slow me down.

Starting the Season

My very first day paddling this season was in one of my favorite kayaking destinaions, Lions Head. I spent a week at one of my favorite places for Front Country in Lions Head Bay, Camping by Night, paddling by day. Day trips included Dyers Bay, Lions Head, and 2 unparalled days back to back of paddling from Dunks Day just passed the grotto, with the best calmest weather Ive ever experienced in this area, allowing me to tak in and photograph the coastline like I never had before.

Return to the Benjamin Islands

Returned to the Benjamin Islands launching from McBean Harbor, revisiting one of the most spectacular paddling destinations experienced so far. While I was hoping to visit Croker Island, strong Easterly winds prevented that crossing. I did enjoy shelter from the elements on the West and South sides of the the Benjamin Islands, and fully circumnavigated Fox Island (North Channel Fox Island)

A Day in McGregor Bay

My last paddle day of this trip, I launched into McGregor Bay, a milestone body of water. Knowing this was only a day trip, it was hard to continue deeper into the bay. With such a vast labrynthe of rocks and islands, I felt like I could have explored here for days, and plan to in the future.

Lac Stukley

I ended the 2025 season with something different. I had a hike planned with members of my favorite hiking crew to take in the Autumn colors. With my car still loaded with all of my kayak gear from the previous paddle, I suggested we share a day of paddling instead of paddling instead. My friends found a small interior lake where in Quebec's Parc Sutton, where they could rent a canoe. The experience and scenary abosultely exceeded my expectations.

An Uncertain Season

A hernia and upcoming surgery may keep me off the water this season. For the first time in years, the possibility of not paddling has forced me to reflect on how deeply these journeys have shaped my life.

Future Plans

Bucket list of places to explore and adventures to pursue in the years ahead, including:

• Baie Fine, North Chanel
• Pictured Rocks, Georgian Bay
• Bustard Islands, Georgian Bay
• Mink & McCoy Islands, Georgian Bay
• Lake Superior Provincial Park, Lake Superior
• Pukaskwa National Park, Lake Superior
• Pic Island, Lake Superior
• Lake Superior Marine Conservation Area, Lake Superior
• Painted Rocks, Lake Superior
• Apostle Islands, Lake Superior