I wake up to a tent pole stabbing me repeatedly in the side of the face. The gale force wind has blown the stake out again. I grope around in my half-conscious state, and my fingers close around a bottle of sunscreen. I thrust it into the corner and roll over, hoping that the container is heavy enough to keep the tent pole away from my skull. I stare at the canvas ceiling, watching the fabric thrash around at the wind’s mercy. I try to sleep, but fail—the sound of my only shelter threatening to come apart at the seams is more than enough to keep me awake.

Welcome to Lake Superior—potentially the only place in the world that can simultaneously be my dream come true and a threat on my life. We’ve been kayaking for three days (fifteen to go!), and all we’ve had so far are wind and waves. By waves, I don’t mean the gentle rises and falls that softly brush the sides of your boat, quietly willing you to go on. I mean massive behemoths of water and froth, leering at you as you use all your strength to fight being tossed about on their crested heads.

Needless to say, it has not been easy going.

My counselor calls out for us to wake up. The three other girls in my tent don’t respond, but I know they heard her. I make a loud incomprehensible grunt/moan to let the counselor know that someone has chosen to acknowledge her before giving Nyssa a rough shove. She throws a shoe at me. I, in turn, throw it at Kirsta. It bounces off her and hits Bridget. I can’t help but smile at their simultaneous whine.

Though much grumbling and complaining is involved, we finally drag ourselves out of the tent to meet with the rest of the group. Over a steaming pot of oatmeal, Lucas (our guide) gives his report.

“The radio says the wind isn’t going to die down until at least this evening. Probably more like tomorrow afternoon. Because we stayed here yesterday, we’re going to have to at least paddle today or tomorrow to stay on schedule. You guys get to choose.”

“How big are the waves?”

“Four to six feet. Up to eight once we get to the point.”

There’s a silence as we consider our options. I am apprehensive. My mind is providing visions of capsizing and being bashed into rocks while trying to climb back into my boat. Not a pleasant thought.

So, naturally, we agree to tackle the eight footers. We never could resist a challenge.

Figuring that two paddles are stronger than one, I opt to paddle in the two-man kayak with Brenda. I gingerly pull on my night-chilled wetsuit and pack my gear into my boat, small tendrils of fear clawing at my insides. I shiver and climb into the cockpit. It’s going to be a rough ride.

My paddle slices through the water in unison with Brenda’s as we fight to get out into open water. The waves are calmer here—only 1-2 feet—but I know that will change once we leave the cove. Sure enough, the waves quickly swell in size. I keep telling myself that it’s only five miles to the campsite, but I am not comforted. A five mile long anxiety attack does not provoke any particularly happy thoughts for me. I paddle onward, silently wishing for it to be over.

Ten minutes turns into an hour, then two, and the wind is only getting rougher as we approach the point. I turn the kayak to go wide around the outcropping of rock and find myself facing the biggest wave I have ever seen in my life. It looms over us like an omen of death, a gargantuan wall of water rising from the depths of Lake Superior in a fierce show of force.

I scream.

The wave reaches under our boat and pulls us skyward. The big yellow tandem catapults up, achieving a speed that it would have never reached by any degree of paddling. The boat curves over the top…then hesitates. For a moment, time is suspended, and I’m hanging on the edge of a heartbeat. I look around, perched atop this monster of the lake, and…I’m not afraid. Far from it! It’s like I’m on top of the world. With the help of this creature of the depths, I am flying.

I have never been more alive.

In the blink of an eye, the waves drops us, and we’re rushing down into the valley it left behind. I scream again, but this time, it’s out of sheer exhilaration. We’re scooped up by another wave, but this one seems miniscule compared to the mountain we just left behind.

I hear a shriek from behind me as our monster wave crests right onto Nyssa’s boat, leaving her with a lapful of icy water, and I laugh.

Call me crazy, but I swear I’ve just communicated with the grandest of lakes.