Inspiration: An agency, such as a person or work of art, that moves the intellect or emotions or prompts action or invention.

The question of inspiration pops up in many conversations as I talk about my upcoming trip. How do I get inspired to complete a trip where I’ll be away from my loved ones for five months, where I probably won’t be able to eat enough food to maintain my healthy weight, where I’ll be putting significant wear and tear and fatigue on my body day after day for five months, where I’ll be without wage in an uncertain economic time, where I accept the risk and dangers of these inland seas day after day?

For me inspiration comes, in part, from my grandparents. Grandparents, our elders, lived their lives, made right or wrong decisions and came out wiser.

Grandparents like Grandmother Josephine Mandamin, who walked 17,000km around all the Great Lakes, provide inspiration that long distance human powered travel is possible. Or Grandma Gatewood, age 67 in 1955, thru-hiked the Appalachian Trail, which is not an easy feat, proved and continues to provide inspiration for long distance hikers and ultra-light backpackers alike.

“I thought it would be a nice lark,” Grandma Gatewood said about hiking the Appalachian Trail. Then she added “It wasn’t.”

When I hiked the 2,169-mile Appalachian Trail, the image of Grandma Gatewood with a duffel bag slung over her shoulder and a shower curtain for a tent hiking on a lark crossed my mind many times. And now that Grandmother Josephine Mandamin finished her round-hike of the Great Lakes, she’ll be on my mind as I attempt the same in a kayak.

Famous grandmothers aside, my main inspiration comes from my grandparents and my parents who are now grandparents. On my mother’s side, I have distant memories, mostly just images, of my grandparents. They died when I was young. I remember my great grandmother Dot who lived in a little old house as a happy woman. On my father’s side, I remember both my great grandmothers and my great grandfather Web, but my grandmother Charn and grandpa Dick were always a constant in my life.

My grandmother surround by her children and in-laws.

My grandmother Charn, the pillar of the family, always kept my grandpa Dick in line and is the only grandparent still with us; my grandpa Dick passed away in 2007 shortly after my friend Steve and I paddled on Georgian Bay. We raced back from our trip, so I could visit him in the hospital before he passed away. I know Grandma Charn will be cheering me on around the Great Lakes while worrying about my safety — just as my mother will.

My Grandpa Dick at the Upper 40, our original homestead in Iowa.

Grandpa Dick was always an important person in my life. I remember him as serious when he needed to be, lighthearted the rest of the time, he was the kind of person that always had an unusual joke.

He used to joke, “A guy jumps off a 40 floor building, half-way down, someone yells out to him, how’s it going. He yells back, so far so good.”

He flirted with all the young ladies until my grandmother scolded him. He was a force of positive always on the look out for something to appreciate. Even something as simple as a car on the dirt road would give him enough enjoyment to let the rest of us know there was a “Car on the dirt road.”

When I look back at everything he accomplished it’s hard not to see him as an inspiration; he built over 1,000 homes for 1,000 families, he developed a major portion — an entire mile — of Dubuque, IA, he founded a prominent builder’s organization in IA, was a Mason, survived two bypass surgeries, developed a neighborhood on Sanibel Island, helped form the building codes that are a model for the rest of the country about building in hurricane zones, he loved the outdoors, raised birds, hunted, fished, and he did so much more. All these accomplishments aside, he was inspiration for his children and their children because he possessed a kind supportive and stern nature that we loved. Even now, almost two years after he passed, knowing that he’s and his force of positiveness is gone brings tears to my eyes.

My grandfather's funeral in Northeast Iowa. The rain cleared to give us just enough time to say goodbye.

Although, I paddle this trip for myself, it’s the inspiration from my grandfather’s life and others like him that showed me if you keep moving forward, great accomplishments abound. And although, I’m the only adventurer currently in my family, the only one that attempts trips like this, I know that my family supports the decision I make, and I can draw inspiration from that support.

It’s that daily inspiration from my loved ones that continues to drive me forward in this life to attempt to accomplish my dreams, and I’m happy that my inspiration comes from them. Thanks everyone and I only hope that I’ll be as wise as you someday.

Spring is in the air, 50F temps accompanied by sun have melted our snow pack, and broken up the ice on the lake. This years breakup and the coming spring equinox have signaled the time to reconnect — to discover the summer spirit and summer sports. With the expedition starting in just 6 short weeks, the long winter with an iced over lake seemed a psychological barrier.

Over the last two days, I’ve used these abnormally high temperatures to get out on the lake to paddle. On Monday, I drove south from Grand Marais to Tofte, MN attempting to find open water. By Lutsen, I started to finger my cross country skis thinking it might turn into a ski day. But by Tofte, the lake was open with a few sections of pack ice moving with the wind. The closest put-in was Tofte City Park. The pack ice lined the shoreline in a 50 yard wide band moving with the current and wind at about 3 knots to the west.

I carried my new NDK Explorer down to the water wondering how it would be to paddle through the pancake ice ranging in size from 1′ to 5′. As I finished dressing into my new Kokatat drysuit, a woman wandered up with a camera. We chatted about spring kayaking, her son is the adventurer in the family. She asked to shoot some pictures of me, and the model in me consented.
I sealed myself in to the kayak with my new Seals Sprayskirt, and pushed off into the water. The first paddle stroke of the year was used to push my way through the ice flow. Once onto open water, I felt free. Free to roam the open waters of Lake Superior again. The icy psychological barrier melted and I spent an hour paddling around large chunks of ice.

On Tuesday, after guiding during the day, I went out near Lutsen and paddled a short section of shoreline that I’ve paddled 100s of time guiding trips in the summers. The ice transformed the shoreline to a new terrain. On top of Gull Rock, the Seagulls were back ready to nest for the spring. After the paddle I worked up the bravery to do the first roll of the season. Instant ice cream headache in the 32F water. But it sure felt good to roll in fresh lake water instead of a pool.

It’s sunny spring days like this that winter just melts away, and I realize that I cross country ski only because it’s a way to stay on the water when it’s frozen. And it’s days like this when life is the clearest. What more can I ask for? As my friend Josh used to say, “Living the dream.”