My Watermark is Tim River, Ontario.

The earliest memories I have of the water are with my dad...or should I say, the earliest memories I have of my dad are on the water. I grew up beside Lake Ontario just a short walk from the waterfront. My dad regularly took the three of us (my brother, sister, and I) sailing or canoeing across the lake, and hiking along the shoreline. There's no doubt in my mind that he was certainly the first person to throw each of us in the Lake, in an attempt to 'teach' us to swim.

Reflecting on my connection with water inevitably turns into a reflection of our shared memories.

Considering he grew up in England and didn't move to Canada until his mid-twenties, I've always been a little curious of his complete infatuation with the Canadian landscape. But, I guess I can't blame him.

I spent most of my childhood on Lake Ontario but the most memorable stories happened along the Tim River - a small winding river running through Algonquin Provincial Park, which, when followed leads to the picturesque Rosebary Lake. It's his favourite canoe trip. I think it's because it gives just the right feel of the Canadian wilderness, complete with wide open waters, mandatory uphill portages, rugged campsites, usually a moose sighting or two, narrow winding rivers, and beavers dams ... so. many. beaver dams.

He's taken each of his three kids on a solo camping journey down this river - and has forced his U.K brothers and their children down it as well (never mind the rain).

I remember being in a canoe with my brother in this river and getting completely lost, rounding river bend after river bend only to end up in a marsh and turn around. I remember the first time I sat in the back of the canoe and was tasked with steering myself and my uncle through the river's painfully bendy turns (I was quickly replaced). I remember the beaver dams which block the path ever kilometere or so - stepping out of the boat onto the collection of mushy sticks and pushing the canoe over it, and hopping back in. I remember doing that about 10 times in one day - and I remember being unhappy about it.

The thing I remember most are the stars. On one trip, my dad took me out on the canoe right before bed - the sky was black. After a full day of paddling, I wasn't particularly keen on going out and was ready for bed. But, he convinced me. Once we got out to the middle of the water, away from the trees - I looked up and saw an impossibly clear sky freckled with stars. I didn't even know that many stars existed! I can only describe it as a moment of complete awe as we both sat, stunned in silence.

It was probably in that moment that his complete infatuation with the Canadian landscape was passed down to me.