85 miles due north of Duluth, MN is the 6 square block town of Ely. This tiny haven of outfitters, map stores, guides, and the occasional moose serves as a launching point into the BWCA-Quetico, a massive border-spanning forest criss-crossed with so many lakes you can't spit without hitting water.
Every summer during high school and college, I watched my more capable friends tie canoes on family cars, pack trunks with a density that would put a neutron star to shame, and plan a 60 mile trip lasting about 5 days. Then I would gleefully jump in the back seat, enjoy the sunrise and fall blissfully asleep, awaking only for a half-way danish and perhaps to aid in the exchange of gossip and predictions. During my slumber, the temperature and latitude would trade places and trip-mentality would wash over the two cruise-controlled jeeps, carrying away residual stress and uniting our minds in the singular purpose of having a kick-ass time.
My described lackadaisical attitude toward trip preparation might give the impression that I was a freeloader. True, I can't hook up a trailer hitch, and I can't hang a pack of food 20ft in the air, but I can paddle like I'm digging for my severed leg, and I can retrieve stolen food from the jaws of a bear, armed with a stick and dressed only in leaf-pattered boxers. That's why I got invited back. That and my cute butt.
These excursions made the happy-parts of my brain light up like a 100 gigatonne nuke hitting the sun. Camping allows me(you)to let slide everything I would let slide if no one else were around: Showering, hand washing, modesty, etc., while at the same time offering me the opportunity to constantly do things I otherwise couldn't: Sawing, pushing boulders off cliffs, skipping rocks, carrying 50% of my body weight 2hrs/day, etc. Combine this with good friends, good food, sleeping like a baby, beautiful sunrises, and meteor showers, you're basically looking at a 24hr/day virtual orgasm, perhaps or perhaps not intermittently punctuated by real ones.
It's been a while since I've camped, but I have big plans. Plans big enough that if I follow through, this baby-faced mug will have a beard that'll make Osama cry like a hemophiliac trapped in a porcupine burrow.





Picture Credits:
BWCA-Quetico: http://www.seagulloutfitters.com/bigmap.htm
Pansy:http://www.painetworks.com/pages2/fg/fg0436.html
Butt-kicker of pansy: http://duke.facebook.com/profile.php?id=1314391