What started as a peaceful family trip to the Boundary Waters turned into one of the most frightening nights of my life. My brother Tim and I had set out that evening to paddle around Long Island on Saganaga Lake, looking for firewood before dark. The lake was calm at first, the air cool, and the last light of day was fading over the trees. It was one of those quiet northern evenings that makes you glad to be out there.

Then everything changed in a split second. As we were paddling near the shoreline, I noticed Tim starting to lose his balance. His movements were off, almost like he couldn’t control one side of his body. Before I could say a word, he just rolled over—and the canoe went with him.

The shock of the cold water hit immediately. Gear went everywhere, and as I came up for air, I called out to Tim. He wasn’t responding. His life jacket was half-buckled, and I could tell he was struggling to keep his head above water. The light was fading fast, the waves were choppy, and we were at least a couple hundred feet from shore.

There was no time to think. I grabbed the canoe and told myself to just get us in. Tim couldn’t help much, he was drifting in and out, his body limp, so I held onto him and the canoe, kicking slowly, inch by inch toward the shoreline. It felt like forever, but eventually, we made it.

When we finally reached land, my daughter Mary and her husband Dan spotted us and together we paddled back to camp. Tim was pale, freezing, and barely conscious. We wrapped him in every blanket we had, trying to get some warmth back into him. Mary managed to send a 911 text and also activated our ACR emergency beacon, hoping rescue teams would get the signal.

It wasn’t long before we heard the hum of a boat in the dark. The Gunflint Trail Volunteer Fire Department had picked up the alert and made their way to us through the cold night. Their professionalism and calmness were incredible. They got Tim loaded into their boat quickly and transferred him to a waiting helicopter from North Memorial Air Care.

Later, doctors told us Tim’s body temperature had dropped to 80 degrees, well below the danger point. They said it was a miracle he survived. He doesn’t remember any of it now, but I do. Every sound, every wave, every minute of that night is burned into my memory.

We were lucky, plain and simple. Out there in the wilderness, it doesn’t take much for things to go wrong. But between our life jackets, the emergency beacon, and some very skilled rescuers, my brother got a second chance.