Hi, my name is Snow_Dog and I'm an addict.

As noted, I have Old_Salt to thank for my 34 years of addiction.  The stories I could tell (and probably should, someday) of that first trip!  

Thinking back, the misery probably outweighed the high moments by a large margin, yet I recall knowing down to my core that the suffering was worth it.  

This is how it goes with addicts, right?  

The fleeting moments of an incredible Quetico high drown out the hours of pain willingly endured.  

The lies we tell ourselves in order to continue to feed the addiction (next year, I'm sure it won't rain as much...next year, I won't lose that fish at the boat...next year, we'll get some better gear).  

Spending way too much time between trips dreaming about how great the next high is going to feel.

Taking foolish risks to keep that high rolling (like filleting fish on a rock island barely larger than the canoe while a massive windstorm is mere minutes away...or trolling for lakers in wind and waves that only a total imbecile or a total junkie would even dream of tempting).

Covered in mud, staggering to the end of hellhole portages that no sane person would ever attempt.

Spending way too much money and time to tweak my gear and systems in an attempt to make every high a little better than the last one.

Going to canoe expos to meet other junkies I met on the internet who continually reinforce my addiction.

Yeah, I'm willing to admit my addiction...but unwilling to end it.  I think that's the telltale sign of an irredeemable junkie.