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Its good to get home. Good to get grounded.

I flew back home from BA for a quick 8 day trip, which felt like a month. Matty and I were both home for Thanksgiving and our Mom's surprise birthday party. We spent 5 days up north at the cottage in Haliburton re-building docks, winterizing boats, chopping wood, stacking wood and burning wood. We likely confirmed that the Brady boys haven't evolved beyond the caveman realm as our pyro genes live strong. There is something incredibly satisfying about cutting limbs, clearing brush and setting it all on fire. A productive destruction. I'm certain that most city stresses evaporate, like steam from a wet log, once the work clothes are on and the fire is blazing. Fortunately we managed a few solid days of outside cleanup work. Early morning frosts caked the ground, signaling winter is fast approaching. Glad that Matty and were both back to help out.

One of our projects was to rebuild a section of the docks before putting them away for the winter. On our property, its essential to do such chores in the fall when the lake's level is at its lowest and the beach its widest. Makes for a better job site. Plus, building on the beach meant we could also light a massive brush fire and be close to stoke it. Multi-tasking in the countryside.

The Boys banded together, drew up plans, purchased the materials and re-built the dock all within an afternoon. We were impressed, not only by our pace, but by the cooperation between brothers Matt & Scott. High Kicks to celebrate.

Once the docks were re-built Matty and I had to tow them across the lake for winter storage on the leeward side of the island. Pretty straight forward. Matty drove the boat while sipping a well deserved beer. I sat on the docks like deadweight and took in autumn firebush views.

After dropping off and anchoring the docks we decided to go for a last rip around Eagle Lake before taking the boat out for the season. Seemed to make sense. A slow putter, beers in hand. We had gone no more than 3 minutes when Matty looked over at me a grinned. Not an innocent grin, but one with hidden motivation. I knew exactly what he was thinking, so before he could even ask I said, "sounds like a good idea." If it was to be our last boat ride of the season we should at least have a final waterski. Again, seemed to make sense.

He'd agree to drive, as if it was a great sacrifice, so long as I'd agree to ski. "But wait. You already are driving. The water's fucking cold. Like almost freezing cold. How does this make sense?"

"Shhhhhushhh. Its good. Here are the skis," he said while pulling out the two 1991 O'Briens from the hull's storage. Fair enough. Matty had won another argument by shhhushh'ing me.

Fully clothed in my Haliburton tuxedo of double plaid flannel work shirts, blue jeans, a hunting hat with fur lining and ear flaps, I stood up and started putting on the skis. There was little point to feel the water as I'd spent most of the afternoon wading ball's deep in a pair of fly fishing hip waders. I knew it was soprano cold.

I put on a timeless orange Bouy'O'Boy lifejacket, a pair of leather work gloves and grabbed the ski rope and an old football to properly execute the Bundy pose. All I asked of Matt is that he get me up without stalling the engine. Thankfully he complied.

I entered the water and immediately took a leak to delay the onset of hypothermia. Within a minute I was back up on two skis for the first time since my childhood. We ripped all around the lake. Hooting and hollaring past our cottage, by the inn and back home.

My hands stayed numb for most of that evening, but hot damn was it worth it. October 13th, latest ski of my career.

Some pictures from Haliburton.