Alone on the Island — Paddleboard Escape

Discovering timeless solitude, hidden shores, and the quiet power of nature

I’m a spontaneous person. I almost never plan anything, or at least I’m always ready to change the plan on the fly. This trip started from our summer cottage’s deck, where I sat sipping my coffee and wondered what to do with my time alone. I had come to the cottage for the weekend by myself, which is quite rare since I have three young children.

And so I got the idea to pack my night gear (backpack, hammock, sleeping bag and a lantern) and tie everything to my paddleboard — and simply went for a paddle. I had one specific island in mind. We once visited it with our family. I headed towards it.

Weather was very warm, like it was still summer. Clouds reflected on the lake water so calmly that even my thoughts felt still. I knew nobody would need me until Monday — and it was a wonderful feeling!

Paddling is the most relaxing way to move across the lake. The freedom to go slow, or even pause completely, just to enjoy the views and dip your feet in the water for no reason at all, is unbeatable. It lets you get as close to the shoreline as possible.

I’ve discovered many secret beaches, underwater cliffs, and even a hidden cove behind the reeds, which felt like a warm, quiet pond full of flying dragonflies and shy fish.

This time I landed briefly on an interesting small island with beautiful, soft edged cliffs. There was a small building for sauna, and an outdoor fireplace, but there was no information about what this place was. It had such a nice atmosphere though, while the evening sun painted the whole place with its light.

So I continued my journey toward my destination, the bigger island beside this small one. The sun began to sink, and the place where I was about to land was located in the island’s shadowed side. The surface of the water was a deep blue, and the dark forest-green trees mirrored themselves in it, giving the inviting illusion of a hidden world beneath. It was quiet, except for the gentle lapping against my paddle — which created small underwater whirlpools with every stroke as I approached the island’s cliff entrance.

I paddled slowly, observing the rocky hill, shaped by the forces of ancient times. It almost felt like someone was watching me, lurking behind the largest rocks and guarding its hidden habitats from intruders like me. I whispered to the island: “I’ll come, no matter what you hold within your crevices and darkest forest nooks.”

And suddenly I remembered that this island has already claimed one life, the hiker who tragically fell from the cliffs in 1979, a solemn reminder of the island’s power and mystery.

Behind the leaning pine, the cliff by the shore came into view. I took my gear out and pulled the board behind the trees, hoping it would be there still tomorrow. Then, backpack on my back, lantern on my hand, I started to climb up the path that leads to the top.

Once there had been a real nature trail, but nowadays it has been forgotten. I arrived at the top, and the views took my heart once again! After a while just enjoying the athmosphere, I hung up the hammock and assembled the Jetboil for making late coffee and dinner. A campfire would have been so moody, but I had no possibility to bring wood on my board this time.

While I waited for the chanterelle soup to cook, the sun completely sank and the moon climbed to the sky. It turned out to be a full moon, and also time of the supermoon. It hung low and large in the sky above my camp spot. Also, stars came became visible and the lantern illuminated my spot perfectly while I ate my soup.

The memorial left me deep in thought. The thought of how close that dangerous fall was, and how fragile life is, lingered in my mind as I climbed into my hammock and curled up in my sleeping bag, the forest around me hushed and watchful. It took a while to get to sleep, but when I did, I slept well.

At four o’clock I woke up to the whispers of the trees above me. The gentle breeze swayed the treetops, as if the island itself were breathing. Nature was calling, and as I set my bare feet down, I felt the island under me, truly felt it.

The massive rock beneath my body — how it rises from the deep, dark water to high up like a sentinel from the shadowed waters, ancient and lasting. I could feel every ridge and crack, the solid weight of ancient stone grounding me to the present.

I felt utterly small and yet deeply connected to this timeless place. This island was there before me, and it will remain here long after I’m gone. I’m just one visitor on its forever shores, passing through its high cliffs and wandering past its majestic forests, while it stands here sturdy, eternal and unchanging, a silent protector of its own timeless world.

To be continued…