It was a sunny summer morning on the glistening shores of Walloon Lake, Camp Kalloway. I was about to spring into a little yellow boat called a Butterfly, a tiny little sailboat that’s about five feet long and has just enough room for two people, from the waist-deep shimmery water, I positioned myself to leap into the boat  to join my sister Kristen, who was already sitting in the sailboat. Suddenly a gigantic gust of wind filled the boats raised striped red and orange sail, which I had worked tirelessly to raise only moments before. The gale swept the slick little yellow boat roughly from my from my grasp, ferociously tossed the vessel askew, sent it, and my older sister Kristen, flying, until finally colliding uproariously with a tall metal dock. All I could do was stand and gape in the water as hard sharp pebbles wedged themselves between my toes and my shorts became sopping wet. Onlookers safely watched from their boats, some only a few yards away.
         

After being flung about recklessly, shrieking, for about a minute or so a tall, lanky, boating staff member with tan skin from a summer of rich sun, surged to the rescue, taking control of the little yellow Butterfly. After that minor fiasco, I jumped into the pint-sized boat alongside Kristen and we sped off.
         

It was my first time sailing after getting my butterfly mark on my name tag, meaning I had passed a test and could now sail a Butterfly at Camp Kalloway. I was pretty excited, although I had steered a boat before I’d never really sailed.  The cool breeze running through my hair, coupled with the playful splash of the water, and the warmth of sunshine on our faces from the crystal blue sky above, made time spent on the lake pass like a beautiful dream. I reveled in the absolute thrill of catching enough wind to speed along at a severe angle,  testing the limits of our little boat as I leaned far back over the sides of the boat, my hair skimming the water and wind beating my face,  to keep the boat from capsizing - and us from taking a swim.  Which may sound delightful on a hot day but I know from experience that, even on such a clear 80-degree summer’s afternoon,  we would be freezing once I climbed back into the boat, on account of the fierce wind.
           

The whole thing would’ve been amazing with the bump of the boat, the prickle of the coarse rope running through my hand, the melody of the little birds on their perches far away on shore, the giddy feeling when you turn the boat quickly and have to maneuver around the tiny boat as fast as lightning to keep from tipping, the one slightly tedious thing was Kristen, she howled in my ear at every turn, tilt, or splash.
         

I’m nearly one hundred percent positive the entire lake could hear our screams echoing and rebounding off of the waves. My outbursts were of delight and happiness, Kristen’s were of nervous excitement. There were some close calls, so I can’t really blame Kristen for being anxious. I nearly ran into several moored Edison’s which are much larger boats, and closely avoided some head-on collision with other Butterflies such as  ourselves
         

I’m definitely not the most experienced sailor, or even a good one,  but sailing is one of my favorite things to do, although I don’t get the opportunity to do it often at all.  Sailing is so abnormally enjoyable, and I it’s something I can always keep doing, so that every Summer, I personally,  can look forward to spending a week floating on the beautiful surface of Walloon Lake.