Lake Taylor: Finally Escaping Our Own Chaos

After two years of nonstop “adulting” — house refurbishments, job plot twists, selling a home, buying another, and camping gear that had been living in witness protection since the move — we finally staged our great escape to Lake Taylor.

We were on the road by 10am Saturday. Dog in the back. Canoe on the roof. Hope in our hearts.

We arrived early afternoon and, against all odds, remembered how to put up the tent. Muscle memory is a beautiful thing. A tactical nap followed, partly because we were tired… mostly to hide from the sandflies, who were clearly thrilled to see fresh visitors

When the heat eased, we launched the canoe onto a lake so calm it looked Photoshopped. Toto immediately claimed the front seat and transformed into Captain Serious, scanning the horizon like he was leading an expedition to discover new continents. We paddled peacefully, waved at friendly campers, and pretended we were seasoned adventurers instead of people who had spent the morning desperately searching for bits of camping gear.

Dinner was a gourmet spread of wine, cheese, and crackers — the holy trinity of camping cuisine — while Charl built a campfire with the enthusiasm of someone who had been waiting months for this exact moment. The night sky put on a show: the Milky Way blazing overhead, satellites gliding by, and Betelgeuse glowing like it knew we were watching.

Morning arrived with a sunrise so dramatic it could have had its own Instagram account. Two coffees later, we were back on the water with Captain Toto, who took his role very seriously for someone who can’t actually paddle.

Eventually, we packed up and headed home, reluctantly but restored. After a week of work chaos, Lake Taylor was exactly the reset we didn’t know we were desperate fo