Our most difficult challenge proved crossing a swollen, glacier-fed river. A footbridge that had once spanned it had been destroyed by ice breakup. When we first reached it, my heart sank at the sight of the icy water and fierce current, knowing that our entire expedition depended on getting across. The current was too strong for the tiny raft, with rapids roaring downstream. The waters, fed by a mountain glacier, were utterly frigid. We had no idea how deep it was, or if fording was possible.

It would have been perfectly understandable to have wanted to turn back. We’d already covered a lot of ground, and there’d be no shame in turning around. But not Zach Junkin. Taking the easy way was not in his makeup.

Removing his hiking boots and stripping down to his boxers, Zach volunteered to attempt a crossing. He left his backpack on shore, then, with trekking poles for balance, he edged out barefooted into the swirling waters. I winced, watching: the river bottom, I knew, would be full of sharp rocks.

Zach slowly worked his way out from the shore, angling his body upstream into the full force of the current, measuring each step. It looked impossible, but with his ironclad resolve, he made it across. On opposite banks, we couldn’t hear each other over the roar of the river. So, after only the briefest pause, Zach edged right back in and recrossed to my side.

We conferred over what he’d found: midstream, the raging water had been more than waist-deep on Zach’s six-foot-two frame and he said it had nearly knocked him off his feet. Crossing with heavy backpacks just wouldn’t be feasible. We discussed trying to rig up some sort of zip line to get the packs across, but ruled this out as also unfeasible.

We decided that perhaps if we bushwhacked downriver, with any luck we might find a spot not as deep. This we did, coming across a place that, although wider across, appeared to possibly be a little shallower.

With the rushing glacial water threatening hypothermia, we decided to skip any test-run and instead just go straight for it with the backpacks. Zach again volunteered to go first. He removed his boots, tied them onto his already heavy pack, which also had the raft strapped to it, and once more set off into the rapids. To this day I don’t how he managed it barefoot over such treacherous unseen rocks beneath the racing waters, but manage he did, reaching the far side. When it was my turn to follow, I didn’t dream of making it barefoot. I just accepted I’d have to put up with wet feet for the rest of the day and kept my boots on. The frigid water felt like knives. Once I’d struggled across to the far side, Zach, smiling happily, made a few of his trademark jokes about how he’d needed a bath, and then we were off again.

In due course we completed our expedition and met all of our objectives. Almost at once I began to formulate plans for more expeditions with Zach. We were planning a return to Labrador in September 2023, this time paddling along the coast as part of a larger historical research project. Zach was excited for it, and with the departure date approaching we’d frequently text back and forth about preparations. I had just picked up a new canoe for the venture when I received shocking and terrible news that even now doesn’t seem fully real: Zach had apparently passed away suddenly, with no warning of any kind.

It didn’t seem possible: he was just 38 years old. Surely, it was all just a bad dream that would go away. But it didn’t. He’d been alone at home putting away groceries when it happened. Zach had no known health concerns, and to all appearances was as fit as could be. He had at the time just returned from the gym. Initially it was assumed that it could only be a heart attack or brain aneurysm, as it’s hard to imagine what else could suddenly fell a fit 38-year-old with no known health issues. The toxicology report was clean and showed Zach had no drugs in his system. However, the coroner ultimately ruled these causes out, and although an exact cause of death could not be officially determined, unofficially it was attributed to a likely heart arrhythmia, a condition that on rare occasions can strike without any previous warning, as seems to have been the case with Zach.

With Zach’s passing, I somehow instantly felt that the country as a whole was the poorer for it. It might seem like one individual among a nation of millions can’t make a difference, but it’s rare individuals like Zach that are the glue that helps hold everything together. Zach was that generous, principled, civic-minded person of energy and enthusiasm who made everyone else’s lives better simply by being in it, and by extension his wider community’s—and a country after all, is a network of smaller communities. I was not alone in feeling this way: it was a testament to Zach’s larger-than-life personality and extraordinary ability to make friends wherever he went that his funeral drew many people from seemingly every walk of life, and every kind of background. They’d travelled from near and far to be there, some not having seen him in years.

Of all Zach’s many accomplishments, his greatest was his family, which for him always came first. He was deeply devoted to his cherished wife, Brooke, and their beloved daughter Celeste, now three years old. He was as excited as can be, too, to welcome a new addition to his family in November; this turned out to be a second daughter, Ginny. Both of Zach’s children, I am sure, will inherit their father’s passionate drive, generous nature, boundless curiosity, and everlasting sense of wonder. I can think of no better legacy.