Imported Facebook Note

George's South Island Adventure

George is an old dog. I don't know how old he is... but I'm sure he's quite old. He is, in fact, old and crazy... which is why I can't leave him with anyone... and which is why I took him on a surf-camping-trip.

s. and I packed up the newly acquired aerostar (which has been named "Steve"... because he's a Ford and therefore American... and Steve has always been, to me, the ultimate American name) and drove down to Jordan River. Steve is the best surf vehicle ever... it held two people, five surfboards (11', 9'1", 7'8, 6'6", 6'4"), two wetsuit bins, a dog, and all the camping gear and food required with room to spare... all of this *in* the car, nothing on top.

We were meeting s.'s friend Anatole, and Anatole's friend Miranda at Jordan River. It was to be a foursome of two non-couples.

I had never met Anatole, and s. had never met Miranda. On our way there, I mentioned that I know a Miranda who cycled across most of Russia by herself... alone... on a bike... with no support... the plan was to go from Vladivostok to Moscow... including a stretch of Siberia known as "the land with no roads"... she made it to the foothills of the Urals before her visa ran out, narrowly escaping death and fates worse than death on various occasions... and the Miranda I know is about to go off to cycle from Cairo to Capetown.

All s. knew about Anatole's friend is that her name was Miranda and that she took up surfing while hanging out with the surf press in Australia. The Miranda I know also took up surfing in Australia while in the process of "becoming a writer"... well, it's a small small world... because three years later, there we were, meeting at Jordan River through people we didn't know.

We logged almost 1000kms for this surf trip... and surfed only twice (s. and I, anyway... I think Anatole and Miranda got in a session before we arrived and after we left)... I didn't catch a single ride... but did managed to get bruised all over from the rocks. Paddling out was easy... but experiencing the pissing contests that were Sombrio and Jordan River just wasn't all that worthwhile. s. and I agreed that this surf trip was perfect, in that the camping part was fun and friendly, and, most importantly, in that it taught us to love Tofino all the more. We love our beach breaks. We love our closeouts. We love the impossible paddle-outs. We have a home break... and it's perfect. (well, I have one, anyway... s. is moving back to Vancouver, or at least that appears to be the plan right now)...

And, unexpectedly, George had an excellent time on this trip. He joined us in every single one of our misguided surf checks... and ended up hiking to what we had hoped were secret surf spots along the Juan de Fuca trail. He navigated terrain that I would never have expected him to... steep trails, large boulders, fast moving creeks... but s. and Anatole were George's personal cheerleaders, encouraging him at every questionable juncture to make the jump, or the climb, or whatever it took. George had a totally awesome time. George loves the aerostar, too... he slept outside one night, and the next night, in the aerostar with me and s... and there was enough room for all three of us to stretch out.

s. and I won't be going to South Island again anytime soon... but the trip was still sort of perfect. We confirmed that Schopenhauer was right... and I got a chance to catch up with Miranda.

Time for bed now. Got to go out to my favourite beach break tomorrow morning at 7AM and catch a whole lot of rides before it's time to go to work.