There is something enticing about a thing you can't do. Surfing is one of those. The image, the lifestyle, the technique - none of which I am even close to possessing.
Well... the technique is coming. we took a lesson yesterday, and I am now the top shredder on what I call "punter beach". It's where all the surf schools go, presumably because the waves break smaller and more predictably. There, I can ride every small wave insight. Ashley is likewise Queen of the Whitewash.
Tofino was an intentional Honeymoon destination for its beauty, it's remoteness, and it's culture that really isn't anything like Calgary. You can check out while you're here. In fact, I'm not sure the last time some of the locals checked in - stress here is defined as a 25-minute linup at the taco truck. This is Canada's hippie epicenter.
I don't really fit in, buts it's still nice. For the last four days, I have worried about nothing but not-surfing, where my next fish taco is coming from, and whether I have eaten enough seafood for dinner.
Tofino is where mini-trucks go to die. Only they don't die, they carry on as awesome surf-trucks. S-10, Ranger, Tacoma are all alive and well here. In fact the optimal mode of transport appears to be anything that is about 20-years old. They make it look attractive. It's good to know at least part of me belongs here...
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