award tour

Some make lemonade when life gives them lemons. I say go buy a nice chunk of filet mignon, capers, Spanish onion: mix in Tabasco, Worcestershire, parsley and a couple eggs and you got yourself a legit tartare de boeuf. A pickle and some frites maison on the side and your laughing.

Yes, I was planning Peru, but apparently having one’s board bag scanned, x-rayed and disassembled is decidedly more time consuming when done by union employees swiveling on popsicle sticks. With a 2 day wait for another flight and limited vacation time ticking away, Cuba became the default 1st week destination and it is was pretty swell. Arriving at the tail end of a cold front allowed for four days of body surfing and windsurfing and if my mind hadn’t been in such a funk, I definitely could have found places to surf as well. On a side note, D-504, our chauffeur was able to confirm there were no further revolutions planned; apparently FC’s was the last and the Integral is sailing along peachy keen.

Returning to home base, New England and other quick strike destinations were not really an option with the given forecast. However, the passing high pressure system did remind me of certain coast’s receptive to NW gale force winds: P muthaf*ckin EI and the Magdalen’s. My first and only trip to the Magdalen’s revealed infinite potential and I was lucky enough to body surf in perfect chest high peelers, but the cost to travel there is retarded. My first thought regarding surf in PEI is a phone call from Oli and Guy stating they just left Mtl and were going to chase a storm over yonder, without inviting myself nor Castillo. At least got to see the footy. The long range msw malfangled forecast hinted at a ripper of a Nor’easter forming after the PEI swell died down.

Gulf buoys revealed 5M swell with an 11 second period. Environment Canada had issued a small craft warning, NW winds subsiding to zero by Tuesday arvo and sunny skies mixed with flurries. Minimum consultation of coastal bathymetry and local deltas affirmed enough nooks and crannies to get lost in for a few days. Sufficient fetch, ample swell, fading wind, convoluted coastline, sunny skies – Brilliant!

Upon crossing the Confederation bridge, I realized there was one forecast I forgot to check: that of ice floes. The devilish $hit was everywhere I looked. Fortunately, when I reached Anne of Green Gables coastline, it was pretty much all gone, except in the darkest of coves. Day one was spent seeking protection from the still-blistering Nor’wester. It was found, but infinite shoaling made for less-than-punchy waves and the log was the first option. Travelling East, I found delicious reserves of beef jerky, amiable locals and a handful of first class setups. The sideshore was still a problem, but I located a pounding rivermouth left that offered a clean face and the occasional reform to the inside. 5 odd hours of solo surfing and no spectators – if a tree falls in the forest…

Drifter refuge was not a problem, as the entire coast was a ghost town, so Brackley was my initial campsite. It gets cold in a Japanese deathtrap, let me tell you, but I slept like a log. Day two kicked off with a skiff of fresh snow and no break from the wind. In no particular mood to charge the punchy beachie from yesterday, I toured East, just soaking up the sights and some fine Newfie porto. Upon finding a seal pup on one particular beach, I made contact with the first of droves of animated fishermen. They were all different, but all the same: each offered booze, food, advice, tall tales and reprimanded me for going surfing on that coast cuz they were certain “dat der undertow from the bigg tumblers ull suck ya rite out.” Generations of lost lives at sea tend to instill that logic, so I promised to carry on with extra caution.

When the sun finally did break, I found myself in ghetto Charlottetown. No surf here. Not much work either. There were some cannons, discarded needles and more animated locals, but I made my way back to the coast in anticipation of an afternoon of bliss. Yes, sometimes these things happen and I was greeted with calm winds and perpetually organizing swell. I set up camp in Cavendish and was able to enjoy an overhead bombie right to reform left and a small gathering of spectators. Someone thoughtfully called Search & Rescue: and on that point, could that be a dig to my style as being spastic? I dunno, just trying to channel some A Knost into my cutback, but I digress and daydream.

island encompassing potato fields is the last field observation.


One Response to “award tour”

  1. l'anglais Says:

    Only that sludgesoda-swillin McGoon would would show so much piss’n’vinegar in the face of defeat. No sitting on the sidelines for that party animal. Talk about opening the season in style!

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