A Summer Season In Canada's Cold Water Surf Town

"Chasing something fun seems like a wholesome waste of time to me" - Anna Ehrgott

“Blackberry season is here” I think as I reach up to grab one off the bush above my head. I’ve only got one hand for the maneuver because the other is guiding my piss into the roots of the very bush I am forging off of. I eat a berry or two, finish watering, and walk the five steps back to my car. I eeek open my door carefully, trying not to hit the minivan squeezed in next to my blue Subaru Forester (her name is T.O.T.S : Temptress of the Sea). The charming Frenchman who owns the minivan would not be pleased to find a scratch on the side of his ride. I slink into my backseat driver’s side door, head first,  contorting my body so my knees touch my chest, once my body is in, I stretch it out over the mattress topper that sits upon the wooden platform I put together from a blog and a very helpful Home Depot worker. I twist my body at a slight angle and my 6’1” frame can relax again. It's 5 am, I don't work till 11 and I just want to sleep. The tricky thing is I live on the cheap and lazy side of things and never bothered to get anything to cover my windows so the light slowly filtering into the sky loves to keep me from getting back to sleep. Gratefully the exhaustion slowly climbs back into my body and I drift off, the taste of blackberries still fresh on my lips.

My car is parked next to the Blue House, our staff accommodation. It is one of my favorite houses on earth, it has nice wooden floors, a bathroom (that works!) and a shower that is warm (sometimes even hot!). The couches are comfy and the big teddy bear in the house rarely scares me.  I cook, I shower, I lounge (quite a bit), and laugh (quite loudly) in the house. In total 14 mortal souls reside in or around the house, a quirky bunch of characters that Wes Anderson would salivate over. For starters we have the Australian physio who was a master violinist and dates the other Aussie, who grew up in Bali. We have an Englishman who was a top engineer for the government, got burnt out from digging a massive hole, threw down the shovel and went traveling the world and has the poshest accent I've ever heard (and I work at boarding school). Add in two Quebec boys who like to party and love their women, along with the Peruvian who is the best surfer anyone of us has met and looks up to Kendrick Lamar, Chief Keef, and Mick Fanning in equal regard. Sprinkle in the Aussie party boy with love in his heart who lives in his van, journals and sketches at the brewery. Rounding out the group are: a buff German banker who’s kindness made the house feel like a home, the charming (is there any other kind?) Frenchman minivan owner who works too much, has fantastic hair and has had trouble getting into the U.S because he once went to Iran, oh and he's also an architect, and the New Zealand boy who fell so hard for the Canadian girl he followed her all the way to the edge of North America. So yeah, a cast of characters almost too good to be true. The glue that held us (mostly) together for our brief whirlwind love affair was a swirling mix of surfing, nature, travel and adventure. We met, we laughed and instantly became best friends. We lived, worked, and played together. You found your person in the house until they stopped doing their own dishes then you went looking for someone else to talk shit about them. It sounds mean so maybe I should rephrase, it was ranting, it was talking about something annoying someone in your family had done and you just had to get it out. But by the time the beers started to flow or the surf was up, you had forgotten it all. For those brief fleeting summer months you were a family, you faced the world, and bosses, and the rain and cold together. You would commiserate and share and do what you could to help each other out. 

Tofino is a peninsula with sandy beaches stretching most of it and a small town at the end of the peninsula. Canada is a pretty big place but for the West coast only Tofino can call itself a surf town. It is home to the Tla-o-qui-aht First Nation, whose people have stewarded the land since time in memorial. Their home has a national park, stunning rainforest, some of the largest trees in the world, not to mention waves, orcas, seals, bears, mountain and ocean views. It also has some of the most expensive property in one of the most expensive countries on earth. Far from a hidden gem, Tofino has come to be known world wide, everyone trying to find their Tofino magic. It’s the magic sold on billboards in Vancouver and tour guide offices all over Europe (especially Germany for some reason?) The sandy beaches, the towering trees, wellness and adventure meeting in a symphony that'll cost an arm and a leg. People who come to Tofino can spot magic on the drive into town: look right and see down the Clayoquot Sound into the Strathcona mountain range, snow capped and standing guard over the inner harbor, look left the Pacific Ocean, straddled by a rainforest and a road; the heavy leaves drooping under the weight of the rain, moss covered limbs and ferns complete the jungle vibe. Walking down the beach or up the cliffs surrounding the ocean you'd be forgiven if you felt like you've been transported to another planet. Sure there is still so much magic here but the resorts crowd the beach and e-bikes and saunas and well-ness retreats eat wallets and bring more people to stomp through these precious grounds. Tofino is similar to any tourist town grappling with success, especially considering the success is so recent. It wasn’t that long ago you could drive on the beaches and camp anywhere, salty fisherman, and loggers far outnumbered the Arcteryx wearing artisan coffee crowd which now populates the peninsula. Struggles and tensions between settlers and the Tla-o-qui-aht have always existed, from forestry to fishing to the newest iteration of colonization: modern architecture and cold plunge populated streets, Rivians and Teslaes taking up the limited street parking, everyone priced out of apartments much less homes. The crowd has changed and with it the identity of the town. It is in a state of flux, shifting between new money and the workers that support them. It's a town that has lost its way but there is still some of that soul left, you just have to know where to look.

        

 

The most surefire way to find the magic, to see a bit of Tofinos soul, is to be a part of the collective mass of workers. The people who make the town hum and move. My job was one of no money but all prestige, the famed ‘Surf Instructor.’ I washed wetsuits and showed people how to pop up and drew surfboards in the sand. Now I only get paid if I got a lesson yet the surf bum yearns for eternal free time so prayers for no lesson mornings took up most of my time. We complained about low-pay and lack of time off, we wanted pay to be on call, and we even almost unionized (!) but the surf was really good that day. I would wake up every day and wish it was warmer and that I could surf without so much neoprene. Every tourist I taught marveled over my bare feet walking across gravel. Speaking of tourists,  Americans were our white whales, they tipped the best by far. My colleagues and I would rush into the store, look at the reservation lesson list, one of us reading aloud the area codes the other typing them into google, hoping beyond hope it would be an American number. If you were the one lucky enough to claim the lesson, bold statements would be made about first rounds on you (this was a joke, you had no money and that tip money was going straight to dinner for the next three nights). We would teach lessons to people that didn't know how to swim, or didn't speak English or had traveled all the way from Saskatewan just to see some ocean. I taught people that were so excited and people simply checking it off a bucket list. I taught kids scared of water and dads who took it too seriously. I washed countless wetsuits full of pee, I scrubbed boots and hung up rash guards. I picked blackberries from the bushes in the back during lunch and tried not to fall asleep in the sun between lessons. For work? It was about as good as it got, a lot of laughs with funny co-workers and the most beautiful office in the world. As always though, life happens outside of work and in Tofino there was so much living to do. 

I have to acknowledge that most nights I spent WITHOUT a beer in my hand but! for the nights when a cold beverage called my name I would grab whatever money I could scrap together and bike to the brewery or stumble into the fabled Dirty Maq for Wednesday karaoke. Instead of seeing the gorgeous surfer gal of your dreams, you instead would come face to face with either Tofinos scariest man: The greasy dreadlocked bouncer of the MAQ or a bridal party that hogs the karaoke queue. It should be noted that Tofino should not be your destination for a night out, it's not a town that does it well. But! There are a couple events in summer that bring the whole town together for a few drinks and thoseeee are magical. Summers' kick off is Tofino Jazz Fest which could be Woodstock's smellier, hippier, and smaller cousin who just happens to own an amazing piece of property. We would sneak drinks down to the Harbourfront and watch music and laugh and get drunk and then go dance our hearts out at the local Legion. Former soldiers were outnumbered by hand knit beanies and youths on psychedelics. The saxophone of the Spanish fusion band drowned out all conversation, leaving everyone to dance! The end of summer was signified by Brew B-B-Q, a farewell of drunken chaos which makes you wish summer will never end. Hosted at the local brewery this years theme Conspiracy Theories was a magnet for space men, Trumpers, Loch Ness monsters, and gay frogs moshing to music that was justttt a bit intense for my altered state of mind. The event was capped off by a hidden beach rave that I had to trek through a jungle to get to, nearly falling off a cliff, and almost surrendering myself to sleep on the ferns on the ground surrounding me after too many wrong turns.  While I do enjoy a good time, waking up hungover in your car with a long day of work and an overcast sky and cold drizzle greeting you kept these drunken nights to a minimum.

 

Most nights were spent sitting around the kitchen table laughing with my friends, exhausted from a day of work and play outside. I watched a lot of sunsets on those nights and made my nightly special for every meal. The house started calling me bagel boy cause well, I like bagels and you can put anything on a bagel. If I found a five dollar bill in my pocket I would go get soft-serve from the Shed and I became friends with the counter girl who would do bits with my friends until we were laughing so hard we couldn't stand. The porch was my favorite part of the house. I’d sit and watch the world go by, yapping and chatting and yapping some more. Gossip goes like wildfire and I would be lying if I said I did not indulge. We would watch movies like it was summer camp and hatch plans for fall, the next big adventure was always waiting around the corner. Although no matter what we did or talked about, the conversation could not escape the almighty: surfing. 

Surfing brought me to this peninsula. When I was growing up in Rhode Island none of my friends surfed and this always bummed me out. Tofino was different though,  everyone surfs. For my friends and I our home became Cox Bay Beach. On the far left of the Bay we taught lessons and in the right hand corner we caught waves. If you worked till 4pm you were in the water by half four,  if you worked till 6pm you were in the water by half 6. It didn't matter how shit the waves were, the stoke (the vibe, the energy, the gnar, the FROTH) was always high. Most of us were coming from places where you couldn't surf everyday so the fact we now could? It didn't matter how shitty it looked. If it was a mere one foot out we would convince ourselves it was 3 foot and paddle out. We would carpool and then spill out of whoever’s van or Subaru we were packed in like sardines. I would risk a tow by parking in one of the resorts, praying that nothing would happen, preferring the risk with a minute walk versus the no risk ten minute walk to the beach. Waxing up the boards in the parking lot, chatting shit, feeling like the cool grungy locals we were cosplaying as in front of the tourists felt like we were in some modern performance art.  I would do a couple stretches on the beach to make myself think I was doing something and then we would paddle out into whatever mush was out there. The paddle out consisted of dodging tourists trying to learn and locals thinking they were pros. The key was to get enough of your friends together so that you could yell and scream and catch waves and wipe out, and chat, and sit in silence, and paddle paddle paddle and have no one bother you. While sitting out there the most beautiful women you have ever seen in your life would paddle by and wave and you would just try not to slip off your board and embarrass yourself (I embarrassed myself). The conversation in the lineup revolved around the waves: what if the waves were a bit bigger or the swell was just south a bit more, or did you see the forecast to come? I would always paddle out for a “quick one” and end up staggering back to the car, arms aching after three hours of nirvana. The act of ripping off a wetsuit after a long session was more in line with a battle with the gods than a struggle with rubber. As you take your suits off and talk about dinner plans all it takes is one to say, “What about we get food?” We start salivating over pulled pork poutine, call ahead giving an order, the Irishman on the other line doing his best not to sound pissed at 5 orders coming in right before close.  Hop in whoever’s vehicle got us to the beach and book it to get poutine. I was lucky enough to go with the Quebecois boys who just happened to be friends with the gals in the gelato shop, next thing we know there was discounted gelato in front of us, our wetsuits hanging around our waists, changing towels draped over us. Our bones ached from work and surf yet you couldn’t wipe the smiles off our faces. Delirium consumes all of us and in that moment I feel like I could do this forever. Work, surf, laugh, eat, repeat and repeat and repeat. 

The problem is that moment stretches until it breaks. And in the wreckage there are bills, other jobs, and responsibilities. They come knocking and you feel like you have to answer and then you're sitting and typing this up, two hours from the nearest surf, the distant memory of it making you smile. I miss it a whole lot but I wasn't devastated to see it come to an end. Living in your car, with constant overcast weather, rain that could strike at any moment and no money isn't a recipe for sustainability. Also, when working a seasonal job it's much better to be the first one out the door than the last, you have to know when to leave the party and I felt like I left just before the cops broke the door down. Tofino is an amazing slice of the world, its nature is one of a kind. The town is ever changing and adapting, cultures and money grappling with each other, how to preserve, how to grow, the same problems facing most of the world. It’s soul still exists, you just have to look for it through the fog. The people I met are awesome and adventurous and inspire me to keep getting out there. I truly enjoyed it all, from the 1 am beach raves to birthday BBQs and the daily surfs, but there is this weird need to constantly be doing the coolest thing, be coming back or going to the most badass adventure, and it wore on me a bit. I didn't want to feel like I had to keep justifying why I wasn't doing the single coolest thing possible at every moment.  It's not just a Tofino thing but in small towns everything is amplified. I adventured and had my fun and loved it and saw its soul while some of it still remains but it wasn't the answer for me. So where do I go from here? What is the end destination? Is there one? My dad always says it's more important to know what you don't like than what you do,-it helps narrow your search and I think that's so important. So now I’m back doing a job where people wear buttoned up shirts (most of the time) and have good haircuts (myself not included), are professional, and don't pee themselves on the job (surf instructors are pissing themselves constantly). I get to do some work outside, have some adventures and get to play a whole lot more in my job than any of my friends. I am lucky! But it just doesn't feel like it’s where I am supposed to be. Don’t get me wrong, there are days I like being back in the “regular” world, a steady paycheck and a roof over my head can't be shunned by any means. The other night I put the heater on and didn't have to wear a wool tuk on my head and when I climbed into my bed after a hot shower there was no sand in my sheets. I can close my window with no seagull cries to drown out.  At 1 am no car is pulling in alongside my bed. I don’t have to wait for 13 other humans to use the stove or the bathroom before I can. If I’m being honest with myself, those things were fine, even when it was annoying it was still part of the adventure. I’ve never learned anything about myself, the people around me, or the world at large when I’m comfortable. I know this is such a privileged position to have, I also know I need an adventure, a different purpose. I ask myself constantly, “Is this it?” and if the answer is yes then that’s amazing! I would truly be so freaking lucky if this was it. I don’t want the answer to be yes though. It’s probably just ego but I do think there is a lot more to come and that idea alone gets me excited for tomorrow. Maybe there isn’t but the hope and possibility that there might be gives each day a specialness. I wake up excited because who knows who I’ll meet, what will happen, and where I will go! Maybe the next adventure is as simple as picking blackberries again, waking up with sand in my hair, and being wholly myself each and every day. All I know is the wind is picking up, the road is beginning to call, and I’ll be answering soon…

Yeahhhhh…. that was fun