Pescadero

Pescadero was exactly what I was looking for when I came to Mexico. I imagined beach camping directly in front of a wave, sunrise out on the water and enough waves to go around. 

My journey was circuitous; I left a day late from the states. Missing my flight worked out. I spent the day sleeping off the sickness that snuck up on me the day of my planned departure. To avoid missing the next flight I stayed up all night playing Catan with my buddies. If you haven't played I highly advise it. Settlers of Catan is the perfect platform to burn up 21st century tension by trading, conquering and expanding your settlements. We've coined it hippie monopoly. 

Arriving in Mexico was the equivalent to a travel nightmare but I was in too high spirits to care. The contents of Alaska flight 626 were disgorged onto the roasting tarmac. After dodging multiple vehicles I finally made it to a non-descript door where I was ushered into the terminal. After passing an employee checking air conditioning ducts I progressed headlong into a thicker and thicker stream of humans. Promptly the human river came to a standstill at the top of a two story set of non-functioning escalators packed to the brim with vacation bound North Americans sporting shirts like "Cabo Fiesta 2017" and "Tequila, Fiesta, Siesta, Repeat." Two hours later I passed customs and was greeted by my intact surfboard. I was so grateful that I hollered and kissed my bag. On further inspection it took a small ding but nothing to complain about.

I managed to find public transit in a sea of mini-buses and taxis and began my bus hopping to Pescadero. I was deposited in the dust in a sleepy little town. I found a winding road leading to the coast and trudged towards the setting sun. About three quarters of the way two expats pulled up in their Tacoma and gave me an incredulous look, followed by. Hop in! They gave me a sandy piece of board wax and pointed me towards the free camping. The sun had set and it was getting dark, I was tired and looking for a place to crash. I figured that by walking to the end of the beach I might find a secluded nook. As I passed a camper van a voice yelled out, ¨Did you just arrive?¨ I answered with the affirmative and they quickly followed with, ¨Want some rum!?¨ They were Canadian, and dawn would show me that the majority of license plates were from British Columbia.

            The next morning I was the first one out in the water. The waves were heavy and thick, once people showed up, the vibes were unheard of. Everyone cheering each other on as they dropped into the heaving behemoths. I was shaky and nervous but managed to pull into a couple nice waves over the course of the morning. The best part: my handmade board performs like a dream! 

Adventures with a Canadian Fox

In the steady continuation of datecations with my Canadian love, I spent the first part of 2017 basking in the glory that is British Columbia. Gladly the incessant rain abated within a few days after my arrival and we got a few days of unreal, crisp sunny weather. We took full advantage of this and managed to snowboard under blue-bird skies, hike through the dripping Red Cedars that characterize the Pacific Northwest, and sea kayak around Gabriola Island.

Photo Credit: Megs

The wonder of Vancouver, as an outdoor enthusiast, is that for a city of over 600,000 people, nature surrounds and nearly engulfs the glass and steel cityscape. Three ski resorts within thirty minutes not to mention Whistler, just under two hours away. Ocean on two, or three sides of the city depending on where you are. Ferries that run daily taking you to the gulf islands or Vancouver Island proper. Needless to say, I'm in love with it almost as much as I am with Megs.



The moment I would like to share was a sunset walk that we took to the waters edge on Gabriola Island. We headed to a spot that Megs had been to before, a spit of land that becomes an island when the tide is high. The sun was setting and we were off; the walk was surreal. The cedars grew close together, making the forest floor a mono-crop of moss. With each step, the moss would pucker, swallowing our feet. Our ramble followed animal trails that meandered through this green and rust red world. A sound caught my attention to our left and as I turned the image brought The Wild Things promptly to memory. A Scottish highland cow, with huge curving horns, and a long wavy coat to match the trees peered at us with a baby by its side. The cow proved to be benign, content to watch us as we hopped over logs towards the ocean that we could perceive through the thickness of the trees.

We crossed the threshold of the forest to the placid ocean dotted with islands. The sun was beaming on the snow capped mountains across the Strait of Georgia. The sky was immaculate, not a cloud to be seen and the alpenglow rising pink off of the rugged treeless peaks in the distance. An eagle flew overhead and ducks bobbed quietly. The speed of the world slowed as the fading sunlight crept up the mountains.

The moment glistened with serenity. We sipped our teas and contemplated the magic that the vista brought. The combination of mountains and ocean is abrupt, wilderness in essence, yet its allure is undeniable. So beautiful that sucks the words out, replacing it with a sense of calm wonder at the beauty of this world. Moments like these, especially when shared, are gems that nestle into our hearts for safe keeping. Our walk back was giddy and silly, I felt I was humming from the awe and of course our furry friend was there to watch us pass.