Wednesday, September 30, 2009

At Least Pit Ponies Don't Surf

You think this guy is a beginner? Guess again. I just happened to capture him at the most inopportune moment, which is what my camera directs me to do. He is, in fact, quite a talented surfer. I wouldn't have tried surfing in the waves he was riding, at least not until Depends makes a waterproof undergarment. Yes, things were pretty gnarly at Lawrencetown East (N.S.). This picture unfortunately gives no hint as to the conditions. 

The waves were big, aggressive and dangerously close to shore. A trip to the rocks was never far away for the ten hardy souls who braved the waves. I do mean braved. It was fun to watch and photograph, though the fog robbed the surfers of their true colours...everything but yellow.

Later in the day I made my my to The Range. The Range is where the Halifax windsurfing scene lives. It's east of Lawrencetown by a few minutes. The Range is a playground for windsurfers. It's Disneyland and Six Flags combined, when the wind gods smile upon the neoprene clad wind junkies. Yesterday was a fun day at The Range, though it was much less than it could have been. The waves were impressive....big, not huge. The period, the space and time between the waves, was quite generous, allowing enough time to regroup if a splashdown occurred.

Being new to The Range made me cautious. I followed my friend out into the bigger waves though somewhat apprehensively. Self preservation runs rampant in my veins, thus explaining why the nickname 'danger boy' never quite stuck. I was doing just fine until the fog rolled in, then I lost my nerve. It's one thing to be windsurfing in unfamiliar waves when you can see the shore, it wholly another to have no idea where you are.

Next stop, Ireland...unless you're lucky enough to fetch up on Sable Island. 

I don't fancy dating Seabiscuit and eating sedge grass, so I'll take a pint of Guinness in Ireland over a my little pony in a windswept sand box. I hate horses, and they hate me, but that's another story completely.

The waves and wind would have cast me upon the Nova Scotia shore had things gone terribly wrong. I would have washed up somewhere between Yarmouth and Glace Bay. Yarmouth wouldn't have been so bad, as the south shore is incredibly attractive, but Glace Bay would have been a nightmare for me, what with all those pit ponies wandering around the desolate streets. I hate pit ponies, and they hate me. 

How do you segue pit ponies into the fact that I'm flying to New York City this morning? I'm not sure that it can be done, other than to say that pit ponies are rude, unfriendly and generally disgruntled with the manner in which their employers treat them? Did I mention that I'm flying Air Canada to New York?

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