Words by John Platanius, photos by Adam Dewolfe
The grom energy shows us the light! Photo: Adam Dewolfe
It’s a sunny June morning in the temperate rainforest surrounding Tofino, British Columbia. This fact alone holds an umbrella of good spirits over everyone in our group of seven as we walk our gear down the Crab Dock and load it into Raph Bruhwiler’s aluminum boat. But we have more reasons than solar energy to be smiling. We’re about to head up the wild West Coast of Vancouver Island with one of the most experienced remote surfers in Canada. And two of us are lucky enough to be bringing our kids.
My son Reed is eight years old. His buddy Fred Sanford is ten. If you’ve been surfing any of Tofino’s beachbreaks in the last year, you’ve probably seen these two little blonde groms bobbing around in the lineup, charging for every wave that comes their way. When you do see them, you’ll notice a few things right away: they’re keen, they paddle hard, and they’re probably laughing or smiling when they pop up on a perfect left. To put it in surf vernacular, they’re most stoked when they’re in the water. But on this morning, Reed and Fred are Super-Size Stoked. Just like most folks who follow this website, the boys have heard stories and drooled over pictures of the isolated waves along B.C.’s coast. In fact both kids have been to the wave we’re about to travel to, but neither has had the opportunity to surf it. Later today, if wind and swell conditions permit, they’ll be surfing a remote Canadian point with Raph, one of their surf heroes.
Fred’s older brother Jack is loading his gear into the boat too. He can surf better than most Canadian kids his age, but he’s inspired by a different set of heroes than Raph and Peter Devries. Jack looks up to Canadian surf photography innovators like Jeremy Koreski and Adam DeWolfe. Guys who have merged their ocean stoke with visual artistry. Sure, Jack is excited to photograph his little brother and Reed on a new wave, but he’s thrilled to travel with and observe a professional water photographer as he shoots. We’re on our way. A slight chop skips Raph’s boat along the water, but it’s calm enough to appreciate the misty streams of cloud curling around the coastal mountains and fjords as we head north. The boys have boating experience in this area of the Pacific, so the long trip up the coast is not as exciting as it might be for most kids their age. But the unknown of the open coast is always present. The groms’ mood seems to reflect the water’s mysteries. They sit in the bow, intently focused on their first opportunity to surf a secluded Pacific point.
The water calms as we pull into the crescent-shaped bay that borders the point we’ve come to surf. An oversize white trumpeter swan flies just above the shoreline’s gigantic Sitka spruce trees. Within seconds, a small wedge boils off the rocks below and the mood instantly shifts from focused to youthful delight. ”Ooooh. Look at that one!” ”Check out that peak!” We’re all smiles as we squint towards the sun to watch for waves. A pointer finger shoots up and points out to sea.
“There’s a set. There! Oh, it’s going to be good.”
The boat’s anchor has barely scraped bottom and the kids are gearing down and suiting up. All eyes stay pinned to the swell while wetsuits fly. In record time all three kids launch off the boat and paddle single-mindedly to the peak. Rich (Fred and Jack’s dad), Raph, Adam and I laugh and marvel as the kids get into position. We tell stories about our previous encounters in this area—Rich as a choker in the heli-logging industry, me as a labourer and caretaker in the neighbouring harbour, and Raph and Adam on countless surf missions. We’re all lighter here, released from what now seem like artificial complexities of everyday life. It’s simple here, and our laughter and smiles are evidence of surfing’s therapeutic potential.
Our first session is shoulder high and fun, but a slight onshore breeze doesn’t help the wave’s shape. The kids are nervous at first, but lighten up and start to laugh as they learn the nuances of surfing a steeper wave. After an hour and a half of solid surf, the swell slows and we paddle to shore where Raph has built a fire. A black bear ambles down by the nearby river. Two bald eagles scream and spar right over our heads. A gray whale rolls and feeds 20 metres off the nearest kelp patch, spouting a heart-shaped mist every two or three minutes, reminding us that he’s there.
I grab a seat on a beach log next to Raph and warm my hands by the fire. While we were surfing, he was beachcombing and playing by the fire. He’s trying to fabricate a slingshot out of a scavenged strip of black rubber inner tube and a Y-shaped stick. I’ve known Raph for 14 years, and this moment is a picture of his true personality. If there is something to catch, build, hunt or tinker with, Raph will make the most of it. He’s a kid in a professional surfer’s body. When I mentioned the idea of bringing the kids up here on a surf trip, his enthusiasm went through the roof. When the kids launched off the boat and paddled towards the wave, Raph’s knowing smile was somehow bigger than the rest of ours. We all decide optimistically that the winds are going to change and the tide will be perfect in about three hours. Fred and Reed play with a giant white foam float and bodysurf the rocky shorepound. Jack photographs the bear. Wilderness is a wonderful babysitter.
