Anticipation & The Search

It’s funny how a “normal” level of stoke can jump off the charts in a matter of a few seconds. This afternoon we loaded up the car and left for the coast in search of waves. Lately I have been developing a serious itch - I seriously need to get back into my routine of getting in the water on a regular basis. Maybe it’s the pending exams, or perhaps the dangerous amounts of caffeine, but whatever the reason, we were more than ready to get out there again.

We set off with a general idea of where we might try. Conditions seemed a bit suspect; 4-7 feet @ 9 seconds… but the wind was howling. 20-30 km/hr and onshore at the usual go-to spots.

The pursuit of finding waves is one of my favorite parts of surfing. Depending on the swell, wind direction, and tides, you never know what might be around the next bend. Sure enough, we found a gem. The strong southwest winds were kept at bay thanks to a series of points and coves. If anything, the wind was offshore. A rocky right point break - just what Nova Scotia is famous for (or not). After a quick costume change on the side of the winding country road and a short walk across some rocky terrain, we were back in the Atlantic again. The slippery rocks, bits of old lobster traps and the smell were all the same.

Our now rubbery arms and the dropping tide brought a quicker than usual end to a few epic hours filled with more stoke than I’ve felt in awhile. Searching for new lines and spots along the coast is what keeps us stoked and coming back, and the anticipation of what awaits us around the next bend keeps each adventure fresh and unique.

This spot was the bomb!

March Madness

Wetsuit up. A chilly march afternoon in the snow.

Right Coast Sliding Sonnet

fumbling sleepily we pack in the cold
drive east on Route Seven toward Martinique,
waking this early leaves no need to speak
steaming coffee warms fingers left exposed.
sunrise meets bleary eyes on dawn patrol
light plays with the clouds – a slow hide and seek
crunch underfoot sounds ‘midst chattering teeth,
as subzero water swallows us whole.
waves crash down heavily, three feet at eight
I stare out, waiting, for swell to appear –
a smooth curl by which I can be propelled
l’eau and behold, it’s delivered by fate,
with spray-tickled eyes and a frigid cheer
I slide, ensconced, in a watery spell.

Dawn Patrol

Where we’re coming from: rocky Nova Scotian coast, mixed with Maine beaches and backwoods. We like adventuring, flannel shirts, cold water, and thoughtful progressions. This is an adventure of sorts – sharing our discoveries and passions with anyone who stumbles across our musings. Send us at slidingborders (at) gmail.com


Joel & tyler