This ones brand new - like this year new he said. He parked it down at the church hall a little away from the house in which he lived and from there he’d walk up the gravel road and around and up home. A long gravel track through pine and sitka spruce led back up to his home. The afternoon he showed me around the bus it was sunny and he brought down a sun hat that he discarded when we got near. He opened up the doors and walk inside showing me the stretched single aisle with stoke and poise. Everything was thoroughly explained and any questions answered fully. We spoke for a while and exchanged ideas. I knew he liked old things that were easy to maintain but a twinkle in his eye gave away the fact he liked his new bus.

I’d gotten a lay of the area through him. Which waves broke on which swell where and how good a wave might get if a hurricane swell had come howling through. There was a certain magic in meeting people you knew you’d spend time with temporarily. In ordinary life, you were far too busy obsessing about fabricated things like being on time for work or dinner that evening. Moving around had this secret hatch that would let you bypass all of the trivialities and delve into a world where you’d make connections beyond basic small talk. With him small talk careened into chats about wave energy, the cosmos and the inner workings of pontiac gearboxes.

It really was the surf was the driving force that spurred chats between us. He was far more radical in his outlook than I ever was in many ways. He grilled me about my attempt to sell my art one afternoon in his car. He was adamant that most forms of capitalism were inherently bad. I was in broad agreement with him and we even shared a sense of cynicism about the way that humans had managed to invent and then burdened itself with this overbearing economic system. We joked about cars being built badly in order to be replaced sooner. I knew deep down he craved nature as much as me. Overly pessimistic chats could be overcome, from both sides, by glimpses of bald eagles or a wave that looked like it would have a fun section to it. In nova Scotia these types of distractions came often. I often traced lines in the sky after ospreys hunting and was even lucky enough to hear the breach of minke whales while working along the coast.

Across the road was a little beach. It was mostly pebbled with patches of thick seaweed and other assorted ocean growths. The air was fresh and a gentle breeze came in from the east. He said there was a heavy, fast but fickle slab right out front of his house. Surfers had this way of talking about waves that made them sound mythical and elevated in status. The bay had a narrow opening and really needed a big swell to push in there. He said he saw it breaking a few times over winters gone by as he walked down to retrieve his bus.

I explored local areas through the lens of surfing and found interest peaked when near the ocean. Fellow water people had a connection that was instant and unspoken. He asked me about waves back home and what surfing where I was from was like. Driving along the coast highway one evening looking for waves I asked if the ocean gave him flow state or any other form of being at one with the waves and nature. He said no but a few moments later he hesitated and thought that waves would give him something he named comfortness. He laughed in an awkward way and said that’s not a word right? I understood fully though, in a way my own demons were expelled when in the ocean and a form of comfort came to me too.

We shared a creative streak that brought us closer together. He liked making photos and had all the kit necessary to build and maintain a dark room. I was just diving into the world of film photography. I was self taught and had lacked the mentorship usually afforded to emerging creatives - leaving many things to trial and error. He had studied photography for some time and had many tips and tricks that I would compartmentalise in the back of my mind for when I would be in a position to own my own little darkroom - or at least think of setting one up. That creative flow was pervasive within the surf and water community. Musicians, artists, photographers and craftspeople all shared stoke for nature and waves and he was the same.

We never agreed upon but both knew we owed the ocean and surfing in particular a lot. That winter I was due to motor west and he had done the same journey years before and encouraged me to make the journey. Wave riding possessed this power of alleviating worries and stresses and compacted it all down to one thing - catching a wave. He told me of a time when he sold christmas trees in New York and another time surfing at a break in California at which he didn’t feel particularly welcome. Yeah Canadians could just get a free visa to sell christmas trees he told me.

In a world where barriers were being erected quicker than those torn down - surfing despite its occasional negativity - bridged gaps and broke ice. I often found myself wanting to share the aloha stoke with fellow surfers and cheer people on as they caught waves. We surfed together many times and shared many yarns in and out of the water.

The winter after I left I often wondered how he was faring driving his bus. I knew the climate on the east coast was tough and winters could last for an eternity. When I first arrived in Nova Scotia during may the year before water temperatures were still close to zero. He was a sunny soul like me and I often wished him the best of luck battling through the torrent of cold, ice and snow.

He gave me a heads up on waves that I found, surfed and loved in California. A way of paying it forward came with the territory that us water people inhabited. We often protected and cherished this scarce resource but also wanted to share the stoke with our fellow travellers. A strange liminal space to inhabit. Only those in the know were allowed to enter.

He acted as an impromptu guide to me during my time in Nova Scotia. One weekend with hurricane swell due we cruised about in his car for a good few hours. He showed me places he had previously worked, thought about living and also waves that had become victims to modern infrastructure projects. His kindness make me look back incredibly fondly on this time. There had never been a time at which I looked back on travel and regretted it. Other times blended in more than this though. I am forever grateful to have made his acquaintance and have been able to spend time alongside him.

The water as our teacher enabled this interaction to flourish.

Thanks for being here

Steve