JUNE 7, 2018
There are countless setups on Poole’s island and nobody has ever surfed any of them—bays, beach breaks, points, slabs. On the way to one spot, we pass the site of an Argentinian plane crash from the war—a stark reminder that our new aquatic playground has a grim past.
Storm winds are forecasted for the next few days, so we head back to the main island to regroup. On the boat ride back, we drink a few of the Budweisers through ski masks as we slice through the water. As we approach a Royal Navy battleship, we stop to grab a crab pot we planted two days ago and discover that it’s full to the brim. Even though cracking into the fresh crabmeat seemed well worth the work to us, Poole insists we give it over to the Royal Navy as a token of thanks.
We arrive to a beautiful sunset on the main island and find an amazing homecooked meal waiting for us at the bed and breakfast thanks to Arlette—slow braised leg of lamb, veggies, Yorkshire pudding and mint sauce, gravy and wine. During dinner, Jamie, an artist who works with Arlette, tells us that he once went to go look for a missing person on Poole’s island. They found him on the coast, sitting with a bottle in between his legs, dead. Turns out it was exactly where we’d found the perfect slab.