JUNE 7, 2018

Surfer - - Contents -

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.

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