When the Wind Blows...

I grew up in the suburban sprawl of a place called Scarborough, where strip malls and residential neighborhoods are joined by speeding highways.  Where concrete structures and fenced off properties play home to the rich and the poor, the black and the white, the lonely and the loved, and everything in between.  Interspersed with a few token parks and a strategic planting of trees, it is no nature lovers paradise.  Thousands of miles away from the closest ocean, it is the last place one would look to find a wave to surf.

It was mid-morning when I cruised down the steep hill towards the lake.  The cliffs that rise on both sides of the road serve as a gateway from the drab settings of the city suburbs into the hidden lake front area known as Bluffer's Park.  The sky was slightly overcast and the ground was wet from the storm that had raged overnight, the wind was still blowing with a force - it had to be if I was going to accomplish my goal.  I parked the VW and strolled along the path that led to the cove - a slightly sheltered nook along the shoreline where the waves were rumored to break well with the right wind.  As it came into view I could see that there were already a few surfers out in the water, bobbing around in what seemed to be non-surfable conditions.  For the first couple of minutes the waves were breaking small and close to the shore, there were not even any white caps on the water.  I nearly resigned myself to yet another day without surfing, to leaving the excitement of the water and heading back up into the cold grayness of the suburbs.  Then I saw a distinguishable bump forming in the distance and a long boarder paddling for it, it peaked and opened up into a clean head high face that he was able to ride for a good few seconds - more than enough to stoke any poor soul searching for waves on a lake.  I pulled out my phone and snapped a couple shots before running back to my car to gear up. 

I was anxious as a slipped on my 6mm hooded wetsuit, booties and gloves.  The windows for waves on the lakes are small, and I knew that if I didn't catch this one then I could be waiting for weeks if not months until the next favorable conditions presented themselves.  I jogged back over to the cove with board in hand and greeted a fellow lake surfer as he was leaving the water.  I waded waist high into the water and as I hopped on my fish and started paddling, the board sank into the water a little more than I was used to -the diminished buoyancy of the freshwater adding a new dynamic to the activity.  I relaxed as I flowed through the water, that feeling of impending waves calming my mind and body.  I paddled into a few before catching a wave successfully, having to adjust my style for the freshwater.  As I finally caught a clean right, cutting up on the face a couple of times as I flew down the line, I was awed at what I was doing.  I paddled back out and sat on my board staring at the horizon of this massive lake, my mind coming to grips with the irony of the situation.  I had been traveling the world searching for waves, uncertain if I would ever call Toronto my home again, and now here I was on the shoreline of my suburban youth, surfing.