Please Don’t Read This Surf Story (Soar, Winter 2008)
I'm probably going to get in deep trouble for writing this.
There are only a few good surf spots on the wild west coast of Vancouver Island - and the people that know them well don't necessarily want the word to get out. Sombrio Beach is one of those spots. All sorts of verbal booby traps have been rigged to keep outsiders out. The road is terrible. The waves are rarely working. The water is freezing. It's clogged with kelp. It's rocky. There are sharks. The locals have shotguns.
Sure, it's mostly all true. But it’s really no reason to stay away.
Drive east from Victoria until you reach the edge of the world, then hang a right. Past Jordan River, 60 km north of Sooke on rugged Hwy 14 you'll hit a kidney-jarring dirt road that ends at a beautiful beach. Sombrio is not all that far from civilization, but it feels as though you've entered a different time zone. Towering, thick-trunked trees make up a tangled Jurassic Park rainforest. Hidden tents and whispers of campfire smoke recall the time when the Pacheedaht people were the only real locals. It's easy to imagine it's 1790, the year the Spanish navy first arrived here (and named it Sombrio for its moodiness.) A couple of bearded hippies at the trailhead party like 1969. My own personal archaeology reveals a 12-yr-old bottle of scotch and an iPod, circa 2007. Yeah, Sombrio is timeless.
Just in case there was any truth to the shotgun rumour, I thought we'd better at least try to appear local. I'm unshaven and wearing my favourite toque; my pal Rob invokes his First Nations heritage with a spirited wolf t-shirt. The third member of our posse, Big Jeff (who’s been known to swear like a logger) drives our undercover vehicle - a 1981 rusted-out Toyota Landcruiser that camouflages nicely into the parking lot. Our disguise works, even fooling a grizzled local who calls himself Rivermouth Mike. "Hey! Where you guys been?" asks Rivermouth, "I haven't see you around lately!" Our cover intact, we ask about the waves and casually joke about the rocks. "Yeah, rocks never hurt anyone," laughs Mike, who says he's surfed here every day for 30 years, "just go around'em." We didn't ask about the shotguns.
I thought I might get away with writing this piece if I didn't rave too much about the surfing. But honestly, it was one of the finest days I've had on this coast. Because Sombrio is a point break, it can produce consistent, nicely curling waves and some long rides (especially in the winter) and there's a multiple choice of spots (Firsts, Chickens, and Seconds) to match skill levels. Sure, the water's cold, but a snug 5mm wetsuit will keep you as warm as whale blubber. Bobbing meditatively amongst the kelp, we waited for our waves; our breath hanging in the air, feeling as local as the seals. (No sign of sharks.)
Later that night Rivermouth Mike finds us again. Over tasty halibut and chips at Sooke's famous Fish Trap, he serves us up a lengthy unsolicited history lesson on the area. (Seems he’s not called Rivermouth just for his locale...) He covers the Sombrio River gold rush and the legendary Johnson-Oke family of surfers and squatters (see Sombrio: the documentary), while lamenting the continual pressure from the outside world on his wild West Coast. As new immigrants, we nod in protective agreement. But just as we’re feeling cozy, our astute waitress hands us our bill, along with a friendly warning: we’d best avoid the ice-cold beer up at Buffy's Pub, and we’d better not mention a word of any of this to anyone.