The Lazy Cherub Enigma: Storm Chasers, Smores, and Parking Lot Fish Tacos

There are times in one’s life where being in the storm is a necessity. Perhaps not a full on hurricane or a nor’easter at sea but a force of nature nonetheless. One that can be appreciated for its ferocity and admired for its raw beauty. There are places in the world where the storm is why you come. Not many places mind you. Perhaps only one - a place called Tofino.

I remember the first time I came to Tofino. It was the same way many people do – a four-day package at the Wikininish Inn. Tofino did not disappoint. There were storms of the natural wonder kind. There were also storms of the heart - a dismally failed attempt at a family holiday. The view was good but the company less so. I spent the four days weathering my own inner tempest and coming to the realization that some families are never meant to break free of the waves.

On this occasion I wanted to face the storm head on. The best way to do this was to book a beach front room at the Pacific Sands – top floor so I could look past the trees and into the abyss. I had it all planned out. Books, wine, cheese and popcorn. Eight days of watching Mother Nature batter the west coast while I admired her behind a wall of glass. Maybe I would even write. I imagined it would be a little like the Shining minus the creepy twins and maniacal axe murdered.

The storm refused to come. This lead to a complete rethink of my forced withdrawal. Storm watching was replaced by beach combing. Long walks on Long Beach and even longer walks on Chestermere. Endless parades of mixed breed surfers and dogs. Always a beach fire, beer and “herb” to be had. Tofino has an eclectic mix of subdued wealth and off the grid youth. It’s charming, unpretentious and green. It remains one of the few places in the world that still has not fully embraced the Internet or the notion that dogs must be kept on a leash and sleeping on the beach must be a crime.

All this walking required fuel. A beach combing excursion must include fish tacos from Tacofino. If we were not wet and sandy enough from the walk we were sure to pay our dues in line at the food truck. Part of the delicious anticipation is waiting in the back parking lot ankle deep in mud along with half the town. We eat what has to be the best grilled tuna wasabi taco in the universe sitting on broken stools in the rain. And we don’t care because it’s fresh and it’s made with love and its Mother Nature man!

On the days where the storm hinted she might arrive we ate at “Fetch” in the Black Rock Inn at Ucuelet. If the fish tacos at Tacofino don’t sate your palate then the “Sea Which” sandwich and Caesar Salad at the Black Rock will. I ate them both twice over and rationalized it as a necessary indulgence in order to revisit the art show in the lobby. I was very partial to Allison Tremain’s Hump Back Whale prints and even now, I find myself eyeing her web page for future acquisitions. That’s not to say an acquisition wasn’t made! There was an obligatory stop at Roy Henry Vicker’s Eagle Aerie Gallery to pay homage to the man who blessed our living room with two of his drum skin paintings. Roy has become a lot more famous since our first purchase many years ago. This meant that my lust for his “Eagle Feather” acrylic on rag paper would have to remain just lustful thinking… This time around our walls back home would be graced by a carved Haida Raven that seduced Ken at the House of Himwitsa.

All to soon the sun begins to set and it’s time to squeeze in one more beach walk. A stroll past Frank Island where we seriously consider retiring on a cabin perched on the rocks looking into infinity. The tide rolls in and the surfers roll out. We come across four young men in the prime of silliness and agree to email them photos of their outrageous male bonding on boards. They are like the sea – wet and wild and completely oblivious to the power the have. They are destined for greatness and are humble enough not to show it. For now they are content to perform feats of acrobatic strength for two wandering souls; their debt to humanity done for the day. It is 7 o’clock, which means the fire pit at Pacific Sands, will be ready for smores. The young disappear into the waves. The old convene by the fire. Tonight there will be no storm. But then again, I’ve had enough storms in this lifetime that I should be done chasing them by now. Instead I will eat smores and tomorrow I will eat fish tacos in the rain. And then I will begin to count down the days until we are back in Tofino again.