The Place Where Canoes Rest

Ritual, Friends and Wholeness.

For the love of surf. I hop on a plane 45 minutes up and down over a 15,325′ peak. I have my board and a hand drawn map courtesy of Brother Dylan. I’d never been here before but I’ve heard the local lore from surfers and not surfers alike. This is The Place Where Canoes Rest.

This was originally going to solo camp trip, springing a tent on the back of a rented flat bed truck. But Dylan being the homie and facilitator offered up his surf shed and truck he left at the airport. A luxury in a rainforest where the September highs are mid 50’s. We land and with in a stones throw I walk through the single room terminal into and old rusted out Tacoma, keys in the visor as promised.