The electric ocean and my first tattoo
Is there anything better than being in the ocean when the waves crash against you and that exhilarating gasping inhale of air paired with half a mouthful of saltwater fills your lungs and you’re cursing the day you cried as a child to get out of swimming lessons?
Didn’t think so. I’ve been in the Atlantic and Pacific oceans what feels like hundreds of times yet every time i take the initial plunge it feels like I’m 18 years old again with my fresh first tattoo. Oh ya, you read that right; my first day in Southern California, Huntington Beach to be exact, I got my first tattoo(s) ever and less than two hours later I was swimming in the ocean. I was so excited to finally get tattooed (more on this later) that I wasn’t thinking about our plans for that evening, nor was i really paying attention to the astronomical rate the experienced artist charged me; the rookie amateur. I didn't care however, I would’ve paid triple. I was extremely ecstatic to be in California and the fact that i was now the proud owner of two swallow bird tattoos on my calves quite possibly clouded my ability to haggle over a price, or bother to listen to the after care instructions for that matter. So, when the plan to run into the ocean that evening formed, being the brand new beginner tattoo collector I was, I didn’t even think once about it. I tore off those bandages and ran like a maniac into that gigantic living body of water.
I realized two things that day; getting tattooed really sucks and the ocean is awesome...
Every summer we go on a bike ride to Tofino to surf for a few days, couple days on the road, couple days in Vancouver, and a few days to enjoy everything that makes Tofino such a magical place. This time we rented a house less than 2 blocks from the beach, which made our sessions way more frequent and so much easier to suit up and scurry down to the water. It was “surfect” to be more accurate. Only way to wind down from a day of surf sessions is by obviously sipping some alcoholic booze. First night there I drank a bottle and a half of wine (its healthier duh) and was in bed by 9:30pm; “Guys, I have to wake up early to surf don’t judge me”. So for the next few days I became the punchline to many a joke about how pathetic my party skills are and everything after 5pm has now been referred to as: “past Dan’s bedtime”.