The west coast of Vancouver Island in British Columbia has become quite a mecca for surfers. I first visited here in 1968, and I lived here for a six-month
painting sabbatical in the winter of 1992. For me, it’s the most special place in the world. Much of my art today has roots here, in the sand and surf. I like
to bring my children here, as my dad did for me. It’s a gateway for getting close to the earth.
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When I was here on sabbatical, the popularity of surfing had diminished. There were still a few diehards out there, but two or  three on a beach was
considered rush hour. There must be 200 here today. It’s definitely back in vogue.
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We’re just beginning the long drive home. It’s the melancholy end of our family holiday, and the last gasp of August 2008. Driving beside Long Beach,
we spy Incinerator Rock, just as the sun breaks through the clouds. I can’t resist the chance to stop and visit.
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Pulling into the parking lot, we enter the strange realm of the nomadic surf dude. These are the ones who drive that winding, dangerous road every
weekend, no matter what the weather. Sleeping in their vehicles and playing on the beach, they do indeed live to surf. 
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Surf Sister, a local surf school, is world renowned for women teaching women to surf. It’s been an institution in Tofino as long as I can remember. My
youngest daughter, Sarah, age 10, has spent the past week boogie-boarding every day. She’s discovered the thrill of big waves, which might be the
beginning of the end for sandcastles and kites. Here, at Incinerator Rock, she’s also had a glimpse of the lifestyle. I think she likes it. She’s the newest
pledge to the Surf Sister sorority. 
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We had watched the Coast Guard rescue three surfers just the day before. Sarah’s learning to be a good swimmer and starting to learn the dangers
of riptide and undertow. But she has a long way to go before she graduates my version of surf school. 
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Mark Heine