drift, perspectives in surfing

Words: E. Jackson
Photos: E. Jackson

Drift’s headquarters is adrift. In a major way. This past weekend I visited an old friend from back in the good old days, before mortgage payments, before there were terrorists, and healthcare was somehow covered without me knowing it. My homeboy and I had surfed in only two places together: Charleston and Costa Rica. Now I was dead set on surfing Portland, Maine, his new home.

Also, I wanted to check in on my maine boss, JC. No, the other one, Joe Conway.

Drift’s base is located right there in Portland and Joe is the editor-at-large. You think this is a puff piece to get in good with my boss? Hells no. Quite the opposite. This is an expose. Like Geraldo meets Matt Warshaw. Kinda.

My buddy and I called JC up and made a plan to go on surfabout (checking every freakin’ nook and cranny for over an hour in the car) to find the best place. Apparently it had been shoulder high and peeling until my plane landed.

Joe took us around to the normal spots. The Atlantic was a lake. It would have been great to skip rocks or to wakeboard with a martini. It was dead on flat everywhere. Somehow, I felt Joe was doing this on purpose, to see if I had what it took.

Guess what, Joe? I don’t, O.K.?

I need waves. I live inland in South Carolina, man!

Well, he introduced us to his krew who couldn’t have been cooler, friendlier or more hospitable. However, I really think they gave us the ditch and scored somewhere else after hanging out with us and collectively lamenting my unfortunate timing.

There is a sick scene in Portland. Everybody was really nice (probably cause they just scored surf the day before) and the weather was like magic—warm in the day, cool at night.

On Sunday, I convinced my buddy to curse Joe’s name and go find our own waves. Well we scored, alright. Ankle jammers at Old Orchard Beach and then knee-high water socks at Higgins. I was all up in the base, hitting all the switches. We were on a 10′10″ SUP without the paddle. Literally. You could’ve caught a ripple on this Exxon Valdez tanker.

Anyway, I want my money back and am contacting the airlines to see what we can work out. Don’t go to Portland. It’s flat. There are sharks. And all they’ll do is feed you, give you dark beer and be charming: they could nice you to death.

It must’ve picked up once I left. I hate Portland.