Explore Magazine, Summer 2023 (Sample)

FEATURES

SUMMER ADVENTURES: GOTTA GET AWAY

+EXPLORE’S ESSENTIAL GEAR GUIDE ‘23

The known adventure destinations are packed. But that doesn’t mean you need to get accustomed to jammed parking lots and crowded trails. The pressure on the popular spots is encouraging new towns, parks and destinations to develop their own outdoor playgrounds.

By Ryan Stuart

22

RESORT TOWN BRING DOWN

With the cost-of-living outpacing incomes in resort and recreation towns around Canada— and influxes of urbanites displacing longtime residents—can locals hope to adapt?

By Steven Threndyle

40

SONG OF THE NORTH

A journey of 1,300 kilometres. Thirty-one days. Three territories. And one song to guide two adventurers through it all. Story & Photos by Frank Wolf

DEPARTMENTS

6 TRAILHEAD

7 LETTERS

8 THE LOWDOWN Kaslo, British Columbia; Guiding Lights; Road to E; Fillet-o-Fish

16 PROFILES Gabe Lawson By Nora

O’Malley

17 WILD SIDE Good Neighbours By Andrew Findlay

18 GADD’S TRUTH

Risk & Reporting By Will Gadd

20 JOURNAL

Born of the Wild Country By Jim Baird

49 EXPLORE THE WORLD: NEW BRUNSWICK Epic Coastal Hikes By Vivian Chung

50 EXPLORE CANADA: MANITOBA

Welcome to Waterfall Alley By Vivian Chung

51 INTO GEAR Summer Stash

54 THE MOMENT Soul Surfing By Marcus Paladino

ON THE COVER Beat the crowds in Alberta’s Crowsnest Pass— a multi-sport mecca.

Photo by Travel Alberta/ Chris Amat

FROM TOP: TRAVEL ALBERTA; KEVIN CALLAN; FRANK WOLF; ISTOCK

Up your camp cook skillset, page 14.

See the world in a new light.

Discover hiking gear made with sustainably-conscious materials and purpose-built to bring you closer to nature.

THE LOW DOWN

KASLO IS LOCATED ON THE TRADITIONAL TERRITORY OF THE KTUNAXA, SINIXT AND SYILX PEOPLE.

GO HERE

KASLO, BRITISH COLUMBIA

Meet the people who make this mountain mecca so marvellous

BY “POWDER” MATT MOSTELLER

Oh, the beauty of this green patch—Kaslo, British Columbia, which is dotted with historic houses and storefronts. The town juts into the vast inland sea of Kootenay Lake, which is surrounded by rock spires to the east and lush, tree- lled slopes with high-reaching summits on the west. Such a rugged, spectacular place has shaped its people, aptly skewing them toward the adventurous and outdoorsy type of folks this community is known for. But they are hard to nd once you arrive.

No, they’re not hiding. They’re just enjoying themselves in nature. So, if you want to catch up with local Kaslovians, you will need your mountain bike or a good pair of hiking boots. This is a town where people hit the trails every opportunity they get, and rightfully so. Over the years, they have carved, cut and dug some of the coolest, explore-worthy paths in the province.

THE KTUNAXA AND SINIXT peoples would paddle the waters of Kootenay Lake and walk seasonally in the surrounding alpine lands, while hunting and foraging the area. They were here for salmon runs and berry seasons; this land supplied vital nourishment. But the rich soil didn’t only provide abundance for Indigenous people, it also turned out to be abundant in minerals desired by colonials too. A silver strike in nearby Sandon drastically changed the landscape. A rush of people unloaded in this new town they called Kaslo. It became the take-off point to supply mining camps and became the beginning of the rst wagon road—and later railroad—which snaked its way up treacherous terrain to the camps at higher altitudes.

Once the iron pigs abandoned the rails and no more horse teams hauled out wagons of ore, the dirt became gold of another kind. Hikers and fat-tire enthusiasts sought ways to explore and access more terrain from town, so trail builders worked their magic to provide those new paths.

THE 1960S AND ‘70S brought creative souls to the area, who sought more insight and inspiration from the land than riches; mountain ramblers who loved to shred the local powder and hike the alpine ridges or stroll through the big tree forests, those coveted canopies that survived the loggers’ siege. This mix of back-to-theland lovers and hard-workers forged a get-along attitude to survive, brewing a special spirit of collaboration in the people of Kaslo.

NELSON-KOOTENAY LAKE TOURISM/LINDSAY MARIE STEWART

BY JIM BAIRD

BORN OF THE WILD COUNTRY

Spellbound on the Yukon’s wildest river—solo

‘‘And I want to go back, and I will” wrote the famed Klondike gold rush-era poet, Robert Service, in his 1907 poem “The Spell of the Yukon.” It speaks to the intrinsic beauty, the lure of adventure and a downright addiction to the North that had befallen him and so many others, including myself. Just the word Yukon can send goosebumps up the spine of the adventurous at heart.

It’s summer 2022 when I answer the call and return. On my previous trip to Yukon, I tackled the Hess River—tough to beat when it comes to a remote, whitewater challenge. However, there is another river that can compare, even outdo. A tributary of the mighty Peel River, the Bonnet Plume lies in one of the most remote parts of Yukon where three dramatic mountain ranges collide to create some of the most jaw-dropping scenery on Earth.The Bonnet Plume is a seldom-travelled Canadian Heritage River named for a famed Gwitchin chief who helped trappers, traders and gold-seekers who ventured into the country, saving them from death in some cases.

I hope the chief’s spirit remains in the river country, as the Bonnet Plume is no

cake walk. It flows fast through many boulder-strewn canyons, tears around tight bends and the current doesn’t let up much between the many advanced-level rapids. It can only realistically be accessed by oatplane and extensive portaging is often needed to skirt the river’s canyons. The rapids are also technical and long, meaning a dump could separate you from your canoe by miles on end after tossing it into an invariable canoe-smashing pinball machine of jagged boulders. The added danger of being out there alone doesn’t take away from my apprehension either as, like my Hess River trip, I’ve planned this as yet another solo adventure. Despite my fears, the chance to tangle with some of Yukon’s best whitewater, and to tread “where the mountains are nameless,” and where “there are valleys, unpeopled and still,” (as the Robert Service poem goes), overpowered my fear because if there’s any place in Yukon where Service’s words ring true as ever, it’s the Bonnet Plume.

IT’S JULY 14 and I’m at Up North Adventures, an out tter in Whitehorse, where I’m out tting my 15-foot Nova Craft Prospector for a spray deck. It’s the same operator I engaged a couple of summers

prior for my Hess trip. I recognize one of the guides.

“You’re back,” he says.

“I am, can’t get enough of it,” I respond. He asks where I’m headed this time.

“The Bonnet Plume,” I tell him. His eyes widen and he backs away slowly while steadily shaking his head to end our conversation.

I’m on the Bonnet Plume River and the water level is unseasonably high this year. I get my rst scare when I enter a canyon. My research tells me that I have a long, continuous stretch of manageable Class I and II rapids ahead of me but it quickly becomes apparent that I’m dealing with nearly continuous Class II with patches of intense Class III whitewater that doesn’t let up! I really have to stay on my toes and steering my heavily laden canoe becomes exhausting after a couple of kilometres of non-stop action. With a lot of water sloshing around in my canoe, it’s all I can do to just barely catch an eddy before the river screams around a blind corner. From that point on, I play it smarter, scouting what lies ahead from shore to plot my route and picking the next safe spot to eddy-out. Through the canyon, I’ve now experienced my rst real taste of the river’s

CLOCKWISE FROM LEFT: The Bonnet

Plume is a Canadian Heritage River, originating in its namesake mountains near the border with the Northwest Territories. A 100-year-old cabin still in tact in the waterway.

out quickly inYukon, due to the long, frigid winters. The moss roof had been swapped out in more recent years, yet there are trees growing out of it. Moss was commonly used on the roofs of wilderness cabins— but it doesn’t act as a waterproo ng agent in and of itself. Rather, moss was used to hold down a waterproo ng material such as birchbark shingles or animal skins, and eventually, manufactured tarps or waterproof sheeting. Inside the cabin, the woodstove looks like it’s in decent enough shape and the view from the window is world-class. Before moving along, I take a moment to wonder who’d built it and what their adventures were like. The cabin seemed like a true relic of the old Yukon from a time that has long passed but is still hanging by a hair in places like the Bonnet Plume.

character; my thoughts go to my wife and kids, and I plan on using more caution moving forward.

Scouting a big canyon on day ve, I’m disappointed after I walk past long stretches of runnable rapids only to discover that the canyon ends in a hair-raising Class V. If I run the canyon, I could get to shore before going down the Class V but I’d be trapped at the base of the canyon walls with no way to portage around the rapid. My only option is to portage the entire canyon… so I get to it.

It’s raining and the ground is slippery. Double-packing a heavy load, I’m over one kilometre into the carry and only a steeply sloping hill separates the faint trail from the sheer cliff of the canyon wall. I slip and fall forward, dropping a bag in the process. Before I have time to look, I quickly throw my hand out over my head and clench a bag strap. When I raise my face up out of the dirt, I see that I’ve caught my pack right before it rolled into the canyon—a lucky save that prevented me from being without tent and spare clothes for the rest of the trip. Finally, past the canyon, I’m rewarded with seemingly endless kilometres of swift current and fun, manageable rapids. I’m making good time and I’m pulling over at clear water tributaries to cast for grayling.

It’s day seven and an old moss-top log cabin catches my eye on river-right, so I pull over. The cabin looks old, but it’s in surprisingly good shape. Cabins don’t rot

BEFORE I KNOW IT, the trip is over and I’ve caught my oatplane for a ight back to Mayo. In all, the trip took me 11 days travelling from Bonnet Plume Lake to Taco Bar, a gravel bar on the Peel River. Staring out the window of the oatplane, I felt a deep sense of ful llment brought on from completing the trip, the triumphs I experienced and the challenges I overcame along the way.

In the days following my trip, I spoke with a gentleman who’d guided in the Peel watershed for years. He told me that the cabin was built by “Hardrock” McCormick who was a claim-staker in the 1920s. It seems the cabin was indeed quite old after all but not much is really known about it or McCormick for that matter. His story was likely one of triumphs, challenges and epic adventure that may only live on in legend, essentially becoming part of the Spell of the Yukon itself.

In that poem, when Robert Service wrote, “There are lives that are erring and aimless and deaths that just hang by a hair.” I wonder if McCormick’s life was one of those Service was referring to.

After all, a life of adventure includes more danger than many are comfortable with; such a lifestyle can be considered impractical or misdirected by many who ask, why do these things? It was likely around the same time that McCormick built this cabin when American author John A. Shedd coined the phrase“A ship in a harbour is safe, but that’s not what ships are built for.”To me, this means we weren’t built to lead sheltered lives (though some shelter is good and comforting). Leaving the harbour and doing hard things, that’s where the amazement and wonderment for the world is felt, where wisdom is earned and where ful llment is born.

ADVENTURE ISLAND

You can reserve a luxury 1,640-square-foot o -grid cottage on a nine-acre private island.

Canoeist Jim Baird is spellbound by Yukon and its wild rivers.

Located on Shoal Lake, Ontario—the gateway to incredible Lake of the Woods.

RESORT TOWN BRING DOWN

WITH THE COST-OF-LIVING OUTPACING INCOMES IN RESORT AND RECREATION TOWNS AROUND CANADA—AND INFLUXES OF URBANITES DISPLACING LONGTIME RESIDENTS—CAN LOCALS HOPE TO ADAPT?

By Steven Threndyle

Sur ng monster waves, skiing double-black diamonds, hand-jamming 5.12s and launching road-gaps are easy. Finding affordable housing and a local job that pays the bills and lets you save for retirement? Now that’s the real challenge in Canada’s resort towns.

Consider these recent headlines:

Dire lack of housing for Banff workers spurs worst summer staf ng shortage in years (CBC Calgary)

Labour shortages felt in communities across Vancouver Island’s west coast (To no Ucluelet Westerly News)

When it comes to crime, Whistler has hit a ‘new normal’ (Pique Newsmagazine)

Mont-Tremblant has become a second-home boom town (Montreal Gazette)

From To no on the west coast of Vancouver Island, British Columbia, to the ochresand beaches of Prince Edward Island, recreation-based communities are in a state of crisis. Then again, maybe they’ve always been.

But often, there’s a reason for optimism beyond the headlines due to community makers who ght hard for fragile landscapes. Just because a reporter interviewed a ski bum living in a doghouse (this actually happened, though it was back in the ‘90s), doesn’t mean that everyone lives that way.

In mountain towns, the rst snowfall brings an in ux of thousands of young people from around the world to seek out a “gap year” of late-night partying in raucous staff housing. It’s worth remembering that these newcomers have no frame of reference for what life was like BITD (Back in The Day), nor do they much care.

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By Ryan Stuart

The known adventure destinations are packed. But that doesn’t mean you need to get accustomed to jammed parking lots and crowded trails. The pressure on the popular spots is encouraging new towns, parks and destinations to develop their own outdoor playgrounds.

They may be a little farther a eld and a little less polished, but that’s kind of the point. So, when you’re tired of the hustle of Banff, the traf c of Algonquin and Squamish’s scene, head to one of these upand-coming outdoor meccas—and remember these essential pieces of gear when you go!

Crowsnest Pa Hike & Bike

One of the lowest points through the Rocky Mountains, the Crowsnest Pass has long been a thoroughfare between southern Alberta and BC’s east Kootenay region. But beyond die-hard y shermen chasing trout on the clear running rivers, few hikers, bikers and other adventurers bothered to stop and explore the Alberta side. That’s beginning to change. Activities Hiking, mountain biking, shing, caving, peak-bagging

Don’t Mi Mountain bikers should start at Pass Powderkeg. Pedal up the climbing trail to the top of the ski hill to pick your adventure down the most developed and diverse trail network in the region. Hikers have dozens of options from grassland strolls to lung-busting climbs. The easy scramble up Mount Ward has it all: foothills views, an alpine ridge and a lake for a post-peak swim.

Local Tip Don’t love camping? Two sets of rustic cabins in Castle Provincial Park, southeast of Blairmore, offer the same easy access to the wonders of Alberta’s newest park as its campgrounds—but without the nylon.

Plan It uroc.ca; gocrowsnest.com; albertaparks.ca

sential Gear

SUUNTO 9

PEAK PRO

(from $700; suunto.com)

It’s shorter to list what this slick GPS watch can’t do. With more than 80 sport modes and a long-lasting, intelligent battery, it tracks everything from elevation gain and distance to heart

rate and blood oxygen. There’s even a navigation function. The touch screen makes it easy to navigate the menus and then post data to Strava and other social platforms.

A Be er GaspÉ Basecamp

Percé Rock, Forillon National Park, Quebec, the Chic Choc Mountains and one of the most beautiful coastal drives in the country combine to make Quebec’s Gaspé Peninsula a deservedly popular summer destination. One way to avoid the coastal crowds is to stay in Murdochville, a mining town turned adventure hub. Smack in the middle of the peninsula, it’s within day-tripping distance of all the region’s attractions and is a fun place on its own thanks to Chic Chac, a company spending millions developing trails, guiding and accommodation in the area.

Activities Hiking, swimming, mountain biking, sightseeing, whitewater paddling, shing

Don’t Mi Take the driving shortcut from Murdochville into the heart of Parc national de la Gaspésie to bag Chic Choc peaks like Mont Hogs Back, one of the shortest and easiest hikes to an alpine summit anywhere in the country. Back in Murdochville, Chic Chac continues to develop its mountain bike trail network, which starts and ends at the dock at Lac York.

Local Tip Better than staying at a vacation rental in Murdochville is renting a lakeside cabin or campsite at Chic Chac’s Centre de Plein Air du Lac York, a 10-minute drive away.

Plan It chic-chac.com; sepaq.com; quebecmaritime.ca

sential Gear

KEEN NXIS EXPLORER

WATERPROOF BOOT

($230; keenfootwear.ca)

Performance without compromise defines these handsome hikers. The leather in the upper comes from a nonpolluting factory and is treated with a water-repellent free of forever-chemicals. The interior fit is snug in the heel and roomy in the toe box, just how we like it.

Stargazing in Yarmouth

It’s a good sign of a region’s remote and secluded nature when it’s named North America’s rst Starlight Reservation, a recognition of dark and clear skies. Stargazing isn’t the only reason to head to Yarmouth and the Acadian Shores region at the southern tip of Nova Scotia. There are lots of coastal hikes, great seafood, Acadian culture and a shocking amount of inland lakes and rivers, some of it protected in nearby Kejimkujik National Park.

Activities Hiking, stargazing, canoeing, bird watching, beachcombing

Don’t Mi The Cape Forchu Lighthouse is the only operating light in the province open to the public. Climb to the top to soak in the vast views across the Gulf of Maine. Back on ground, head inland to paddle on the Tusket River for a sample of the watery wilderness. There are also plenty of coastal hikes, like the Wedgeport Nature Trail, a good spot to watch the sunset followed by the Milky Way.

Local Tip Funky accommodation abounds, like luxury converted shipping containers at seaside Cabane D’Horizon, teardrop hanging pods in Kejimkujik and Trout Point Lodge, a wilderness resort.

Plan It yarmouthandacadianshores .com

sential Gear

THERM-A-REST HONCHO PONCHO DOWN ($365; thermarest.com)

An antidote to the inevitable chills of stargazing in Canada, the Honcho Poncho is part blanket, part puffy and all cozy warmth. With an oversized hood and long and loose cut, it covers plenty of body when sitting around, but the excess fabric snaps out of the way and the 650-fill down is water-resistant, making it practical, too.

High Ba ing in Ontario

An unlikely epicentre of climbing development in Ontario is Elliot Lake, a small town between Sudbury and Sault Ste. Marie. In recent years, climbers from Ontario and Michigan established routes at three distinct areas: mostly trad routes around Quirke Lake and two boulder gardens, Gold Mine and Stans. The vertical pursuits add to the region’s existing draws. A threeday canoe route begins in town and plenty others are accessible nearby. A half-dozen hiking trails trace shorelines and climb nearby hills. In Mississagi Provincial Park, just to the north, are more options including a tough backpacking route. And there are all kinds of wildlife viewing opportunities.

sential Gear

GREGORY ZULU/JADE 55 ($330; gergorypacks.com)

Activities Rock climbing, wildlife viewing, hiking, mountain biking, canoe tripping, shing

Don’t Mi The MacKenzie Trail hits many of the best viewpoints in Mississagi Provincial Park including Brush Lakes and Helenbar lookouts. Linked with several of the park’s trails, the route quickly becomes a multi-day backpack with lakeside campgrounds in the Ontario wilderness.

Plan It ontarioparks.com, elliotlake.ca, climbsudbury.com

The Zulu, and women’s specific Jade, are loaded with handy features. There’s a sunglasses holder on the shoulder and a raincover hidden in the body. A ventilated back panel keeps the sweaty-back down and integrates into a suspension system that distributes the load across the well-padded hip and shoulders. It’s our new favourite long weekend backpack.

SoNGOfThE NoR

RTh

A JOURNEY OF 1,300 KILOMETRES. THIRTY-ONE DAYS. THREE TERRITORIES. AND ONE SONG TO GUIDE TWO ADVENTURERS THROUGH IT ALL

Story & Photos

by Frank Wolf

Snug in my sleeping bag, though not quite asleep, the river sings to me. The hymn creeps through the tent fabric and down my spine—an ominous song, deep in bass and tension. The water upstream of our campsite burbles, bumbles, stumbles and rumbles over a twisted matrix of ancient rock that creates a rising, vibrating wall of sound like the battle cry of a thousand ancient warriors. Aptly, we call tomorrow’s upstream section the Seven Samurai. Taken from the famous Kurosawa lm, the moniker for our next day’s test is based on the seven contour lines that cross the river on our map along this stretch as the elevation drops 70 metres over a ve-kilometre distance.

I finally drift off to sleep and have a dream where I arrive at the base of an endless waterfall. I begin to climb up the falls, grabbing slippery stones and straining against the deluge. I never get to the top—instead losing my grip and plummeting down, down, down until I’m about to hit the ground…

I wake suddenly in the eternal light of the Northwest Territories’ summer. I grab my journal and jot down the dream before it dissolves like sugar in my subconscious. Today is July 31. We’re on day 22 of our 31day, 1,300-kilometre canoe journey from the Yukon border to Kugluktuk, NT, deep in the proverbial weeds of our journey. It was a dream, I tell myself… The Seven Samurai await, and soon we’ll meet them head on.

I LOOK OUT the window, over our canoe strapped to the pontoon of the Cessna; the monotone hum of the engine providing zen ambiance. The peaks of the Mackenzie Mountains glide by below us, still dappled with snow and ice. My trip partner, Alex Kozma, is in the back seat and beside me is our pilot, Sauli. A week ago, we had a shuttle drive from Whitehorse, Yukon, to our original put-in, but the washed out Canol Road and continuous re and ood forced us to nd another way in.

We needed a lake to land on. Gerd, the owner of the charter airline, had said the best they could do for us was to put us down on a patch of water eight overland kilometres away from our planned starting point on the Tsichu River. I talked with him a couple of times on the phone before coming to Whitehorse, pointing out a small lake unknown to him that, at almost one kilometre, looked to be just long enough.

“I don’t know anything about that lake, and I’ve been ying up here for over 40 years. It’s probably too shallow and rocky to safely land on,” Gerd said.

“Could we do a y by at least? I looked at a high-res satellite image of it and it looks clean.”

“Maybe.”

That’s the last I heard about that until we took off with Sauli.

ABOVE: Sauli, the intrepid pilot (middle) after landing safely on his namesake lake.

“We’ll try your lake first,” he says assuredly.

I smile. Sauli is going to give it a shot. Nestled at the divide between the Yukon and Northwest Territories, above the treeline at an elevation of 1,200 metres, the lake comes into view as a sliver of blue against an emerald alpine backdrop. Sauli, who has only been ying professionally for a year, banks in on the lake to take a

LEFT CLOCKWISE: Sloan Grind—the duo works their way up the Sloan River to the Coppermine divide. Evening in Kugluktuk. The surly muskox who invaded their camp on the Great Bear River. Glassy calm day on the east side of Great Bear Lake.

with a few orange aviation fuel drums that are so ubiquitous in the north. Someone, at some point, had landed here before.

“The lake looks good,” he observes. We track in low and land smoothly, without a hitch. Sauli taxis the plane to the shoreline where we hop out to unload the canoe and gear.

Our pilot is exuberant. Usually, all his landing spots are pre-ordained, known and calculated.

“This must’ve been what it was like in the old days… landing on random lakes all the time. Pure adventure!”

I understand exactly what he means… true adventure doesn’t exist without the element of the unknown. It’s exactly why Alex and I are going to attempt a route that starts here in the mountains and ends up in the Arctic Ocean, two territories away.

I take a photo of Sauli posing on the pontoon of his plane, smiling proudly on his little lake. He then hops back in the cockpit, sticks his head out the window and shouts, “Good luck!”

Before heading off, we decide to investigate the ruins of the cabin. All that is left is a pile of greying boards scattered over the rusted remains of a wood stove and spring bed. An intact side table with an enamel coffee pot lying beside it has the carved initials “E.H. 1979,” indicating the vintage of the abode. We have a quick lunch, then paddle to the head of the shallow creek that would lead us on a meandering kilometre to the Tsichu River.

We later discover the lake did have a name—Lost Guide Lake—but in lieu of that information we had named it Little Sauli Lake, in honour of our intrepid pilot.

look. Originally from Finland, he possesses the cool melancholy of his people. On the two-hour ight in he shares that his wife left him recently, not wanting to be married to a bush pilot living a sparse life in northern Canada.

“I love it up here, she doesn’t… Whitehorse is my home now.”

It gives me con dence in him as our pilot despite his inexperience. A man with that sort of dedication to ying is exactly the kind of guy you’d want dropping onto the veritable thimble of water below us.

“Look… an old cabin,” he remarks.

Sure enough, as he circles, the ruins of an old shack is nestled in the willows, along

THE TSICHU RIVER is a narrow, fast ume that rumbles over boulder gardens from its source in the Mackenzie Mountains to its con uence with the Keele River. Paddling it is a little like being a frog in a pot of water placed on a burner. Things slowly, steadily heat up, until before you know it you’re cooked in the midst of a rolling boil. We manage to paddle much of the rst 10 kilometres of the river, but as we descend, the rapids become more technical, the eddies thinner, until we nd ourselves doing a lot of lining along the edges—slithering over smooth boulders in our wetsuits like we’re a pair of seals. After a full day of working the river, we come within a half-kilometre of the Keele, and camp on a at, damp, scrubby open patch amongst the spruce littered with grizzly tracks. The river down from here is not

“THiS mUSt’vE bEEn wHAt iT wAS lIKe iN tHE oLD dAYs lANdINg oN rANdOM lAKeS aLL tHE tIMe. PUrE aDVeNTuRE!”

THE MOMENT

Sanoa Olin rarely rides a longboard—she’s usually more focused on high-performance competition rather than simply “soul surfing.”

But when the waves are too small in Tofino, British Columbia, during the summer months, she follows suit with the crowd and continues to let her surfing do talking.

Details:

Model: Hasselblad L1D-20c

Lens: 28mm f/2.8

Shutter Speed: 1/500

Aperture: f/4.0

ISO: 100

Focal Length: 10.26m

TOFINO IS LOCATED ON THE TRADITIONAL TERRITORY OF THE TLA-O-QUI-AHT FIRST NATION.

Photo by Marcus Paladino