Wreck Beach

Originally written Sunday 17 May, 2009 5 PM.

I'm sitting here at "clothing optional" Wreck Beach on the UBC campus in greater Vancouver, among leathery-skinned aging hippies and beautiful young women playing bongo drums and tambourines (though largely ignorant of the liberal dress code), and I'm watching a sunglassed man with large, dangling testicles balance watermelon-sized rocks on their ends at impossible angles while clutching the remains of a cigarette between two remarkably steady fingers. His ponytail bobs up and he loses concentration for a moment as a quartet of nubile, curvaceous mermaids glides by. He quickly returns to his task and another rock, the largest yet, is added to the solemn stone village, holding council on several raised boulders some distance from the water and sheltered by the densely verdant cliff that separates the beach from the rest of the world.

To my left someone has started playing the guitar and someone else the harmonica in concert with the relaxed beat of the bongos. A young, earthy brunette teaches an older blonde woman to keep time with the music by gracefully swinging a pair of weights, streaming long colourful ribbons through the air. Her large, perfectly-formed breasts alternately peek out from behind a purple scarf as her arms circle round and round. It must be getting colder.

Someone plays the didgeridoo as Dangling-Balls teaches me how to balance the rocks. After a what seems like a rather long burst of intense concentration I get one, and then two more! Apparently the hard part is in balancing a second on one that's already erect.

A Spaniard is conact juggling just behind me. As he teaches someone to juggle three balls for the first time, I ask him if he can teach me to juggle five balls. It's very beautiful here; I wonder if this is what Australia is like? The Spaniard invites us to a weekly juggling night held nearby as he teaches two other beach wanderers how to juggle clubs. It's definitely getting colder now; the sun is disappearing behind clouds, and soon the mountains too. I forsee spending a lot of time here this summer.

The drums have stopped and been replaced by the sounds of a lone guitar and talk of the philosophy of rock balancing accented by whispers of things quite foreign to my small town ears, things like "capricorn" and "good vibes" drifting through the pleasantly cool air.

Dangling-Balls, now fully clothed, but with no better appellation likely at this point, has taught two more the art of balance and as they say thanks and resume their stroll down the beach, he assures them that they will never see rocks the same way again.