(South Fakarava, Tuamotus, French Polynesia)
Today my “Inner Pam” failed me. Actually, more accurately, it failed Gregory. What’s my “Inner Pam”? That inevitable, no matter how much you fight it, fact, that we become just like our mothers. An inescapable, coming-of-age trait that so many daughters out there will deny until their last stubborn breath. Perhaps an indicatory characteristic passed down from Mommy Deareast?
Anyhow, my wonderful mom Pam can rarely be found without some sort of picture-taking device in hand. The real riddle is where all those great snapshots of time end up, but that’s a whole nother story… This story is about how today we saw, and Gregory rode, the most perfect, absolutely beautiful, ceaselessly pumping, South Pacific wave we have yet to see on this adventure and I completely failed to take even a single photo.
Yes I sat with Andy in the dinghy on the shoulder watching the entire session, and yes the camera was perfectly situated in a bucket well within grabbing distance, though something about the whole experience simply had me mesmerized.
This wave was what Gregory has been jabbering on endlessly about. The clean, exquisitely formed, consistently approaching sets that offer up great ride, after great ride. A show I evidently couldn’t tear myself away from. Or perhaps it was the planning of Andy’s dream-child cheese business, or brewery, or equally impressive chip franchise that is bound to be the next best thing in New Zealand come cyclone season?
Regardless, we finally came across the waves we’ve been searching for and I have not one pictorial piece of evidence. Sheesh, my mother is going to be disappointed and I’m already dealing with a bewildered Gregory.