When we first saw Humberto on the charts, our brains started spinning through the regular possibilities: RI, ACK, NH, or down the street on the South Shore. Little did most of us know, but Dan had a plan for us that involved chartering a BoaT, packing our biggest boards, and bringing along the samples of our newest flannels for the grandest photoshoot of all time. We scored some waves, ate some lobster, wore some flannel, and overall ripped up the Northern Isles.
We wanted to share this tale in a slightly more unique fasion, so read on below to see some incredible photos from our journey and one not-so-incredible poem about the adventure.
"The Wreck of The Edmund Fitzgerald"
A text from the boss,
Load up the car we’re gonna get lost.
6’10”, big fins, new leash
Hoping to catch a beast.
Chartered a boat,
Hoping it’s gonna float.
Caught up with Captain Buck
Seems like he don’t give a f*ck.
Whiskey and wine,
We’re gonna have a time.
Thinking tube thoughts,
But she only goes 8 knots.
Eggs on in the galley
Too many coffees to tally.
Eyes on the charts,
Hoping we’ve got some smarts.
Boils out on the rocks,
Pull out the blury binocs.
Short short ride,
Gotta be the tide.
A
A glimmer in the light,
Hope it’s not a right.
It’s not,
It’s better than we thought.
Hoping the anchor set,
Gave it our best bet.
Few head dips,
No big pits.
Little washier than we thought
Looks like Jonos gettin rocked.
Back on the Pearl
Jonathan managed not to hurl.
Veggie dogs on the grill
Took a few minutes to chill.
It’s bigger now,
We don’t know how.
Steve made some drops,
But now there’s some chop.
Caught inside,
Almost died.
Abandon ship,
Lips were just too thick.
Motoring west,
Everyone got some rest.
Found some right,
Just looked alright.
Better than it looks,
It’s actually on the cook.
Few tubes a couple turns,
Everyone’s arms starting to burn.
Pulled into an island town,
Not a soul around.
$20 for the night,
We’re all feeling alright.
Early morning,
push off the mooring.
A whole lot smaller,
still some worth a holler.
Sheet glass this time,
and still some long lines.
We’re all surfed out,
Ready to turn her about.
One more chance to dine,
Another round of wine.
Hate to see our time run short,
But we're headed back to port.
Headed back to the grind,
with tubes on the mind.
