I could tell almost instantly, as they reached the bottom of the steps at White Rock, that Johnny and his dad did not quite share the same level of enthusiasm for surfing.
As the latter was squeezing the former in his wetsuit, promises of epic fun may even have been made.

Two face plants in the sand later, and little Johnny was definitely having no more of that nonsense.

He opted to hide in a crevice.

I did not rat on him.

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What’s the crag, Johnny?


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