Photo: Dan Kuras
I was unsure where Uncle Jamey was taking us as we walked through the parking lot filled with rental cars of all shapes and sizes. He promised waves to ourselves and I, in fact being a “tourist” figured he knew best, so I followed. We strolled past the pristine, wave less beach crowded with ice chests and beach chairs and continued along, following a lightly worn trail that led us into a forest of thorn riddled trees and waist high grass. We walked the trail for nearly an hour before coming out of the trees and exiting onto our own private beach, the waves weren’t big but they were perfect. We surfed alone for hours before finally heading back, again walking past the unsuspecting out-of-towners and the new batch of rental cars filling the parking lot.
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