I MOVED TO Lawrencetown Beach, N.S., from New Jersey in 1978. The United States was headed toward politically conservative times and it looked like a dismal stretch ahead. So I escaped to Canada to teach and write books, making sure I settled somewhere I could surf. Back then, only a handful of locals surfed here. We wore heavy diving wetsuits that made it hard to paddle and even harder to simply stand up on our boards.

Three decades later, on hot summer days, Lawrencetown becomes Atlantic Canada’s version of Malibu Beach. Roughly 1,000 surfers live in Nova Scotia, and many find their way to Lawrencetown to paddle into the North Atlantic and get stoked on sun, saltwater and surf. In September and October, hard-core addicts fly in from British Columbia and California to ride towering hurricane-spawned waves.

Only 20 kilometres by road up the coast from Halifax, Lawrencetown remained a fairly obscure beach on Nova Scotia’s ignored Eastern Shore until a couple of decades ago. Hyped by movies, television and music, however, surfing is a serious bug when it bites. Today, three nearby surf shops to cater to the ever-growing community and a local surf school offers lessons, primarily to women.

I confess I miss those solo soul sessions I used to savour on blue-sky mornings at my home break, one we call “The Reef.” Having written four books about surfing in Nova Scotia (two of them for teens), I probably did as much as anyone to swell the ranks. And I know why people young and old are attracted to the sport and to Lawrencetown in particular. There’s a magic here that you have to feel to understand.

You stand on the edge of a continent, wetsuit on, surfboard in hand, facing south. It feels like there is nothing but water between you and Antarctica. You paddle out, shocked at how cold the sea can be on such a warm day. You turn and face the grassy sand dunes along the shore. Geese and ducks fly above; a curious seal pops up and watches you with those doleful doggy eyes. You see a wave coming. Your wave. You take a deep breath and paddle like hell. Then you feel the wave beneath you and you’re on your feet. If you’re lucky, you drop down the smooth, steep face of a head-high wave. You make your bottom turn and slide up high into the pocket of one of the most magnificent energy inventions Mother Earth has ever devised.

But be warned: the sea can be flat. No waves at all for weeks at a stretch. At other times, it can be treacherous. Overnight, waves can grow from 15 centimetres to five metres or higher. At least one surfer has drowned here, choosing to surf in particularly difficult waves produced by a Nor’easter.

Lawrencetown Beach is a place of grand beauty and grave danger that I call my home. I write my novels from an office perched above the salt marsh. On a typical foggy morning, I find myself working diligently, my house encased in a salty shroud. But if the wind switches north and the fog suddenly clears, I’ll see there is a swell in the ocean. I watch the wind creating rooster-tails of spray as it blows up the face of incoming waves. At such times, the story is left suspended. I run downstairs, grab my wetsuit, wax my board and give myself over to the pleasures that await me in the North Atlantic.

Rental wetsuits, surfboards and instructions can be found at:
Happy Dudes Surf Emporium; (902) 827-4962
Kannon Beach Surf Shop; (902) 471-0025
Dacane Surf Shop; (902) 431-7873
One Life Surf School; (902) 880-7873

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WHILE NAVIGATING the forest at night, Plains Cree hunters would use Polaris as a compass. They called it Ekakatchet Atchakos, the standing still star, since it remained almost motionless above the North Pole as other stars appeared to dance around it, explains Wilfred Buck, a storyteller and science educator with the Manitoba First Nations Education Resource Centre in Winnipeg.

Buck will guide stargazers through First Nations stories and myths during a night walk at Starfest 2009, a gathering of roughly 700 amateur astronomers organized every summer for the past 26 years by the North York Astronomical Association. This is a special year, though: 2009 is the 400th anniversary of Italian astronomer Galileo Galilei’s first observations of the night sky with a telescope. The United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) has designated 2009 as the International Year of Astronomy.

Starfest attendees will gather from August 20 to 23 at the River Place Park campground, which is two hours northwest of Toronto, near Lake Huron. But be prepared. “Some people stay up right until sunrise if the observing is really good,” says Starfest coordinator Malcolm Park. “We all split off into little micro communities, and when someone says, 'Hey, what’s that!?’ we crowd around.”

You don’t have to be an expert to join in. Simple binoculars can pick up interesting phenomena such as comets and meteor showers, and the event will feature more than 20 presentations by amateur experts. There’s one rule everyone must follow, however: “There can’t be any white light,” says Park. “All the lights around the area are covered in red film, all the headlights and interior lights of the cars, and flashlights are covered too.” It only takes one stray beam of light to ruin your night vision.

Go to www.nyaa.ca for more information.

— Graham Lanktree

I’M SITTING CROSS-LEGGED, shoes off, on a mat on the floor of Ling Yen Mountain Temple in Richmond, B.C., trying desperately to keep my eyes closed. But the inner sanctum of this Buddhist house of worship is irresistible.

A trio of three- to four-metre-tall golden Buddhas shimmer in front of me. Incense fills the air. A serene, diminutive nun in a slate-gray robe sing-songs “guan yin pusa, guan yin pusa,” a hypnotic Mandarin chant symbolizing mercy and compassion, as she chimes a bell in unison.

“Close your eyes,” says temple guide Weishin. “Clear your mind.”

I can’t. I need to drink in every detail.

Richmond, a bustling city 20 minutes south of downtown Vancouver, is home to more than 65 religious institutions. One street, No. 5 Road, is known as the “highway to heaven” for its string of temples, mosques, churches and religious schools. Their architecture alone is worth the visit. But for me, the real appeal of joining a temple tour organized by the Richmond Museum was the opportunity to peer inside a world vastly different than my own, to explore the richness of other cultures.

“That’s what’s really neat about Richmond, all of these faiths and cultures living side by side,” says Emily So, the museum’s school program coordinator and our tour guide today. “Multiculturalism is lived here.”

The museum began offering temple tours eight years ago to complement an exhibition on spiritual practices. They proved so popular, they’ve continued.

Tours, which are usually offered twice a year, cost $40, last six hours and include lunch. You’ll visit four temples, where guides talk about their faiths and communities. Outside official tours, one can visit any of these temples by calling ahead.

Our day began at noon, just as prayers were starting at Jami’a Mosque Ismael Patter, one of the largest Sunni mosques in B.C. Imam Mohamad Rachid greeted us with a “peace be upon you” and returned to answer questions at the ceremony’s conclusion.

Next up, the ornate Nanaksar Gurdwara Gursikh Temple, where prayers continue non-stop and volunteers staff a cafeteria 24/7, offering anyone who enters a free vegetarian meal.

Our day ended at the International Chinese Buddhist Temple, which features stunning tiered roofs, flared eaves, a courtyard and English signage on all of its displays. Oracle readings are optional.

For more information about tours, go to www.richmondmuseum.ca or phone (604) 247-8300.

— Shelley Cameron-McCarron