The Legend of Hair Cut Island

A few days ago Sheena unpacked some old boxes and was pleasantly surprised to find some old pictures. She turned to the other person in the room and softly exclaimed... 'that was one of the best days of my life...'

Moments later she was on the innerdnets hotline to The Beast.

Sheena: "I found them".

The Beast: "Found what".

Sheena: "The pictures of haircut island".

The Beast: "OMG. You have to send them to me. That was one of the best days of my life...."

It was many years ago. We were in our earlyish 20s. It was the Summer of Road Crew and Fishing Camps. The one and only pogey cheque Sheena ever collected in her whole life. A last minute Greyhound Bus trip over the Canadian Shield, only to be picked up late at night in pickup truck playing David Wilcox. That was when I hated David Wilcox. He's OK now.

While The Beast charmed rich Americans and earned tip money, Sheena wandered around, sleeping late, keeping a low profile in the crew cabins, listening to far too much Bobby Brown for anyone's good.

At last. The long awaited Day Off.

We got up early and packed a lunch. We did that a lot back then. Always packed a lunch. And a litre of wine, that got warm by 9am, which is when we cracked it open after a strenuous 10 minute canoe paddle. A lazy float in the sun. Glad to be away from it all. Two pals catching up on missing months of gossip and banter and the kind of oneupmanship only a couple of chicks with ambitions bigger than their station can muster.

We saw a little island up ahead. Full bore ahead. This is where we intended to skinny dip and suntan and nap in the warmth. Get a bit wasted and make sand castles or something.

We paddled up to a little cove and dragged the canoe up onto the beach. Fucking Fuckity Fuck. There were people already here. Bloody hell. Our fun ruined.

A half a dozen pot bellied middle aged guys standing in a circle down the beach from us. The suckitude potential of the day hit us square in the eyes.

And then the men moved aside. And we saw the Secret of Hair Cut Island. On the beach was a chair. And on the chair a man. And the man on the chair was getting a haircut. And then he got up, and another man sat down. He too got a hair cut.

The Beast and I looked at each other, a little bewildered. This is not how we expected our day to unfold. But here was our destiny, in all its trimmed and razored glory.

They had beer. They had speed boats. They offered to tow the canoe. And so off we went. A day trolling the open waters, enjoying the hospitality of well groomed men. Peeing in the water, getting a sunburn, and taking home a story that no one ever really believed.

Until today...