Last weekend, Virginia declared a state of emergency and Atlantic City flooded. For a Maine surfer dedicated enough to don a thick wetsuit, booties and gloves, news like this means one thing: waves are coming to Maine like the British to the Falklands in '82.
I spent the weekend cramped in a car with four college students and our surfing gear, driving around the Maine coast in search of the optimum pit. Unlike other parts of the Northeast, Maine's coastline is relatively unexplored by surfers. An inherent sense of exploration combined with the intensity of surfing when it's freezing out creates an experience few will ever enjoy.
On Sunday evening we ran into the water twenty minutes before sunset on an exposed shore break northeast of Bath. After two tries I made it past the whitewater and thundering waves, finally stopping my feverish paddling 75 yards from the beach. Looking around I spotted my two roommates evenly spaced 100 yards apart bobbing around in the white caps.
For thirty minutes I bobbed around the waves in my own world, observing curious seals and catching the tastiest waves. As time marched on, the sun sunk toward the horizon, bringing a warm light to the low fog.
As the last rays illuminated the fall sky, I paddled in and sat on the beach. One by one my roommates followed the waves into the beach and we congregated at the edge of the surf. We swapped stories as the foam from the whitewater shot around us.
(Spencer Philips took this picture)
We lay on our backs until the first stars of the night shined through the low fog. Who says you have to surf in the summer?
Here are some links,
Surfing at Sunset (Picasa).