"Do you remember the movie "Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer?" I asked Dan. "Well the prospector guy in it says some shit about the fog being thicker than pea soup. This fog certainly is," I said, imitating Yukon Cornelius' voice from the top of a cliff some 2oo feet above the Pacific.
Dan laughed, "Haha I remember him, the guy with the pick....That was a horrible imitation, but you're right."
Insulated by the thick fog, the sound of an occasional Toyota pickup or RV cruising down Route 1 some 200 feet away barely registered over the pounding waves.
I took in a deep breath of salty air, "Damn it feels good to be back by the ocean."
After a month in the desert, Dan and I cut through the Sierra Nevada and headed towards the ocean. Stopping briefly in San Francisco, we followed Route 1 up the California coast. Within a day, the climate changed from a dry alpine desert with frost at night to a constant 60° and foggy. No rain, no sun, just constant moisture.
Hunting for surf breaks, we explored parks and pull offs. Having not seen the open ocean in months, the sound of the sea and the smell of salt captivated me. For four days we cruised north, into the fog.
Surfboards after a session north of Arcata.
I could live there.
Inspecting the swell.
Free range, fog fed.
"This swell is sure a hell of a lot better than Maine," Dan observed "Let's see if it's even better further north."
I signaled my conjecture by grabbing the keys from my pocket and turning around. "The mountains are great, but I could never be landlocked."
Nodding his head, Dan and I walked towards the Syncro and the promise of better waves.
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