February 5, 2013

My lips were  burned and my armpits ached from three days of wearing a wet suit more than clothes.  Surfing encourages greed.  Scarcity explains it.  When the waves are good,  life comes to a screeching halt, and you scramble to satisfy your thirst saved up during the long flat periods.  My thirst wasn’t satisfied, just dulled to the point where I could comfortably pass up a session.

“Ehhhh,  how is it?”

“Really good,  there are barrels all over the place.  I’m suiting up right now and paddling out. Gotta go.” Trevor hung up.

“It’s really good,” Good,  I said to Dan as I plugged my phone back into the cigarette lighter.  ”Trevor is going out right now.  You wanna go?”

Dan was fresh off a cross country road trip, where the closest he got to waves was tanker wake in the Gulf.  ”Absolutely. Nice point break. Long, workable rides.  Are You?” Dan said mimick Keanu Reeves in Point Break.

Looking into the rear view mirror, I stared at my chapped lips and sunburnt face.  I was exhausted and, based on the amount of cars in the parking lot,  I knew I wouldn’t get many waves.  I didn’t feel like scrapping with 300 people for a wave or two.

“Na man.  I’m going to lurk on the beach for this one.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Yah,  the juice won’t be  worth the squeeze.  I’m pooped.”  I said with hint of conflict.

By the time we made it to the beach,  the sun was flirting with the hills of the Channel Islands.  I walked with Dan along the beach to towards the river mouth.  The crowd was emptying out.  Familiar silhouette and boards took off at the river mouth and pumped into the cove.

“You’re blowing it.”

“Yah, you’re probably right.”

Dan strapped on his leash and waded over the rocks.  The current pulled him down towards the flag pole as he started paddling.  Waves kept rolling in with no end in sight. Checking my watch, I looked at the sun.   If I ran, I could get a few.

Here are some more links,

Out of Reception (Tumblr),

@Fosterhunting (Instagram).