There was swell, and a light wind. So we did what we should all do. We cancelled unimportant things. We repriortised important things and ignored things that couldn't be made less important.
We strapped boards to the roof and flicked our sunglasses down and hit the road. We listened to music. We talked shit. We bemoaned our lack of recent water time. We slagged off mates who were being kak. We schemed surf trips. We chatted board design, personal fitness, and wetsuits.
We rolled into a parking lot and cursed the conditions. We weighed up options. Schemed a bit more. And then decided to shut the hell up and get on with it. Another car rolled in. Mates rolled out. Hi fives. Manly hugs. More bullshit. And before we knew it, we were suited, lubed, waxed and ready.
As we walked round the corner at this wedgy little beach break. And this epic set rolled in. We got fired up. Pulled hoodies over. and scratched for the backline. A duckdive later and we realised just how cold it was. I haven't surfed the Atlantic for a while. It was good to be back for some chill. My holey fullsuit seemed to earned a few more holes while lying in a heap in the corner. Still, better than a stubbed toe.
The next thing we were a bit late in realising was the current. That same current that was sucking the barrel out and making it twice the diameter it would have been otherwise was also dragging us round the point and back to town by the time we realised it. The pessimist would curse both circumstances. The optimist says, hey, at least all this paddling is keeping me warm. And fit. The realist said, when am I going to get a wave with all this going on.
It took a while to open my account. But once I got in tune with the what was going on, it was fine. I steered away from the corner - strong currents, draining sandbanks, wedges - the sort of ingredients that make chiropractors and shapers happy. I was having none of it today.
There were a few sponsored guys out. Chris Leppan was putting his Durban pedigree to work on the bowly rights. He managed to snap his middle fin out on a bottom turn. Good work. He still managed to park himself in some serious kegs with his unintended twinny.
In all, it was an ok session. It was not easy. I got a few cover ups. Should have done better on a few. others, but hey. Rob reckoned he surfed like an asshole. That's his call. But he did come up with the best statement of the day: "Even though I surfed like a dick, I still had a rad time."
That's stoke, right there.
We strapped boards to the roof and flicked our sunglasses down and hit the road. We listened to music. We talked shit. We bemoaned our lack of recent water time. We slagged off mates who were being kak. We schemed surf trips. We chatted board design, personal fitness, and wetsuits.
We rolled into a parking lot and cursed the conditions. We weighed up options. Schemed a bit more. And then decided to shut the hell up and get on with it. Another car rolled in. Mates rolled out. Hi fives. Manly hugs. More bullshit. And before we knew it, we were suited, lubed, waxed and ready.
As we walked round the corner at this wedgy little beach break. And this epic set rolled in. We got fired up. Pulled hoodies over. and scratched for the backline. A duckdive later and we realised just how cold it was. I haven't surfed the Atlantic for a while. It was good to be back for some chill. My holey fullsuit seemed to earned a few more holes while lying in a heap in the corner. Still, better than a stubbed toe.
The next thing we were a bit late in realising was the current. That same current that was sucking the barrel out and making it twice the diameter it would have been otherwise was also dragging us round the point and back to town by the time we realised it. The pessimist would curse both circumstances. The optimist says, hey, at least all this paddling is keeping me warm. And fit. The realist said, when am I going to get a wave with all this going on.
It took a while to open my account. But once I got in tune with the what was going on, it was fine. I steered away from the corner - strong currents, draining sandbanks, wedges - the sort of ingredients that make chiropractors and shapers happy. I was having none of it today.
There were a few sponsored guys out. Chris Leppan was putting his Durban pedigree to work on the bowly rights. He managed to snap his middle fin out on a bottom turn. Good work. He still managed to park himself in some serious kegs with his unintended twinny.
In all, it was an ok session. It was not easy. I got a few cover ups. Should have done better on a few. others, but hey. Rob reckoned he surfed like an asshole. That's his call. But he did come up with the best statement of the day: "Even though I surfed like a dick, I still had a rad time."
That's stoke, right there.
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