I've actually watched very little of this Game and Thrones thingy, despite being quite a fan of the genre and having heard its quite good. But, this happens when you don't have a TV. Yet, there's a premise to it that I'm aware of:
Winter is coming. And I like it.
Its the first of March. We can officially start thinking about autumn and the groundswells that herald the return of the fabled season.
Yesterday, was the first time in a long time that I got proper scared, gazing into the maw of a barrel that I wanted no business with. I got inside at one point, and had that feeling of knowing that an unpleasant few moments are about to happen. That helplessness of being mauled in the deep, dark. Breaking the surface, and scanning for your board and hoping that its still whole. These are all good feelings. I've missed having them.
Multiple swells lined up in the forecast. The clanking of that bottle of OB's under the car seat grows louder. Doubt creeps upon you like a clean-up set.
We surfed a new spot yesterday. Close to home. Challenging. I hope to acquaint myself with it over the next few months.
This morning we were on the cold road before lightfall. We headed for a fairly regular winter point. It has a hell paddle out. My problem with it is I have a good record on it. And sooner or later, my luck will run out. I got out clean again this morning. I had a good adrenalin surge to the point where my legs were shaking when I reached the clear ocean. It's a lot better than a cup of coffee in your veins. When the sun broke over the ridge, there was the added challenge of the glare on boiling, ledging take-off. We all stacked a few as result. It was good fun.
I can't wait for it all; that heady, frosty mix: Fear. Doubt. Thresholds met, pushed, and exceeded. Hard decisions. Fatigue. Fury. Exhiliration. Commeraderie. Well blended and topped with driving rain and spindrift. Served in single helpings. And always making you swallow hard.
Winter is coming. And I like it.
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| Here's Sean Bean, gazing over a favourite deep-water reef, wondering whether his 7'4" is up to the task. I have no idea why he brought his sword along, or what happened to his dog. |
Yesterday, was the first time in a long time that I got proper scared, gazing into the maw of a barrel that I wanted no business with. I got inside at one point, and had that feeling of knowing that an unpleasant few moments are about to happen. That helplessness of being mauled in the deep, dark. Breaking the surface, and scanning for your board and hoping that its still whole. These are all good feelings. I've missed having them.
Multiple swells lined up in the forecast. The clanking of that bottle of OB's under the car seat grows louder. Doubt creeps upon you like a clean-up set.
We surfed a new spot yesterday. Close to home. Challenging. I hope to acquaint myself with it over the next few months.
This morning we were on the cold road before lightfall. We headed for a fairly regular winter point. It has a hell paddle out. My problem with it is I have a good record on it. And sooner or later, my luck will run out. I got out clean again this morning. I had a good adrenalin surge to the point where my legs were shaking when I reached the clear ocean. It's a lot better than a cup of coffee in your veins. When the sun broke over the ridge, there was the added challenge of the glare on boiling, ledging take-off. We all stacked a few as result. It was good fun.
I can't wait for it all; that heady, frosty mix: Fear. Doubt. Thresholds met, pushed, and exceeded. Hard decisions. Fatigue. Fury. Exhiliration. Commeraderie. Well blended and topped with driving rain and spindrift. Served in single helpings. And always making you swallow hard.
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| Courteousy: Elmo Hernandez |
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