What it comes down to is this: At the end of each day, I ask myself, “Why did I not surf?”

For weeks, the answer’s been, “Too big.”

And after days and days of double-digit buoys, my patterns change. Caught up in the here-and-now chores demanding my attention, I forget to check the swell. I lose track of the wind. I schedule things without consulting the forecast.

And then I miss a day. Damn.

Was thinking of hitting South Beach in Crescent City this weekend, but a dead sperm whale has been, and still is, decomposing on the sand there.

At least no one’s talking about dynamite-ing it.