#29: South Beach, peaky little rights off the jetty and more waves down the beach. The main attraction was watching my friend’s 10-year-old catch everything in sight, popping up in such a way as to suggest gravity has less effect on him than normal human beings. Tacos after. Life is good.
#30: A long time looking, trying to suss out which peak was most consistent, most make-able. That the four guys already out weren’t catching waves added to my reluctance. But then one of my more ambitious friends showed up, so of course I followed him out. Besides, the day stretched sunny and the color of the ocean invited. We snagged small, hollow lefts for a while, then the rest of that crew showed up and opted to paddle for the peak proper, the one that had been cleaning up with the incoming tide until now sets rolled in consistent and consistently double-over. I wasn’t ready for that, didn’t have the right board or proper frame of mind. Aimed for the in-between waves, some rights, mostly lefts, found myself caught inside a bomber set, washed most of the way to shore, called it a day. Maybe next time I’ll bring a gun and go bigger. There’s always a certain recalibration of the mind that has to take place – I wonder what makes one brain hungry for the rush and another brain anxious to get out of harm’s way?
#31: And a much milder, pretty day longboarding nearly solo – the only other person out was a couple peaks north (in prime shark territory!). I caught a dozen-plus little waves, some faded, some zipped. I saw a crab swim by past my feet, the water was so clear, the breaking waves nearly turquoise in the light. I only stopped because my calves cramped up. Lovely, lovely evening.