It would have been far easier to just park at 8th street and paddle out. There was a decent sandbar there, breaking harder than the pier was. Mark had primed me for the swell dropping overnight with a dawn patrol report. He was sorely disappointed, but part of me could just not believe it. There was a tropical storm just off our coast, blowing at 70 mph, and although not in the optimal position to give us the best possible swell... it was certainly producing something somewhere. After a brutal stretch of nothing, I was going to find it.
So, then Andy texted the word. "Point?"
I didn't have to be to work until 11, but if he had the whole day off, I did not want to be the anchor pulling him in to shore when the waves were going off. You see, I had to ride with him because I have yet to put my bike rack on my car. A bike is key for the point, or you are just not going. There is Andy's jet ski, but that is an ordeal. He was up for picking me up and going... Damn! Let's go!
And we were rewarded with one of the best days ever. Compared to the pier and everywhere else I looked, the point was a heaving tubular miracle for me after a month of nothing. There were two waves that stood out, that I must not forget. The left that ran aground shortly after I paddled out was one. A long wall, one of the bigger ones for sure, just heaved up and, after waiting so long for real waves, I was not going to let it slide by without me. I paddled hard and realized soon enough it might be a mistake, the ledge was already pitching with me engaged in the lip. Too bad! I am going! And I did, just slid into it and dropped into the pit, vertical and churning and... BOOM, I made it! Right in the pocket I was, flabbergasted at my luck as I slid into the tubing wall that rolled into a ball of foam that I popped out of eventually on down the line, hooting like an idiot. What in the hell was that? Andy was smiling, had seen the take off, and confirmed the treachery I had felt.
I watched Andy get wave after wave today on that tater and swear he gets better every damn day. What fun we had!
The best one came near the end, with Walter there, riding his new dominator imitator and looking like he had shaved ten years off his age. A big wedging thing, it was. Glassy, groomed to perfection by a perfect west wind... sucking off the shallow sandbar, the wall bigger than most all morning, just bloody perfect, rising up, and Andy yelled: GO!
I paddled into it, knowing it was going to be a good one. The wall had that taper, steep and long, but with enough forgiveness that begged to have its face etched just so. I was standing up, looking at the line and stepped back on the tail so the nose lifted up just enough to put me right into the barrel, looking out and grinning from that happiness that only this moment can bring, the moment where it all comes together and you just know there is nothing better on the entire planet, no drug that could compare.
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