Time for Booties

When I stopped my bike at the end of Felspar to check the surf from the pier northward, Brian had just left the water and was crossing the beach toward the stairs with a wide fish under his arm. He's one of the regular Crystal Pier dawn patrollers, and he surfs better than me (as they all do). I waited to ask for his report.

"How was it?" 

"Terrible!" He was grinning. "As bad as it could be." 

"Are you shittin' me? 'Cause, you know, you're smiling when you say that." 

Brian shook his head, still smiling. "Nah, really! It was all closed out. I tried every little corner I could find - the waves all closed out. And the water's really cold. Even colder than yesterday!" He gestured to the north. "You should check down there," he suggested.   

"Yeah. It looks like there might be some peaks down that way. Hope the rest of your day is better."

I rode to the end of the blufftop path and locked my bike to the construction fence at Palisades Park. I was pleased to manage a dry-hood paddle-out between Law Street and the pumphouse, at a break I think is called Green Pipes for the large ones running across a gully at the base of the cliff.  

The waves were mostly closed out there too. But there were dolphins! And some shoulders for the lucky. I did get lucky a couple of times, but blew the pop-ups. C'mon, seriously?! That most basic and fundamental of maneuvers, that I've done hundreds - perhaps thousands - of times before? Indeed. I've actually been having trouble landing my front foot in the right spot on the board for the last few sessions, and suspect it's due to the cold water. My ankles and feet are too chilled to move as quickly as they need to for a critical shortboard takeoff. Maybe if I was riding a big plank, taking my time and getting in early on the shoulder, it wouldn't be an issue. 

It's just time for booties. I've pulled my last remaining pair of 3mils from the depths of the closet. The upwelling wins.