Before that, not long after daylight, the surface was lightly ruffled by a slight offshore breeze. It was cold, in the upper 40s, and there were only five of us surfing at the pier. Three of the guys were from NorCal presently or in the past, and one of them recognized my Ward Coffey-shaped 6'2" from the lineup in eastside Santa Cruz. Seems a lot of the Bay Area migrates to San Diego for the holidays.
The waves were small, barely waist high, and their weakness challenged my ability to paddle in. The longboarders had better luck, but I scored several fun waves, making my bottom-to-top turns on the face tiny to match their diminutive stature.
The wind started to pick up, increasing the chop and teasing spotty whitecaps from the sea. The three amigos left, and a French dude on a rented pop-out and I searched for our last waves. I rode mine nearly to the beach, pumping it past a soft section. By the time I showered off and started to climb the stairs, the onshore wind was blowing so hard I had trouble holding onto my surfboard. Seems I made it out just in time ahead of an approaching end-of-the-year storm.
On a sadder note, my surfmobile has been crippled by an engine malfunction. After 102,000 miles, it's not worth spending half of the remaining value of the car on repairs, so I'll be saying goodbye to my '08 MINI Cooper S.
RIP, Lizzie (overlooking Santa Cruz on her maiden surf expedition) |
which is very cold at this time of year! Thank the gods for seat heaters.
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