Game of Thrones has Faceless Men.
La Jolla has faceless waves.
My neighbor's wind chimes were clanging when I got up before dawn, and that never bodes well for surf quality. As my buddy Steve said, "Super long period nice size ground swell completely going to waste." I paddled out anyway - all alone at Hennemans - and took off on some mutants. I rode a few waves only briefly, fast rides derailed by chop. Another one contorted into a squarish, most un-wavelike shape as I popped up, and I air-dropped six feet into a wipeout. It was a good show for the folks watching from Calumet Park on the bluff. On the way in, I finally found a shoulder on a small wave.
Still good to get out in sizable surf again, even with the hairy exit. Set waves were reforming as shorepound, smashing into the cobblestones and hurling the smaller ones into the air. I waited a while to make a dash for shore – better safe than sooner.
I'm hoping to sneak in a sunrise session at Cliffs ahead of tomorrow's long journey to Greece. A stokeful send-off from the Pacific Ocean would be nice, before I dip my toes in the surfless Aegean Sea for the first time.
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