Moonset in Mission Beach

Jess needed to surf early today, and Kevin suggested the jetty at Mission Beach just past sunrise. A full moon hung in the sky on its way to setting into the ocean. The air was cold for San Diego, with the sand like burning ice on bare feet. After a dash across the beach, the channel next to the jetty made for an easy paddle out in water that felt a few degrees colder than earlier in the week.

The waves were bigger than forecast, overhead on the sets. Since there was a lot of current, it was hard to be in the right spot to catch one of the peaky lefts. I only rode one on my 5'4" and my feet landed a bit far apart, but it was fast and fun. Kevin got a few but unfortunately one of his fins whacked into his leg, cutting it. With four of my fingers too numb to cup while paddling, I caught a belly-ride in to the beach. The moon was gone but the sun was up and a little warming. Great way to start the day!

Accidental Twin-Fin

Entry and exit are tricky at my home break, except on the smallest days. This morning the cobblestones at the base of the cliff were in a steep pile, and shorepound sent them tumbling up the slope. I mistimed my approach and was pushed back to the shallows while paddling out. The fins scraped the bottom ominously and I rolled off, took two steps forward to deep water, and continued out. Past the shorebreak, I flipped Rocket over to look for damage. The deck was unharmed, but then I saw something was missing – my center fin. Crap! The fin box was fine with the screw still in place, but my 6'2" had only side fins now. I told Jess about the loss and went back to the beach to search the shoreline in vain, peering into the murky green-blue water. My fin was gone, forever. There's no way I could feel worse about littering plastic into the ocean.

I rejoined Jess on the secondary peak, shaking my head, and she graciously offered to swap boards with me after a while. Nah, it would be an experiment. On the first wave I caught, I made a cautious bottom turn, but the tail slid out on the top turn. Squirrelly! 

The waves were up to shoulder-high on the off-peak, which was far less crowded than the better main peak on a late Sunday morning. The functional stance I learned at Surf Simply once again proved its magic, as that first wave was the only time I lost control of the board. It was sensitive to the most subtle adjustments of weight and positioning, but I worked it out. Really, I think I could surf a door, just like Kelly Slater. 

I rode a lot of fun waves on my newly-minted twin-fin before I had my fill. Now I'm curious to try my fish as a twinny again. Stoked!

Old Man's Reunion

Last night I hosted a gathering of five Surf Simply friends from last November's camp. Ian and other Mike flew down from cold Calgary and rainy Seattle, respectively, and San Diego locals Jess and Mike joined us to watch Point Break.

My local buddies and I are going to see Point Break Live at the Belly Up in a couple weeks so re-watching the campy original was prerequisite. I'd forgotten that it's a grom who delivers this so-true line:

"Surfing's the source. Can change your life. Swear to god."

This morning, Jess and I drove to San Onofre to meet up with Ian, other Mike, and Lauren, another friend from camp who lives in Orange County. On the beach, the Surf Network was filming the dance-like moves of a pair of tandem surfers.

The waves at Old Man's were small, only three feet on the biggest sets, but plenty of fun on longboards. With the tide low and going negative, we had a long wade across cobblestones to and from the break. Rides were short for SanO but longer than many places, and I got in some nice carving turns on several of them. There are few things better than surfing mellow waves with good friends on a warm, sunny day.

My blue 7'2" and Jess's coral one

Lauren and Mike sharing laughs

Me, Jess (back), Ian, Lauren and other Mike (front)

It's a long walk over stones at negative low tide

Cynthia Needs...

I've been too sick to surf so had some fun with Google search (thanks to The Bloggess for the inspiration).

Umm, that's a bit creepy, Grandpa.

Nope, not dead yet. And I don't have fibroids. Although I'd much rather have a cute glaceon than a nasty rayquaza, I don't own either.

Still not dead. But I like to think I'm a really cool dancer.

Close on the engineer one. Farmer? In Oklahoma?! Nah, I'd almost rather be dead. Or living in Avalon.

 Who's Peter?

Not currently looking for a rug. But if I'd been born rich, I probably would've tried to become an actor. I was awesome as Babe in Crimes of the Heart years ago. If you're laughing now, then yes, I do want you to shut up ;)

In a nutshell, that's why I'm getting divorced.
Not really.

Seriously, you'd name your baby boy Cynthia? That's just mean. He'd have to learn how to use a falchion to ward off the bullies. I could probably wield one with some skill since I've trained a bit in renaissance sword fighting. Perhaps that would allow me to inherit as the rightful king, er, queen?

Dude, if you want to propose, ask Cynthia, not Google. Who's Peter again? I'll tell you what it will take if you'll finish your sentence.

School of Hard Knocks

Tourmaline was pretty fun this morning, with long, carvable waves under head-high. That is, until the end when I took off too late on a breaking set wave and got rolled, the rail of my longboard hitting the back of my head with a crack that I heard and felt.

Google Photos panorama. There really weren't any clones.

I belly-rode the next wave in and waited until Mike got out. He's an emergency room doctor, so I might as well make use of that. I guess my demeanor convinced him I wasn't concussed because he said my skull is too hard to worry about it. I soft-punched him in the shoulder, and he told me to ice my head and eat ice cream.

Although I don't understand about the ice cream, doctor's orders....