Becoming Inured?

I feel bad. My Mpora listicle, "9 Useful Surf Accessories You Might Not Know About," included the Hot Jugz portable shower, based on recommendations of female friends. I honestly didn't notice the provocative name. And certainly not the logo on the water tank, which appeared prominently in a photo accompanying the piece; I'd suggested a different picture, of a surfer using the shower. Even when a Twitter friend commented, I had to take a closer look; my mind wasn't seeing the buxom babe in a bikini, but rather, at first fleeting glance, a crude map of the world.

That makes me wonder, have I become inured to the sexism around me? Is it so prevalent that sometimes I don't see it anymore? I hope not.

I've contacted the Hot Jugz company, which is based in SoCal, to ask them about the choice of name and logo, and the effects they may have had on sales. We'll see if they're willing to talk about it.

You Can't Harsh My Mellow

There was a real Cranky Frank in the lineup at Green Pipes this morning. "These waves are really junky," he grumbled. "Even the ones that look decent turn out to be crap."

"It got fun for about 15 minutes earlier... Still better than not surfing," I said perkily. "And at least the water's warm!"

He continued to glower. "I sure hope this sea-sickness clears up soon," he muttered. Even after he rode one of the better waves on offer, with a shoulder that held up for a few seconds - before wiping out a bit close to me - his face didn't show the slightest hint of a smile.

I felt briefly sad for this man who seemed unable to find any joy in being in the warm ocean on a lovely sunny day, with a light crowd and light chop, and riding small waves that were fun with appropriate expectations. But I didn't let him harsh my mellow.

Later, as I walked up the sand, I passed a woman taking pictures of a kelp leaf. Ah, tourists, and the mundane beachy things they find fascinating! But then she pointed to the small crab nestled underneath, looking out at the world from an impromptu leaf-cave. "He's hiding!" she said.

"And probably not happy. They're usually in the rocks," I told her. With no tidepools or jetties anywhere near, I wondered what the little guy or girl was doing so far from home, and what would happen when the tide pulled out even farther. There's probably a life metaphor in there somewhere.

Wind Plays Nice (Mostly)

For the last few days, the surf's been suffering ill effects of southerly wind. SSW groundswell and now WNW windswell are providing waves, but they're choppy at best, and hacked up and blown out at worst. On top of that, the tide's been drained out in the morning when winds are most likely to be lightest. So when I woke at dawn and saw only a whispering breeze, I ate a bowl of oatmeal in a hurry and got to the beach before the tide bottomed out.

The warm sun broke through clouds to softly warm my back as the ocean lapped at my ankles. I used my toes to feel along the edge of a sandbar, shuffling to notify any nearby stingrays of my approach. When I stepped into slightly deeper water, my foot came down on something slimy that swiftly slithered away. Toes up! Onto the board now.

One thing I like about surfing at Tourmaline is that most everyone is so gosh-darn friendly, always ready with a smile and a little chit-chat. When I returned to the parking lot, I had to agree with the dude changing out of his wetsuit two cars over: "Pretty fun, huh? But a lot of work getting back out."

Evening Glass Off

Unfortunately the wind rose faster than the tide today, but patience paid off with evening glass and the swell had come up by then too. It was a lot of work paddling through the windswell to the outside, but I was rewarded with a long fast head-high left that reformed a bit smaller. Woot!

This morning. Not enough water before the wind came up.

I would've gone back for more, if only there'd been a jet ski to tow me back to the lineup.

Smoke on the Water

San Diego is burning.

The fires - nine now - are to the north, but the smoke is making me cough. That's nothing compared to what others are going through, with thousands having to evacuate and a handful losing their homes.

Caught on cam: Me and Steve getting ready to paddle out

There's a south swell in the water now and not much else, so I met up with Steve at IB pier, which can catch that direction. We paddled out on the north side, then under the pier, carefully timing the waves to avoid being pushed into the close-set pilings which were coated in sharp barnacles. 

That's not smog on the horizon; it's smoke.

Steve's surfed IB the last few days, and wanted to get to the second peak south, which was less crowded. On the way over there, I caught a right near the pier. A bit father south, I paddled into a really fun right that, with the proper turns, reformed as a left with a second drop and took me all the way in to the beach. Yeah!

The hot, dry Santa Ana winds stirred up my heretofore unknown allergies, but the smoke added in bouts of coughing and a headache that put an early end to my session. What I wouldn't give right now for some cool, clammy fog!

Back at the car, I had an email from the editor of Mpora.com saying my article, the first on surfing for which I'm being paid - was "exactly what [they] were looking for" and "really well written." Double Yeah! Here it is: Why Aren't There More Openly Gay Surfers?

Magical

There's something magical about being in the ocean in the early morning.

If in-eye cameras had been invented, I would have snapped a photo of a glassy translucent wave, about to break in front of me, studded with silvery fish illuminated by the low morning sun. And the pair of seals sinuously breaking the calm surface of the sea and then sliding back underneath. And most especially, the dolphin who surfed a clear unbroken wave about 30 feet away. Magical!

I'm still amazed that I can surf in the city of San Diego entirely alone (except for a dolphin). The waves were small and soft but still fun, and after Howard and a couple other guys left, I enjoyed the solitude of the sea.