3 at 9, no wind. One would think clean, fun, waist-to-chest high waves.
Stopped at Power Poles in my quest for a morning surf. No one out and too much fog to see what was going on.
Continued down the spit, hoping to find someone to surf with. At Bay Street, I found R, B’s brother. This is a guy who surfs Slater-style, who grew up surfing, who has a style and ability that exist in a separate world than the one in which I reside, and one I am totally fine admitting I won’t ever be part of. Fortunately, he’s a nice guy, so we discussed paddling out. No one else was on the – get this – overhead left R pointed out. Overhead? But it’s 3 at 9! I remembered, this happened last time I tried to surf Bay Street on what should’ve been a small day.
Despite wishing I’d brought a different board more suited to these conditions, I did OK. Nothing stellar, but I made it out and found a right that was fun. I didn’t get the big left I was hoping for, but the takeoffs were steep, fast and intimidating enough that I couldn’t quite place myself in the right spot. R, of course, made these physics-defying drops in the curl of the wave. The less steep, fast, intimidating ones didn’t have enough juice to catch, but I did somehow pull off a couple small lefts before running out of time. Mental practice was the key focus of the morning: getting out through slamming sets, dialing in on where to be when, normalizing the experience of more threatening surf. Overall, a worthwhile experience. I’d do it again.