Easter Sunday, dawn patrol.

Perfect. Not “perfect” in the sense that conditions were what everyone would want – but that doesn’t exist. A happy medium can be found in overhead and hollow, probably warm water, not too shallow, shark-free and warm, but my “perfect” consisted of overhead to head-and-a-half short interval, glassy clean organized waves at my favorite spot. I could catch nothing but those rights for the rest of my life and die happy.

Enough people were out that if I wanted to catch waves, I had to sit critical and take my turn. Being forced to take off later than my comfort zone suggested reminded me that I can, in fact, take off later than I think and still make it.

Did I mention the sunshine instead of the predicted rain?

Highlight: a solid head-and-a-half set rolled in. Guess who was sitting in position? And when you’re out and everyone’s yelling “Go!,” you have to go – or else not bother showing up again. I saw the wave standing up and doubted my ability to make it, but couldn’t not attempt it. Amazingly, as I paddled, felt the force of the ocean gather below me, watched my board drop away, I managed to land on my feet – I must’ve had quite the “Omigod!” look on my face – and zip down the clean slope before the whitewater caught up and hurled me forward.

“Isn’t it great to have witnesses?” J said when I paddled back, my grin so big my cheeks hurt.

Yeah. It sure is. What a great, great morning. What a thrill to be reminded of what I can do. What an honor to be immersed in such fleeting beauty.

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