I leave Humboldt for 13 days and fall arrives. First the wind stops, then the interval lengthens. I know this because I’m doing weather research from afar, tallying small craft advisories for the region. When I open the buoy page, I’m confronted with numbers that scream perfect at me. When we finally return home, I play catch up and don’t surf, but then I do, twice in one day. The forecast stays promising. I want to surf every day, I say, then fail to take control of my time appropriately to do so. The week passes. The inevitable happens: Big, fat, scary groundswell hits. Why the ocean feels the need to go from 3 feet to 13, I never understand – and I’m not up for 13 feet. Moral of the story is: Surf first. Much in life will wait, but that perfect combination of wave height, swell period and windspeed should never be taken for granted.
Oh, those two sessions? Well, there’s a reason I prefer surfing where a clear channel will lead me outside, but the slog through the whitewater was worth it. Well worth it. Ocean so glassy as to defy interpretation. “It’s so glassy,” she said. “It’s so glassy. Wow, it’s so glassy.” If only I could articulate the elegance of that smooth surface shifting, rolling, pitching, smoothing – did I mention it was smooth? And glassy?
Forget it. One thousand words will not do the picture in my mind justice, so I’ll stop now and say simply what I always say when someone asks, “How was it?”