Mike has sent us the following summer surfing tale from his bon aventure:
"There were two of them, one an 'anti-terrorism' navy diver and the other a bear hunting, semi-pro beach volley ball player. Then there was me in the back of the truck with surfboards, towels and an assortment of diving gear and timber.
A conversation about the current Presidential scandal whirred at the same volume as the V8 engine and I lulled in and out of words and west coast accents, wondering how I find myself in these situations.
The road led to the coast and I was looking forward to a morning in the ocean. My new friends pointed out Pacific Beach, Cardiff Reef, Oceanside and other such names every fifteen minutes or so, the day was hot, thoughts all whitewash and turquoise.
In the water near Carlsbad, it wasn’t ideal surfing conditions though there was the odd left roller coming in every ten or so minutes. I was riding a little 5’4 quad that my pal ‘lent’ me for the day. I say ‘lent’ yet he never really knew 'bout it, he’s a cool guy though, very giving kind of fellow.
It struck me that along such a vast stretch of coast there are so many variations in approach to the ocean. Finless, the lone body, flippers, tri, quad, twin, sea mop and mat all an expression, a way to ‘feel’. It didn’t bring a tear to my eye but it certainly made my own approach feel appropriate for the moment.
She paddled past and asked the time. My ‘anti-terrorism’ diver friend quickly came to my aid with a sharp “ten past one”.
“Late for work?”, my bear-hunting friend chimed in.
“Damn these Californians are so quick”, I thought to myself.
She smiled at them both and went on her way. No worries though, I spotted the wave of the day and proceeded to paddle into it deep, make the drop, catch the rail and eat it…smooth as ketchup."
MM 7/09
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