1000 Words

Emotional Strange Brew

"His dynamic weekend lead him to his usual thin, but steadfast slumber Sunday night. It took the cold slap of the alarm clock to his sunbrowned face to get him up and out of bed. He made his customary slow, heavy shuffle to the coffee maker, started a pot, and then headed to his bathroom to groom. The sky was overcast but well lit on this later-spring, Monday morning... ."

...aw fuckit. I just don't have the energy. I wanted to write a lyrical peon to the end of joven's league-baseball season. I was going to congratulate the boys for taking third place in their post-season double elimination tournament. I had in mind a sentimental pat on the back for the other dads and moms with whom we enjoyed this Spring. And I planned to welcome the oncoming All-Star Tournament season with starry-eyed, dad-on-cloud-nine praise of my son who battled intensely throughout the playoffs and took the last two losses in such great stride.

But I lost my spark and my muse is on vacation. My moment of sentiment and wist for the season passed as quickly as it now seems that season did itself. I'll miss those families and those little guys with big hearts. But the moment passes and so with it the energy, focus, and emotion to motivate me to record it. I want to be happy in the moment and not nostalgic for the recent past. I want to take the summer as it comes and not look too far forward at the growth of my son. He is beautiful at 11. And I have the tools to enjoy now for what it provides me.

And so with that, I want a rest from this place. I am grateful for the attention any of you pay this rambling, even the slightest. I'll be back for sure; likely to report occasionally on the Summer as it unfolds. But I can't blog with the intensity of the past six months without continually considering, "How would I write about this?" as I experience it. And that's not how I want to experience this summer. Thanks for understanding.

No Mas

Yesterday morning, I surfed for three hours. Yesterday evening, I swam a quick 1500 yards and then played in the pool with my son during open swim. Today, my shoulders hurt and I feel shitty. Aging is the suck.

Another Late-Spring Dawn Patrol

I made a command decision at work yesterday to head oceanward instead of cityward at the end of the day. My decision was rewarded with an unwavering, 20 MPH north wind tearing sideshore across the small faces of what should have been surfable waves. Feeling guilty about playing hooky from joven's baseball practice, and thus depriving the boy of time with his teammates, I couldn't let the evening go to waste. I dragged a five mm, fully-hooded, middle-of-winter wetsuit out of the closet, suffered my fat ass into the thing, and grabbed the thickest booties and gloves I own. With Washington Coast water temps now easily topping 60 degrees, a surfer in the know might think I was nuts.

Walking through the garage to our path to the beach, I skipped my stack of boards and gathered my swim fins, mask, and snorkel. I've been determined to start snorkeling from the beach at Westport for a couple of years now, and last night presented a useful opportunity to try out some kit and scope out the sandbar out front.

In the end, the exercise was worth it, but tough going. First, buoyancy, dreaded buoyancy. I was so buoyant in my overthick wettie, I was stuck swimming near the surface making it hard to propel by kicking alone. My fins cruised the surface, slapping the water with each kick, and quickly fatigued my feet and ankles. So I swam Coast Guard rescue swimmer style. But anyone who ever swims open water knows, swimming in a heavy wetsuit sucks. Despite these difficulties, I made it through the shorepound, the breakwater, and into the green with a little huffing and puffing.

At the time, the work seemed for naught. Unconsolidated bottoms, like the fine-grained sand making up our bar, don't provide much in the way of habitat, and there was little biological activity of interest. And as hard as it was to get into the water, getting out sucked-ass. I found the life-guardy swim fins to be difficult to remove with gloved hands. Even with 5mm booties, the fins were killing my feet, and my shitty knee was damned sore. After getting pounded in the smallish shorebreak, I finally got those fins off and made for the dune. Killed a can of Chunky Sirloin Burger soup and a hefeweizen, started a book by Seattle writer G.M. Ford, and hit the hay.

Patience was rewarded this morning with bright skies, soft wind, and variable but very surfable swell. In fact, the sets were in better shape with more juice than in the last couple of weeks. The line-up was gown-up and mellow, with the exception of one "paddle-for-everything" guy. This fellow made matters worse because he was actually catching the waves he paddled for. Not that he surfed them with anything resembling style or knowledge. Nothing like watching a guy in full wettie kit (despite the afore-mentioned warm water), scratching like a madman, popping up into a full-sumo-stinkbug stance and then go straight down the line until the wave peters out in front of him. A couple of cutbacks and his fifty yard rides could have easily been quadruple that. To make matters worse, he was friendly.

Now I sit here in the office, phone not ringing, projects all well-managed, scheming my next go out. I'll give it some more thought at lap-swim tonight. Meantime, I feel like I'm getting away with murder.

50 Step Transition--Wednesday Evening Surf

Went from the board room on a two-coast conference call to the beach in two and half hours. Peeled the duds on the way, donned boardies and slaps, and rolled up to Casa de los Arboles in the mid-afternoon. Finished a few items of work, unpacked a load of bricks for the next big project (it's a secret for now, but I promise I'll blog it), and then exchanged the boardies again for a 3/2 wetsuit.

Walked 50 steps out the sandy path to the edge of the dune and was greeted by a happy, glinting sea. Waist to chest high surf with a bit of groundswell made for lined up peaks with shoulders and bowls. Less mush than last session, these waves allowed for climbing pumps and round cutbacks to connect sections; every wave ending in knee deep water. Glad to be free of one extra millimeter of neoprene, I soaked up the warming surf, rode one last one to the beach, and packed it in for dinner.

After cleaning up and gobbling down yesterday's leftovers, I grabbed the bino's and a cigar and headed back out to the beach to take it all in. A diverse but mostly sunny sky met lots of biological activity on the water, mostly in the form of a huge bird congregation on what might have been a giant ball of bait. A couple of telltale puffs told me that the greys are still migrating through, at the center of all the surficial avian comotion. The bino's came in handy as I was able to identify at least six different whales, including a couple of pups.

I just ordered esposa tres_arboles her own set of bino's with an adapter that will let her mount them on her camera tripod. She's been sad at missing much of the migration activity this year. Hopefully, they'll still be cruising through when she gets down in the next few weeks.

Sunday Long Paddle

Awoke, brewed coffee, and walked the dog. Wind was dead calm as the sun rose to the treetops. Songbirds poured out a mental cacaphony of calls to greet the day. And I pulled on boardshorts, a 1.5mm top, got myself and my 18 foot Joe Bark down the hill to my brilliant jewel, Puget Sound.

Tide was slow filling and the water was baby oil smooth as I set out paddling with the tidal current. The water was full of life beginning with the primary producers that limited visibility from above in a cloudy bloom. The usual rip line sorted a variety of large woody debris, mostly limb wood, but some piles and posts too. Crossed that line and stayed seaward of it to avoid having to avoid the wood. And Mount Rainier thrust upward, robust and in sizzling detail under the already warming sun and blue sky.

I centered the board on Rainier and pulled until my shoulders loosened, at which point I broke into a fairly quick turnover, pulling long with each stroke. Staying just below lactate threshold (and resting the few times I exceeded it), I passed my usual southward landmarks at pace. Normandy Cove Center, tennis quonset hut, scraggly tree, owl house, maritime yard art, and the greek's mansion all passed quickly by. I managed to get down-sound about 3/4 of mile further than my previously long paddle in about the same time (about an hour).

As I entered Des Moines, I noted the current buoy north of the marina still tilting toward the flood. But as I came parallel to the buoy, I decided I might turn around and head back. Because the current was now flowing slightly against my paddle, I had to make frequent corrections to maintain my course back. At first I was surprised that I made good progress on the home drive. Then the wind picked up from the North and beat a persistent short period bump into the water's surface. Even more curious, an overcast descending like a horizontal curtain from the west.

The combination of headwind and splashing through the bumps made progress difficult, but I pulled hard in the face of the sudden overcast. Although I was certain there was no front coming through, I was amazed at how much conditions had changed in a half hour. The company of a curious harbor seal encouraged my continued sprint as the coast fell away into the cove. Then, within a quarter mile of shore, the wind called off it's assault, the water smoothed, and I kneepaddled, however gingerly back to the beach.

Satisfying like morning sex, I felt smug in having had such a beautiful 2.5 hour workout so early in the day, in such beautiful and unique surroundings. As others in my neighborhood trundled off to church to worship, I was pleased at having meditated in my own church of the outside.

Friday Dawn Surf

Although the sky was lit by 4:30 am today (gotta love them Northern latitudes!), sunrise greeted me in the Pacific about an hour later. Pulled the 10' single fin, Dane Perlee shape off the rack and scored clean littles for a couple of hours with surprisingly low traffic. In fact, for the first hour it was just me and some lady trading lined-up, zippy, thigh high waves from bar to bar.

I've been surfing the so-called "performance" longboard in my quiver, which to me just means it's my "can't nose-ride it" longboard, so the weight and stiffness of my log took a few waves to get used to. I was also frustrated by inside-outside action amongst the fairly constant sets, owing mostly to the high high tide dropping out at over a foot and third per hour to what is a fairly extreme low tide at lunch time.

Until I got used to the pattern, I found myself sitting too far out for some sets, then too far in for the others. A little positive self talk later ("get your ass in gear dipshit!"), and I was right on a nice bowl that I surfed left and right, from bar to bar, over and again. I convinced myself to jump out after one particularly nice ride that included three cutbacks and a couple of cross steps on which I didn't fall, for once. Gotta love that balance board workout I started last month!

Joven has a pair of ballgames; tonight and tomorrow afternoon. That should enable me to get out on the Sound for a long paddle tomorrow morning, and then for a swim on Sunday. Water, water, water; more, more, more.