The previous day, we were blessed with offshores. MD's was too bloated, so I headed south to NoTePads. As I descended toward the foot of the valley, I saw a scrumptious section fold over, albeit racily, into an unmakeable barrel. I hadn't gone in the water for close to two weeks, so I was down for getting some tube time with very little chance of making it.
Upon exiting The Rad, I was greeted by a frosty offshore wind that was blasting through the 56 corridor and out into the ocean. I was determined to go for it. I took my shirt off and put on my changing robe. My toes were numb from the wind and their exposure to it. I continued to look into the ocean as I suited up. I pulled the wetsuit up around my waist and realized this was the warmest I would be all morning. Having spotted nary a tube section since parking, I made a call to cancel the wetsuit sequence and retreat to the relative warmth of The Rad. I rode home with the wetsuit half on, wetsuit sleeves and tail firmly planted between legs (nothing sexual though).
I vowed to exact my revenge at my next opportunity, and it arrived less than a day later...
Missed-It-Mike met me at MD's and we weren't impressed by what it showed us. We trekked south, to the scene of the emasculation, to NoTePads. This time I came prepared. People who saw me driving thought I was a pussy, a neoprene fetishist gimp or perhaps both. Mike felt the cold caress of the wind and lost his mojo. There really wasn't much out there, but I was determined to paddle out. It, without question, would've been a repeat of the previous day's embarrassment.
Mike decided he was going to film me from his car, using his phone. The footage, much like the waves, was forgettable. I looked like a speck of black against white splashing on the wave's surface.
There was no one out, though I did see sweeper about a hundred yards south. The water temperature was a welcome warmth and made the temperature much more manageable.
I got a little bit of a cover-up on a right crab-grab attempt. Other than this wave, there were no stand-outs. I spent my time on the rest of the waves Huntington-hopping my way to frustration. I haven't looked at the GoPro footy yet, but I know there is no need to, because the waves were so lacking.
When I finally decided to call it a sesh, I found myself in an upwelling spot where the cold water felt like death. It felt as though my fingers were closing up on themselves in an attempt to keep warm. I found a wave and belly-boarded it, then walked past a guy who was pacing back and forth about fifteen steps in each direction before changing directions. He asked me if I was cold and I replied affirmatively.
Luckily, I didn't have to wait for my hands to thaw. I had enough torque to turn the key in the ignition.
The post-surf shower was AMAZING! It's what I'm calling the shower of the year.