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Monday, December 31, 2012

12.21.12 A Second No-Go Denied at NoTePads

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.

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