On this particular day, I made my usual trek down to Wisconsin Street. The swell was coming in at an angle, so I walked south to give myself some runway with the current. There were a couple of heads in the water on a decent peak a ways down, so I kept walking. I continued until I didn't see waves breaking, with the intent of being swept into some open faces.
The waves were a little sectiony, but the low tide really helped the waves feel out the sandbars. This also made the wave-catching window shorter, and my chance of catching each wave smaller.
My first dunk in the ocean revealed a temperature dropped of easily eight degrees. For the first time since last fall, I longed for my booties.
I caught my first wave right away. I dropped in quickly and stuck my arm in the wave, hoping to get covered up. I eyed the lip line and realized it was going to be too small. At the last minute, I swooped up into the wave and out the back.
Less than two minutes later, I caught my next wave. It was the opposite of my first wave. It fizzled out almost upon my pop-up and I faded out the back.
The next wave on which I had the pleasure of riding opened up a wee bit. I stuck my arm in for the stall and just barely missed getting clipped in the head by the lip. It was all for naught though as I was thoroughly thwomped in about four feet of water.
I caught a juicy left, which had the ashes of its fallen predecessor strewn across its face in the form of froth. It opened up beautifully, or so I thought as I pulled into the almond-shaped barrel. Eyeing my line revealed a brutal closeout in my immediate future. I did what any coward would do, kicked my board out and sank down into the froth, away from the tumult.
My next wave was a big one. It was also a closeout. I jumped of my board and got pounded.
My next wave didn't close out, but the lip did smack me in the head as I attempted to get into the barrel.
I packed it in as I passed my exit on the longshore express, Wisconsin Street.