Blog Status

 Hibernation implies that there is a rough end to the period of rest.  For bears, it's springtime.

My time as a surfer is on indefinite hiatus, in suspended animation, open-ended sabbatical, etc.

Three days ago, I caught my first glimpse of the Pacific Ocean in 511 days.  This is without a doubt a record.

The waves were breaking ok but the wind was wreaking havoc.  I had no temptation to paddle out.

The farthest north I've ever caught a wave is Seal Beach, just south of Long Beach. And here I was in Long Beach, WA; looking at an empty line-up and mindsurfing the various sections.  

I left CA nearly seventeen months ago and I can't say I miss it.  Encinitas, where we were living, has gotten retardedly expensive.  The mix of people has gone from middle class families to rich business owners and trustafarians.  Long gone are the days when people talked about real issues affecting the community.  The narcissism got out of control:  "If it doesn't affect me, it doesn't matter" could be the 20's mantra.

"Keep Leucadia Funky" is emblazoned on late-model cars;  late-model cars being the antithesis of funky.

My wife got her dream job in Seatle, so we've been here for the past year and change.

Should I visit El Salvador again next year, I will surf.  Until then, I'm a fully certified dry guy.

2.4.23 Spreading the Stoke II

 Our minivan's battery went out and I had to take our little car, which meant my little board.

I met my newest surf bro Ben and we headed down.  The tide was amazingly low.  There were tidepools there that I'd never seen and I've surfed Beacon's off and on since at least 2001.

I was supposed to be giving Ben pointers on surfing, but we made it out together but we almost immediately got separated.  I caught two waves in quick succession.  The left was bigger, I dropped in and felt the skatey feel of the two-finned Tomo.  The wave closed out but I was amped that I'd gotten up on it successfully for the first time this decade.

I caught a right and I took a little longer to get up on that, but I did and did a half-turn.

That was the extent of my fun out there.

The sun was out, beautiful weather, decent-sized waves, but it was meh to me.  Sad to say but I think my surfing days are over.  Having gotten surgery on my ears doesn't help things, and the ol' depression sure as hell has hurt me in just about every way possible.

Epilogue: End of another era, the Tomo was sold eighteen days later

12.17.22 Spreading the Stoke: Beacon's Log Sesh

In an effort to force myself to get back out thar, I posted on reddit that I'd give out free surf lessons.  I've found when I make a deal to do something I will commit to it.  I definitely, as my low post-count confirms, won't go on my own.

In true SoCal style, everyone flaked except for someone who's not from here.

It was a beautiful but very cold morning and the waves were pretty small and lazy.

Long story short, I caught one wave on which I dropped in on a purple log and vaulted over the closing-out lip.

It felt great being back out there and my protege was amped at the untainted-by-a-transaction brodom.

7.11.22 My Sickest Sesh of All-Time, plus the return of Missed-It Mike!

Mike moved to SC last year and we hadn't surfed together in 2963 days.

I personally had not shortboarded in 1013 days, without a doubt my longest dry spell since I started twenty-five years ago next month. Various and very problematic mental health issues (long story short: not finding joy in anything) conspired to keep me a dry guy.

My wife had gotten lunch . Just as I was receiving a Shrimp Diablo burrito (It's one of the spiciest burritos I've had; so much so that after the second round of bites I stopped adding hot sauce).  Missed-It Mike texted me to pick him up to surf.

I had a twenty-minute window during which I had to get my oh-so-dry board and meet him at his dad-in-law's Lew's house and start and finish lunch.

I felt my scalp sweating as I pounded the vast majority of the burrito, only calling it with an ambitious one-biter left because otherwise I'd be late to pick him up.

I grabbed my Tomo and grimaced as I realized I'd not screwed the fins in.  I grabbed two fins and did a quarter-assed attempt of spotting a fin key.  No dice.

I picked Mike up, he had no fin key or wax.  I briefly spoke with Mike's son who had just turned eleven and his voice was deeper than mine at twenty-two.  Perhaps this formed the maelstrom that was to come? 

We stopped at Progression (which I think is the best surf shop in North County) and I picked up the aforementioned equipment.

Mike had a brand new egg-resembling board, so he was amped to have the option wax to further aid traction.

We'd seen Ponto already and that sucked as it so often does when there's wind on it. 

We went to our old haunt D St, cursorily checked it and got out thar.

My paddling muscles didn't begin to voice their protests until I was about half-way out.  Their volume/vociferousness increased until we perched.  Thank goodness I was trunking it and didn't have the wetsuit pushing against me or I really would have felt like a expletive deleted!

Eventually I got a look at one and paddled for it.  I'd been stricken by how my muscle memory was still there.  My body doing stuff on its own while I marveled at its autonomy: Frog-kicking mid-duckdive among other things.

I was popping up and taking too long and I ate it on my first wave.  Did I mention I'd also neglected to grab a leash?

I swam in feeling a little woozy.  I diagnosed it as acute above expletive obscured-try, fetched my board and paddled back out.  About a couple of strokes, I began to feel like shit.  I was nauseous and my onboard carnal computer relayed that I may be puking soon.  Seconds later, I felt my first wretch, easily stifled.  During a duckdive, a second one arrived and I immediately wondered if I was going to taste that spiciness again (or as Wayne Campbell might say "a little Dutch door action").

The realization that I would feel better after barfing came and went easily.  I knew it was a bygone conclusion.

Before I get to what you fetishists are after, an aside:  Is there a better sport during which to puke than surfing?  I don't think so.  You can dunk your mouth and blow chunky bubbles pretty quietly, possibly without detection.  

Can you do that in tennis? No.  

Basketball? Fudge No.

Diving? Maybe if you time it perfectly, though the resulting flotsam will almost certainly betray you.

I more weakly contained the last of my not so dry-heaves and then boom.  My throat and mouth burned as the spicy sensation dominated, intermittently interrupted by my meal missiles.  These didn't have far to fall to hit water.

I finished up, suspicious that a large burrito's worth of cargo hadn't yet exited me.

I felt better, and better.  I perched and had a chance at another wave.  I was too late on it, but this time I death-gripped my board so as not to have to swim in.  I was flipped upside down as hell rained down around me, but stoked on having won the wrestling match, my trophy of a board in hand.

I paddled back out and felt at about 80%.  I was starting to get cold and was still feeling the malaise so I was very appreciative when Mike agreed we could go in.

In posts past, I've described the feeling upon touching ground after a particularly hairy session.  It's elation and the triumph of man over nature.  My soles hit the sand and that feeling eluded me.

I waded in, barely even glancing at the party of three, sporting strings of G that was whimsically frolicking in the water, as they might during the opening credits of softcore 80's pornography (my research was for school FYI).

As I walked in the sand towards the stairs, for some reason I felt like kneeling down.  I braced myself on my sideways board and the sand as I opened wide and welcomed into this world the second twin.  Mike was very sympathetic and nice about it.  It crossed my mind that I had made fun of Mike puking at this very spot many years ago, and that karmically, this was my punishment (good thing I'd never made fun of Mike for accidentally blowing a dude!).

I shakily made it up the stairs after having rinsed off.

In honor of this session's events, an abridged compendium of other bodily functions I've performed in the water:

Pissing: Pretty much every session

Pooping: A total of five times, one of them in Costa Rica on a boat trip during my 2008 wedding and the rest of them in El Salvador.  Hey, you wanna know what's grosser than a floating feces? A half-sunk submarine!

'Popping': Only metaphorically, unfortunately.  I didn't think of this in time, but rub-humping would have been a great progression from tired-ass dry-humping.  Other than that 'Suit Slamming doesn't hold much appeal to me.

Daaa boyz, burrito still in belly.

12.5.21 Beacons with Bestia

 I kept asking my eldest when she was going to start surfing.  She said when she turned eight.

We went down to Beacons she was so excited, especially to tell everyone that she can surf.

We did some practice pop-ups on the beach and headed out thar.

The waves were tiny but the whitewater had some push to it.  She got freaked out.  I coaxed her to me then tried to put her on the board prone.  She was kicking and squealing so I stopped.  She watched me catch a wave on a longboard and was nonplussed.

In we went.

That wave was dedicated to my best buddy Chucho, with whom we were so unfairly forced to part ways one hundred days ago today.

6.12.20 Barely a Session Log Go-Out at George's

My wife had cousins in town from Arizona who wanted to surf.  I pushed them into maybe ten waves total before they were over it and then I had a go.

I hadn't surfed in eight months and my surf mojo had been at rock bottom.

Putting my head in the cold water really hurt my head.  I could feel my ears ache hard and this pain would progress into the ear canals.  So ear plugs do help as they cut this pain by about half, adding some discomfort in the old ear holes.

I semi-pumped on a left, which eventually petered out.

I paddled out again and bailed on a close-out which took the log with it.

Lastly, I caught a nice one late and over-committed on the drop, but made it.  I turned hard to make up for it.  I figured I'd eat as I typically do when bottom-turning a log but it was a nice feeling as I scooted ahead to the green water.  Unfortunately I couldn't top turn for squat and ate it.

I may shell out for the latest generation of plugs if I feel like trying again, but my surf mojo is vying for matching an all-time bottom.  I have a lot of stuff swirling around in my head and surfing is no longer the priority and stress reliever it once was.

10.3.19 Heartwrenching NPier with Tim

Today had a lot of promise but in the end it sucked.

I caught four waves, all with the same result.  The bathymetry is wonky and the waves reflected that.

My mojo for surfing is at a deep valley.  I can't seem to get motivated to paddle out and this blog will go into hibernation until I snap out of it... 😔

9.15.19 Gutless Ponto

We mounted up and headed north.  We almost paddled out at Oside Harbor but the $10 parking fee dissuaded us.  It was that close.  So locals, write your city council and ask them to institute a parking fee and you'll lose us codos.

We eventually settled on Ponto after seeing a nice set break.  We knew it was going to be bad but we did it any way.

The highlight of my session was an off-the-lip that I pulled but it felt sad because there was little to no energy on the part of what I was riding.  Reminded me of my dating days!

I was cold in my ancient leaky wetsuit amid cold spots aplenty.  I did see a nice manta ray hovering over the sand.  Eventually we went in and braved the steep loose rock hill.

9.7.19 Pretty Much all to Ourselves at Cherry St

We went to check Oside and it wasn't great, it had a bit of texture from what appeared to be an offshore storm.

We ambled south and checked Cherry St/Tamarack.  Tamarack had a bunch of dudes on it, but it looked worthwhile.  Cherry St was looking a bit fat with some backwash but fun on the inside.

I caught a couple of long lefts, the first on which I did a little flick then pulled out the back.

The highlight of the sesh was a left I caught on which I was almost left behind.  I made the connection and then was rewarded with a big speed pocket section.  I milked that, then laid into a big tailslide on which I eviscerated the wave.

Tim asked me if I'd made that.  I laughed.

We went in not long thereafter.

9.2.19 Packed Ponto w/ Tim

Since I'm still getting back into the swing of things and the way of the wetsuit, I neglected to complete my pre-flight checklist and forgot to bring a towel.  Any perverts equipped with night vision goggles at the northwest corner of Solana Beach caught two eyefuls of man-ass as I changed in Opie.

We checked Seaside, walking down from Solana Beach so as to avoid having to pay $20 each to park there.  That sucked.

I suggested Pillbox (and Solana Beach, thank you so much for not charging us to park there...yet!).  That was slightly less sucky.

Tim suggested Ponto and we headed up there.  There was a good-sized pack on it already.

I caught my first wave within ten minutes.  It was a sneaker left.  I got up and pumped a few times.  I bottom-turned and smacked it, catching some spray going out the back from the corner of my eye.  I pumped a few more times, then finished it well.  A shocking two-non-slash maneuver wave with a shocking two makes!

I got burned on my next two.  I then suggested Tim and I switched boards.  I got to ride his beast of a quad-fin, nearly 50 liters (the Tomo on which I paddled out was 27).  On my first wave on it, it didn't sink down as much as I expected upon pop-up, and stubbed my toe pretty bad.  I got up and tumbled off.  I was a victim of the bends, going from my tiny board to his.

I caught another wave and was grooving around on it, but after enjoying the extra paddle power was ready to switch back.

Going from his board to mine was like going from a fat chick to an hourglass figure.  It took all of my mental power to keep the boner demons away.

We went in not long thereafter.

8.31.19 First Neoprene Sesh in 1834 days at Ponto

I buried the lede...

In an EddieSurfs first, I paddled out with one of my OG Surf bros, Tim!  I started surfing with him in 1998 and here we are 21 years later, after a 12-year hiatus.

I met him at Torrey Pines High.  I'd see him wearing skater gear and asked him if he surfed.  He said no and I kept harassing him to try it.  Finally in January we went and it was one of the biggest days I've seen in California.  While it wasn't the same swell on which Taylor Knox bagged the 52-footer at Todos Santos, I was seeing what appeared to be quadruple overhead on the outside.   It was massive out, we didn't even bother trying to get to the unbroken waves, what a day on which to have a first session!

So we met at Ponto.  He acted as surf guide and assured me it would be fun within an hour or so, as the tidal surge seems to help Ponto do its thing.

It looked abysmal out there at first light, but we suited up.  I hadn't put on a wetsuit in more than five years and had to figure out my way into my old wetsuit, mostly as to where the collar section went.  I was shocked at the extra resistance 2mm of worn, five-year-old neoprene added to paddling.  On my first duckdive, I thought I smelled an ancient piss.  Was it just my imagination or could it have been a long-ago urination?

There was a seemingly neverending set hitting as we broke to what we thought was outside.  My arms shrieked in agony with the rubberbanding effect of the wetsuit but I eventually made it out thar.

I caught about four waves, and I'd say about three were quality.  Yes they were small but they had lines.  On my first wave I kicked out awkwardly and my rail banged my lower leg, luckily the meaty part, and is currently swollen.  I did a quick snap off-the-top which I almost made on the Tomo.  It felt decisive but I landed sideways unfortunately.

I caught a right and almost lost it on the bottom turn as the fins threatened to slide out on me.  I did a nice hack but got stuck and faded.

I was shocked when we went in that we'd been out for about two hours.

8.17.19 Small, Blown-Out but Peaky D St

Quick session further abridged for your accelerated blog consumption:

I paddled out on the Tomo and caught two close-outs.  I switched boards with MC Gorgeous George, my one-time rap protegé.  He was on a boogie board though.  I caught a really fun right on the boogie board and was able to stay high in the pocket which was pretty fun being that close to the water.

We got cold and went in after close to a half-hour out there.  Crowds weren't awful but there wasn't much to catch, even sitting on the blackball demarcation line.

8.11.19 First Coldwater Sesh in almost Five Years

I knew it was going to suck so my expectations were ratcheted way down.

The fam and I were going to meet up with one of my OG surf bros Tim and his fam but they got behind and weren't able to make it at the time we were available.

We shined Moonlight in favor of Stonesteps, the site of our infamous engagement pictures.

I took the Tomo (and had to screw the fins back in from the flight up here). 

I had a couple of little drops but the highlight of the session was a slight and careful pump followed by a slight and careful bonk off the weak whitewater which I was thrilled to have completed given the conditions.

It was a trip being back and surfing in California after all this time.  My ear plugs were in and were working great, finally, with no fitting issues.

7.27.19 Last Session in El Salvador

My surf boner slapped against my sternum, awakening me at the prescribed time, as we'd discussed the previous night.

I was in a funk given all the bullshiv I'm dealing with for the move, on top of a project I officially started on the fifteenth. I was also still a little sick, having picked up some bug from the two sessions on the big day of the 14th. I was suddenly not in the mood to surf.  I checked the forecast and opted not to go.  But my surf jimmies wouldn't stop rustling. 

I checked the forecast again and noticed the surf was supposed to get bigger.  The period was a lowly 13 seconds, which could mean some crossed-up chop from a somewhat nearby storm.  The 14 kph offshores were what broke the surf stalemate within me and I decided to head down for my last session as a Salvadoran resident.

I glanced at the point, less angry than times past.  That long wave I caught which allowed me to do so much had whitewashed many of the bad sessions and frustrating waves I'd caught there since having arrived.  Unfortunately, the swell currently in the water wasn't enough to overcome the rideability bar and it wasn't working right.

I walked down the dirt road, to the beach I'd spent a lot of time on as a youngster.  It didn't look like it was working right either.  There were scattered peaks that seemed gutless, though it might have been my 13-second swell period bias leaking.

I settled on a peak and caught my first wave within ten minutes.  It was a left that opened up somewhat.  I did a brutal carve on it.  I gouged it so hard and lay back into the water enough so that I wasn't able to get back up.  I was surprised at the amount of water I'd thrown but that's not really impressive because boating accidents also throw a lot of water.

It took forever to catch another unbroken wave, and in that time I was swept down towards El Majahual.  San Blas has a battery of rideable waves when there's swell, and there's a sizeable gap between the Tinoco house (two houses west of my ex-stepfather's rented house) and the next consistent peak.  I ended up in that netherworld and opted to belly board in.

I walked way east and paddled back out, then got swept down again, even more quickly.  I caught a questionable right, which had the slightest of corners available to me.  I didn't think; my legs swooped up and I did a mini-pump in a pretty critical part of the wave.  But despite upping my chances at glory, there was no payoff as the wave unceremoniously closed out.

A couple more swept-down-go-in-walk-east-paddle-outs and some pretty critical late drops on what turned out to be close-outs later and I got the wave of the day. 

I had to go easy on it, as the first wave had foamed out the surface.  I didn't get barreled, but the lip hit me in the head as I was in-line for it.  I got a lot of speed but unfortunately for whatever reason I didn't do a turn.  Not sure if I was going for a foamy floater or I had paralysis of analysis but it didn't happen.

It wasn't until the writing of this post I realized that my first session as a Salvadoran resident took place exactly a year before my last.  Will I come back to live in El Salvador?  Maybe when the girls are out of the house.

7.14.19 Bigger and Gnarlier Balsamar

I was on daddy duty and my wife had decreed that I'd have to wait to surf.

I saw some big slabs break, definitely overhead and not makeable by me, not even close on my board.

The tide kept dropping, and with it my hopes of glory.

In between sessions, I held my breath underwater for 47 Mississipis, which is equivalent to about a minute, I discovered.  I made it with no problem. 

Thanks to a near-drowning incident this month in 1997, I've had a mini to moderate panic attack whenever I am getting my ass kicked underwater.  I am usually able to mitigate this by counting, knowing I can hold my breath twice as long as the vast majority of beatings.

So after my 47-Mississippis experiment, I felt confident.  I was headed towards the depth of the low tide and these massive energy transporters were coming in ferociously.

I was granted reprieve and I paddled out.  It took me a solid twenty minutes of straight paddling/duckdiving/questioning my sanity before I was able to squirt out between behemoth sets. 

I saw waves out there that scared the hell out of me, possibly approaching triple-overhead and slamming so hard.  I was extremely lucky to make it under two gnarly ones.  These were so big they were black.  It was scary as all hell.

I got smacked by an insider wave and whisked about.  I was counting but I felt that familiar panic rising within.  I gathered my board and what was left of my dignity and got smashed around some more.

I was getting pushed back some and then a bigger set came.  I ditched my board and got absolutely throttled.  My panic took hold, but I tried my best to act logically and relax.  I was unsuccessful.

 There were so many waves that just smashed down into a close-out, and I was not even close at seeing some green face on these.

Eventually I caught a right and was able to do a turn.  I got hung up on the lip and jumped off.  I was expecting to get brutalized but got lucky and squirted back out. 

Eventually the wind made the surface of the water untenable, adding yet another element of difficulty and I decided to go in.  I caught a huge close-out and was early enough so as to BARELY make the drop.  When my fins engaged after most of the board was out of the water I looked up to thank the big guy upstairs.

When I urinated later, I was surprised to see some sand in a very special place, lurking under my foreskin.

Eventually

7.14.19 Massive Balsamar thanks to Friend-since-Kindergarten Guillermo!

We got a late start today as I was bringing the fam down to Balsamar, which we can only get into when invited.

The waves looked big, and they were over double-overhead on the sets.  I was without question undergunned on my 5'11", and I was curious to see how I would fare.

I was able to make it out without too much issue, not a single other surfer anywhere in sight, as has been the case every time I've been here.

I caught an overhead left, pumped, and then bailed out the back as I didn't want to be a part of the close-out.

I dodged sets for a while, then decided it wasn't worth my time or tragedy while out there.  I also didn't want to be a dick, as I'd said hello and quickly paddled out.  I caught a pretty good-sized closeout in.

7.9.19 Tragedy (but not for me) at El Recodo

I somehow talked myself into paddling out despite all of the reasons not to at the end of my previous entry.  The waves were well overhead but makeable when they didn't section off.  And there was no one out thar!

My surf boner was saying LET'S GO, but my mind, heart, and body were saying no

The river was mellow, considering the amount of water coming down.  I suppose its recent widening helped reduce the speed at the expense of its girth.  And boy do I know what THAT feels like (pitching).

The paddle-out was sketchy but not an issue.   I did take one on the head, probs a 4 on the Beatdown Scale©.

What a set-up, macking El Recodo, by myself, with distant thunder and several tufts of cumulonimbus formations maddogging me.

It was tricky finding a good paddle spot for one that wouldn't section off.  Easy, you might be thinking, just catch it after the section!  But those would fizzle into fatness and were just a drop.

After about a half-hour I caught one.  It was a doozy!  I got two cutbacks on it and three top turns, including one really good smack on which I thought for sure I was going to pearl.  I was AMPING, definitely the best wave I've caught in a year (this sesh marked a year since I'd surfed in Nica, by the way).

After about five minutes of straight paddling out and against the current I perched again.  I noticed a guy coming up the rocks down the beach from me.  I was bummed but thankfully he had no entourage.  He and I didn't exchange a word and he was out there with me for about a half-hour before he caught one I let go as I was just in too critical a spot for it.  He caught it and he...

...WENT IN!  I had to laugh.  Here I had made my peace with this guy and a couple of other dudes subtracting from my wave count and he went in with no sign of a posse

As I bobbed up and down with the wave action, I noticed there were a couple of guys from Pando's development up the beach, their body language looking weird.  I quickly guessed that a body had washed up.  When my mom was with my stepdad, they rented a beach house at the beachbreak up the way here and we would sometimes see a crowd gather at El Majahual, gawking at the latest drowning victim.  It was usually an inexperienced swimmer, a drunk, or an inexperienced drunk getting caught in a rip and surfacing the next day.

In between dodging sets and bemoaning my lackluster positioning, I spotted something on the rocks, mind you I was about 250 meters away as the crow flies.  There was something odd there, it was a white bulk which didn't seem to belong.  More of a crowd gathered.

Then I saw the police pick-up truck, which then left without taking what I thought was a body.  I made the decision to go in about another twenty minutes later as the wind was picking up to my disadvantage.  I wasn't about to fight the current AND the ferocious shorebreak so I opted for the El Cocal beachbreak, towards Punta Roca.  When I eventually caught a small wave to aid me in my journey, I looked towards my line-up spot and was shocked at how quickly I was moving as I faded off this relative piddler.

The go-in was rough.  There was no sand!  I caught a foothold on a rock while in waist deep water and did my damnedest to quickly twinkletoe in before the next shorebreak wave slammed my body along with my dreams of a perfect landfall against the rocks.  I made it and had a long walk back to the car.

I asked the guys at the development if it was a swimmer from El Majahual and they confirmed it.

7.9.19 HEAVY and Unpredictable Beachbreak

I didn't know where, or even if, to surf.

I knew the waves would be on the bigger side, and the high tide would still be pretty extreme.  The bigger wild card was the big downpour.  This would make for a lot of water being dumped by the rivers, not to mention organic matter such as twigs and branches.  This would make it hard to stay in one place.

But I'm on a time crunch due to our leaving ES in three weeks, and I can only surf four days per week.  So down I went.

It wasn't raining when I got in the ride at 419, but it started raining right around Zaragoza, a city just shy of the halfway mark.  It started pouring on me and I slowed way down.  It reminded me of August 14, 2003.  I'd been down for the summer and Chuleta and his then-girlfriend Tesoro set me up with one of her friends (I remember her name was Jessica).  We went to the mall as a group date and I shockingly was unable to close (We could have had a good thing, Jessica)!

I had to drive Chuleta and Tesoro down to the beach where they lived and there was a torrential downpour, definitely the worst through which I've ever driven.  I was in my mom's car and they were in the back.  There was a guy driving an SUV coming toward us and I had to do a low-speed swerve onto the mud shoulder.  The car went up, and two of the tires lost contact with the earth for a bit.  Tesoro shrieked.

After the excitement from that incident was over, I white-knuckled it down to the beach, barely able to see in front of me.  The windshield wipers' max speed was laughably slow in the face of such an onslaught.

We made it down and Isra, Chuleta's dad, tried to convince me to spend the night and let the storm pass.  I made the stupid decision, riskwise, to drive back up.  I made it back without incident, other than being freaked out by the driving conditions.

When I got to my mom's house, I got out of the car and felt like I was going to collapse from the mental exhaustion of being so concentrated for so long (2+ hours).

I was hoping the waves wouldn't be chocolatey brown but they were.  So much so that I could b a r e l y make out the outline of my hands as they rested on my knees while being perched.

I saw so many death pits.  The vast majority of these were unmakeable but some might have been, even by me.  It made me wonder...what if?  I'd recently watched the movie The Shallows starring Blake Lively.  It's about a shark who is terrorizing her.  I am proud to say that I wasn't too freaked out by the Mecca-for-sharks conditions.

I also saw something that may forever be etched upon my mind.  This massive and heavy left slab came down with a huge barrel and a gorgeous and frightening and SOOOOO thick serrated lip.  It reminded me of a barracuda's jaw line.

I started getting the heebie jeebies, HARD.  I had a couple of near misses with double-plus-overhead bombs.  While duckdiving under them, I got this weightless feeling that I was going over the falls.  I can't remember feeling that before and MAN is it unsettling.

I would paddle out whenever the bombs came and I wouldn't be able to catch them since they were mostly closing out and I was woefully undergunned.

So I made the decision to go in about halfway during a lull.

But then I was in a pickle. I could stay there and take the reduced power whitewash from the bombs.  But there were some mini-bombs that were coming and I had to fight the urge (almost unfailingly losing) to paddle out to beat these by making it under them in time.  This of course, would just further up the stakes, as their bigger brethren would surely be showing up not two minutes later.

I usually sing to myself when I am out there and during this session I was so flummoxed by the conditions I didn't get a chance to.  I took one in.

I walked up the beach, convinced this was the end of the session.

BBUUTT I somehow convinced myself to paddle back out.

As they say here in El Salvador, solo fui a traer, loosely translated, I only went to take (a beating).  I got absolutely slammed by a set.  My plans to stick around friendlier waters on the inside were once again scuttled as my surf-vival instinct took over.

I did not want to get stuck out there so I kept taking waves on the head without paddling out in between and went in.

I did the usual coaxing: "I'll check the point break, maybe I'll paddle out there" to get me walking back to the ride.  Knowing deep down that I probs wouldn't because:

1.  The river was swollen with organic and inorganic materials, not to mention rushing brown water.
2. This leads to a lot of swirling water, making it difficult to stay in one place/take-off spot.
3. Sharks love rivermouths after a rain.
4. There has been at least one documented shark attack there (way back in 1992, but still...).

7.7.19 ...It totally Redeems Itself!

I didn't know where I could surf to take advantage of the surge in swell.  It was the weekend, so Punta Roca was out.  I didn't want to deal with a similar bump in crowds at La Bocana.

It was a massive high tide, definitely the biggest I've seen since having moved to El Salvador.

There were some lines out there and I ran to my peak.  I surfed the entire session completely by myself.

I was having trouble getting anything going.  I saw some right death pits swirling and I decided to tempt fate and head over there.  I paddled and pulled back from close-outs for twenty minutes before I had a line on one.  It seemed like a baby wave, but there was a double-up situation happening and I had to throw myself over the ledge as it jacked up.  It broke hard and I did a set-up turn halfway up the face.  I got all kinds of speed and really laid into the big mama section, successfully smashing it as the behemoth blasted down around it.

That turn was cathartic.  I was bumming from having had a bad surfing experience despite being in south swell heaven and surfing by myself for so often. 

I went in on my belly and tried my luck at the lefts on tap.

Not too long after paddling out again, I caught a juicy left.  I thought it was going to section off and shut me out, but I managed to make it around.  I wound up into a bottom turn and aimed for the corner, where the wall met the whitewater. 

I laid back, my front hand feeling water with my ass joining in on the fun a short while later.  I managed to pull it much to my ecstacy.

The rest of the session was less memorable.  I think i went in four times total before paddling back out up the beach.  There was one set wave that closed out the entire beach, something I hadn't seen in a long time.  I managed to escape the session with less than my share of beatings.  I lucked into several air pockets on some real nasty ones.  I did have one that made my board shorts go almost all of the way off my ass though.

7.4.19 Just when I think the beachbreak couldn't be any more of a bummer...

This is a short one.

I paddled out and there was a fair amount of water moving around.  As usual there was the odd makeable slab but they shifted around and good luck being in the right spot.

I caught three waves in more than two hours, these slightly opened up but I don't think I even got one bottom turn in all morning.

I can't tell you how frustrated I was on the walk back to my car