My boy and rap protegé Mark DeGrovel texted me yesterday to see if I wanted to surf. I had an appointment set for this afternoon, but King Neptune smiled upon me and commanded the client to postpone for the next day.
I met Mark at his in-laws' beach house and we had the good fortune of having the cliff-top backyard as our vantage point. It looked better than I expected, but still pretty rank.
We suited up, then walked down the stairs. It was an absolutely glorious afternoon and I was amped on that (and not much more). I carried Wanda, my fish, thinking its lack of rocker would easy my entry into these little morsels.
About a half-hour in I caught one pretty good wave on which I was able to rise up and smack the lip AND ride down, which is a bit of an accomplishment on that board.
I caught another wave immediately after and went a little too radically, sliding the tail out and sliding my chances of a successful maneuver out the window along with it.
About twenty minutes later, I caught a wave I paddled for for a solid eight seconds before I finally stood up on it. It took forever for that thing to get steep. But once it did it was a doozy. It was steep and I popped up and pumped almost immediately, rejoicing in the quick burst of speed I garnered. Unfortunately there was no payoff.
Mark and I got cold after about an hour and fifteen minutes and in we went.
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