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Sunday, June 30, 2013

6.18.13 Solo Mish to Seemingly Crappy Tyson Street

I made the trek up after having been dry for nearly a week.  The tide was right, the conditions were good, but in typical Pacific tease fashion, there wasn't much of anything out there.

I went against my instincts and paddled out anyway.

I paddled out quickly, thanks to the lack of wave action pushing against me.

My first wave had an ok drop, but the deep spot in the sand chubbed it up and slowed my progress to the point of sinking down into the water.

My second wave, if you can call it that, involved a delayed pop-up.  This was a way to let the wave develop and steepen so as to give myself the best chance to make the wave.  I dropped down and the shoulder I'd anticipated failed to materialize.

My third wave amounted to my third fade in a row.  I was beginning to second-guess second-guessing myself.

My fourth wave, and my fourth left, allowed for a couple of ginger pumps.  An incorrect weighting would lead to being left behind and have zero chance of connecting with the inside section.  I took the conservative route, but the wave reformed, leaving me behind.

I caught yet another left, which IMMEDIATELY faded on me.

Apparently my paddle-paddle-pop-fade style had caught the eyes of a couple of loggers.  They decided to join me.  Luckily, their decision to paddle twenty yards to my north allowed me a glimmer of hope.  Perhaps this session could still be salvaged.

I caught a right and decisively bottom-turned, whacked it well, then kicked out.  Nice!

I saw something my eyes had a hard time believing, a decent left!  I feverishly paddled for it and thanked my personal savior when I felt the familiar push of having caught a wave.  I swooped up and down, then back up and couldn't make up my mind.  I half-turned/half-flamingo'd and somehow managed to save it.  I couldn't believe it.  I gathered my wits and was able to turn the end into what felt like a layback snap, but turned out looking a lot less sick.  The result was true to memory though...

I caught a right and did the best I could on it.  I bottom-turned well and hit it in the right spot.  I rose back up with a little more speed than with which I entered the turn, but there was not much shoulder to bank off of.  I attempted a cutback and got about three-quarters of the way around before I turned hard into the wave, having realized there was no recovering.

My wave count was huge, but there were even more waves I'd paddled for but didn't catch.  I felt a burn in my arms I usually feel on bigger days.  I bailed after the consistency waned.

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