This is my daughter Drucilla’s shot of super low tide Seaside Cove, using one of many filters that she got as an App on her phone. The bigger blob is me, paddling my SUP from my knees, waiting for one of those fabled hundred yard rides. We were also waiting for my sister Melissa Lynch and her son Fergus and husband, Jerome. And there was talk (actually part of Trisha’s selling of the trip) that my former daughter-in-law, Karrie, would show up with our grandsons, N8 (Nate) and Tristan, and Tristan’s girlfriend, Stormy, all of us ready to share my three boards and primed (and properly fitted in rented wetsuits) to challenge the (obviously) classic conditions.
“It was a blast!” Melissa would text me later. Fergus, who packed his dad’s wetsuit rather than something he really needed, and who had surfed before, had now doubled his experience level. Jerome, seeing his wife and son have so much fun, took back his wetsuit, borrowed my SUP (no paddle), and stood up on the very first wave he (ever) caught.
So the Lynches were all stoked. Karrie, however, got lost somewhere in the heavy Seaside traffic, and her sons, who spent most of their trip from Idaho in the pool at the place on Long Beach, didn’t want to challenge the ocean. This reticence may have been related to the tragic news that an eleven year old girl (actually from very near where Trish and I live) had drowned at Long Beach July 3rd after getting caught outside, pushing her younger brother toward shore and telling him to “swim as hard as you can.”
So, though I gave seventeen year old Tristan a certain amount of grief about it, I was fine.
Yes, I knew the surf would be small and the tide wrong for Seaside; we had a big celebration of my father’s 90th birthday to attend when the tide came back in and the surf approved. Seaside has a heated shower; quite a selling point. I had, however, somehow lost my boxers while suiting up in the nearby restrooms, and, though showered and salt free, I did have to attend the event commando.
Well, I did have socks on with my sandals in the classic northwest style, also a throwback to Fallbrook High’s dress code; Mexican sandals were allowed- with socks. It just seems civilized.
Anyway, as soon as I can find them, I’ll stick a couple more photos from the trip on the site. Worth mentioning, perhaps, is that, due to several unrepaired tears in my wetsuit, I no longer go in the water commando, though, unlike when I got my first wetsuit, I also no longer wear the trunks on the outside. Less modest, perhaps?
What I shouldn’t mention is how fortunate I feel that I don’t usually have to surf beachbreak (and the Cove was behaving like a beachbreak). My best ride was a left that didn’t close out as most had, and, when I wrapped a big cutback, the group of kids who were out on their boogie boards and rented softtops (some with their own boards and suits), all kind of cheered. Or maybe they were just being patriotically inspired.