Father’s Day Weekend, International Surfing Day…

…and, as always, I’m just glad to get some waves. Swell windows along the Strait of Juan de Fuca are small, tight, and reliant on so many variables.  And I wouldn’t have even been checking them out or considering surfing on a weekend if I hadn’t had such an exhausting work week; work completed on a frustrating and not-really-all-that-profitable project at about 8pm on Friday, painting stuff piled back into the van, check ATM-deposited.

EDIT; [Hey, wait; was International Surfing Day June 16, or is it June 22nd? Kind of confusing. Doesn’t really matter; I surfed on one of the possibilities, not sure about next weekend; or any weekend, but, since this weekend is gone and the reports are in, it seems like those who really wanted northwest waves got some. So, good.]

It was a Hobuck weekend for sure. It was the kind of Olympic Peninsula weekend Seattle-Siders dream of. White Reggie Longstroke had taken off on Thursday night to secure a prime spot. Temperatures were predicted to be in the 80 degree range, no big disturbing winds, moderate swell.

I definitely had no plans to go to the coast, and was trying to get all the parties together to start another job, miss the mob. I was hoping for a small swell window, like, checking, like today, right now. It’s a maybe, but… yeah, someone might be getting some waves.

Big Dave, who I’d run into on Wednesday or so, me on my way to a job, he standing by his Jefferson County dump truck, waiting, evidently, to fill in some pot holes on the Center Road, and who I really just wanted to clue in on a session I’d had (and he’d missed) with Clint and I pretty much the only surfers out; but he had to tell me the coast looked to be the bet for the weekend, and, man, I really missed the Memorial Day surf at La Push.

“Wait,” I said; I was checking out the camera, swear I caught an image of you bottom-turning on a wave.” “Probably. I was out there.”

I must add that I also got a clue, texted from an unnamed surf zealot down the canal, that there might be a little window that might not show on the forecast, even on the buoys.

“My board’s still on my car,” I texted; “What time r u thinking? 6? 5?”

No response to my “Going for it” text at 4:30. Knowing he had graduation parties to go to, probably from Shelton to Chimacum, I just knew he was already on it in the pre-dawn light.

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Okay, this isn’t actually the lineup when I arrived at around 6;45. I did take some photos with my phone, but can’t figure out how to send them to my e-mail. It was similar, but cleaner; the tide already low and headed for the lowest low (I’m told) of the year; and the swell was dropping, had dropped overnight, one surfer was out, one was headed out, two more were suiting up, and, well, I had to get out there.

Adam Wipeout wasn’t already there, but, with all I didn’t know, he might have been somewhere, hitting waves bigger and better.

It was pretty much over two hours later when I slogged through the mid-cove quicksand. Window closed.  On the way home I did pass a lot of surfers, even more kayakers, as many rigs trailering boats.  Hopefully each of those folks found something to enjoy.  With a rising tide, there could have been another window. And there’s always the coast. Hobuck, La Push, various spots in between… maybe.

Geez, it’s already late; got to get to work.

 

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The Last Time I Surfed Swamis…

…yeah, it’s been years. If I hadn’t surfed some amazing spots in the years since, Swamis would still be my favorite surf break. Because it played such an important part in my surf life, from kook (1965 – now) blindly paddling for a wave that, no doubt, had someone on it; to getting a ride with Phillip Harper’s mom, parking in one of the limited spaces adjacent to the outhouse, next to a vehicle with a WindanSea decal, and Phil’s mom saying, “Oh, those Wind-an-E’-Sa guys are so nice;” to riding in the far back (facing backward, sometimes with Phillip along) of the family station wagon with my six brothers and sisters, our Mom, and later, older sister Suellen driving, five or six boards of various ages on the Aloha racks; to powering over with various friends (among them, Ray, Mark, Phillip, Bill, Billy, Bill Birt, and later, Scott and/or Jeff) after Fallbrook High School let out, hoping to snag a few waves before dark; to sleeping on the beach up against the cliffs, hoping to catch a few before it got crowded (and not get rousted by the lifeguards or cops as Phillip and I had been when we tried to sleep in the back of his VW truck on the bluff where the lone house is now); to going with my girlfriend, Trish, she riding a mat in what we called Swamis Beachbreak (the go-to spot when Swamis just wasn’t quite big enough); to going alone while working in Oceanside and going to Palomar Junior (now community) College; surfing every day of the famous swell of December 1969; actually being an Encinitas Local for a couple of years in the mid 1970s (albeit on the east side of I-5); to hitting some uncrowded dawn conditions on January 1st on two consecutive years in the early 1990s (down in San Diego working for my Brother-in-law, Jim Scott when my painting business was struggling with northwest winter conditions); and, the last time, a very small afternoon, not too crowded, and, I can remember, paddling, sort of blindly, on the inside peak, lined-up on the palm tree, hoping I had enough speed and the wave enough power to lift me, carry me to that little inside inside section.

Yeah, one big run-on; one spot remembered fondly.

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