A few years ago (not sure how many) Big Dave and I were the farthest surfers out. Not unusual. An outside set was approaching. “Oh,” I might have said, “I would love to get that one.” “Well,” Dave said, “It’s your birthday.” It wasn’t, but I appreciate the act. And, perhaps, the second wave was better. Doesn’t matter; it’s gone. Over.
A while back, Big Dave and I out again, I was at that ‘one more last wave’ stage of my session when I suddenly remembered this was, most likely, my birthday session; but, whoa; there was a wave I just had to go on. Staying as high as I could on the wave, somewhere, while sideslipping, I just couldn’t help but say, “Happy birthday to me!” Not that loud by human standards, but loud enough that, when I paddled out for one more one more last wave, a woman in the water said, “That was a pretty good birthday present.” It was.
I’m pretty used to watching other surfers from the water, not so much from the beach. On this occasion, hanging too long on the shore, possibly considering a second paddle out, I did watch Big Dave take out from farther out and farther over than anyone else, hang mid-to-high on the wall, and, when a section broke ahead of him, he plowed through it and back onto the face.
A guy who has been surfing a few years, sitting on the tailgate of his truck and to one side of me commented, “Oh, it’s not like he hasn’t ridden that same wave twelve hundred times.”
Oh, that explains it.
OKAY, since I’ve gotten off topic, I’ll shelve (actually, just not post) the piece I’ve spent too much time working on today. I have been thinking about the social scene in parking lots. OKAY, I don’t really want to get into that. It’s my birthday, I have shit to do.