…what? Oh, yeah; can’t talk about it. Ever. With anyone. Maybe if I redact anything that reveals anything about when or where waves might (rarely) break on the Strait of Juan de [redacted].

So, after confirming, pre-dawn, that it wasn’t really all time at XXXXH XXXXX, I met up with XXXXX XXXXXXX at Fat XXXXXX’X. We loaded up his stuff, headed XXXX on Surf Route XXX. Originally, we were going to meet up with XXXX XXXXXXX  enroute, but he had changed his mind, opting for a later start.

Meanwhile,  XXXXX had told (texted, most likely) XXXXX that, despite the forecast and the readings on the appropriate XXXXs, and, quite possibly because of the expected heavy XXXTOR XSX winds, and, more likely, because of a need to work, he wouldn’t be venturing out for this, as always, small SXXX window.

Now, it must be added that I had borrowed a shorter, and, more importantly, lighter XXP  from XXXX XXXXXXX, specifically because it would be easier to pack into and lug out of one of several, not-secret, but not-to-be-advertised spots, or, really, even spoken of; particularly to anyone who has to drive farther than you do to get there.

This bit of localism/tribalism/selectivism goes along with the widespread but more-fantasy-than-fact notion that there are still secret spots that might provide really great waves when the better-known spots are not breaking or are exhibiting only the standard Strait weak-ass, mostly-missed-by-the-swell conditions we all have built-in excuses for. Or we surf what’s there and embellish when we talk about it.

And, packing-in on some muddy goat trail also feeds the Northwest Surfer image; if you make the effort, you will surely be rewarded with clean, empty barrels.

If only. Because I am slow in donning my wetsuit, XXXXX got into the lineup well ahead of me. Fine. Normal. When I eased into the icy (bone-chilling, deadly, really) water, discover the BXXXX will actually float me, miss a couple of waves, catch one or two, then paddle out to where another surfer is waiting, and give a friendly greeting, I’m rewarded with no answer and a look you might recognize. Imagine Jack Nicholson in “The Shining.”

What? When I ask XXXXX , about the snub/shunning, he says, “Your reputation has preceded you.” “Oh.” Allright; I’m there to surf. So I do, though I tried to stay clear of Mr. Pleasant (I’d redact, but I don’t know his real name). But, as happens, because I was going for one particular wave, I had to do a sort of cautionary “Yo” so that Mr. Pleasant wouldn’t accidentally take off in front of a particular “Old guy who puts stuff on the internet.” I mean, it might be dangerous (not on purpose, just, like, because I’m old and all).

Yeah, and I thought it might have been my rep for shoulder-hopping and wave-hogging. No; and, evidently, Mr. Pleasant’s concise critique of my website is that it’s “gay.” I don’t think he means in a homosexual way; maybe just silly and/or juvenile. NOTE: I told the story to my daughter, XXX. She translated ‘gay’ as ‘lame.’

Juvenile. I actually didn’t hear about the ‘gay’ part until XXXXX and I, after I struggled to get across a hundred yards of big, slippery river rocks and what seemed like a mile longer (and many degrees steeper) trail (and I did carry my borrowed board the whole distance); and after we, because XXXXX had a little more time than originally thought, checked out XXXX XXXXXS, the parking area filled with surf rigs and the water empty; almost back to Surf Route  XXX, we passed XXXX XXXXXXX and XXXXX on State Route XXX. They apparently had already given up on several other spots.

No, I did not reveal where XXXXX and I had surfed; but it may have been apparent to those who had been hanging out for hours, that I had surfed somewhere with waves (and it’s actually not that long a list of alternate spots). I was more than happy to have the mixed crew in the parking area believe it was CXXXXXXX, also known as SXXX XXXXX. I heard the place was getting swell, but know, from experience, it was probably CXXXXD XXT.

It’s interesting that XXXXX was all right with telling me I’m not universally popular (and, yeah, I took off in front of one guy, didn’t see him, gave him plenty of room, kicked-out, apologized), and there’s no way I could be convicted of wave-hogging), and XXXXX did say, “At least this means surfers are going to your site,” but he held back, possibly to spare some of my self image, on revealing the ‘gay’ comment.  And there I was so proud I hadn’t kooked it up, but had, indeed, gotten several rides I was pretty pleased with.

Incidently, XXXXX ripped. surfing way better than Mr. Pleasant. Sorry Mr. Pleasant. It’s true. Still, the ‘gay website’ comment… it’s like saying one is not smooth, lacks style, isn’t cool. Or is it?

I don’t know. To be called-out, or shunned, or ridiculed; that does put a damper on things. Truthfully, I’m paying heavily, physically, today for the hiking yesterday. Though it was worth it, and another spot has been added to my (pretty short, actually) mental list of places I’ve surfed in the northwest, the negativity does sort of wear on me.

Or, maybe, what I really want to do is hit a couple of other legendary, not-actually secret spots I’ve heard of; even if only once each, spots that are always reported as “All time, classic, epic, etc. etc. etc”)  I’m thinking XXX WXXXX, aka XXX WXXX, XXX XXXP, XXXXXXX XXXXR, XXXO XXXXXX, XXXX XXXXT, and, of course, XXXX B.

I’ll be the old guy who puts stuff on the internet. Watch out!