…but not for long. He’s headed back to Hawaii at the end of next week. “Everyone hates me,” Stephen told me recently after running into a couple of fellow surfers at a parking lot (as usual for the Strait, ‘almost’ surfable waves). “Steve,” I said, “you’ve been gone for, like, four months, not having to work, warm water, real waves… I hate you.”
“Oh,” he said. Yes, an under-the-breath chuckle, possibly even a chortle; actually not even under-the-breath laugh did not miss my notice. We then discussed the difference between jealousy and envy. “Not quite to envy,” I offered. “Oh, that’s good, I guess.”
Now that he’s back, and not that I’ve been able to hear details on some of the adventure stories Steve has alluded to, here are a couple more shots from deepest, southest Baja:
The first photo is of some city where they, apparently, have nightlife designed to lure surfers who actually only came to the area to surf, kite surf, read, write, get in touch with greater truths. The second is of Stephen’s friend, Matt Stokes, at some obviously overcrowded, overgringoed spot. The bottom shot is of Stephen in the casual stance he sometimes assumes when not, in a Stephenism, “pig-dogging it; packing a bomb.” Wave. He means a bombing wave. He means… hey, you know what he means.
Meanwhile… still no waves on the Strait of Juan de Fuca. Next time, I promise, some details on, at least, the story of the stolen passports, chasing the culprits, watching the Federalies in action.