Photo shot Nov. 27, 2016
This is where I surf. It was the place where I learned to surf. It was the only place, really, that I ever surfed. It was a mile from my home. If I wanted to walk there, I could, but I always drove.
I’ve been out there on beautiful, sunny days when the water was like a pane of glass and I’ve been out there when the wind ripped the tops off waves like a screaming banshee.
I’ve been out there with my friends and I’ve been out there by myself, wondering if I was really alone.
The lineup is a lengthy paddle from shore, about 10 minutes, so that keeps the crowds away on all but the biggest days. When you are out there, the shore seems like another world. You watch the ocean rise up from the horizon as you jockey for the right spot to catch a wave, arms windmilling you into it.
That moment when you realize you’ve caught a wave, that moment when it takes you and you stand, crease its aqua face and streak away — that moment is pure bliss.
I’ve always said two things about this place. First, the waves are always better than you expect and second, you will always have more fun than you expect.
Brother, ain’t that the truth.