What a Difference a Day Makes
This was yesterday. Point break. Waves with decent size and a few tasty corners. Glassy. Uncrowded. Nice.
This was today. Beach break. Waves with decent size and peek-a-boo corners. Textured. Seemingly uncrowded with miles of water to either side of me. Yep, people seemed to want to surf where I sat. Not so nice.
What made today completely absurd was the damn shark. I went back to yesterday's spot, only to see three people wasting no time to get out of the water. One of them was CYT. She'd only been in for about five minutes. What the . . . ? Yeah, it had made its appearance. This time, instead of breaching out toward the horizon, hundreds of yards past the lineup, it was trolling on the inside. You know, had the waves been good, I would have paddled out. I ain't afraid of no shark . . . most of the time. The last time I saw a great white breach I stayed in the water. The waves were too good. The Jaws music didn't suddenly start playing and no one went screaming to a horrible and bloody death while being torn into pieces. But when you tell me the shark is near and the waves suck too? Forget it. I ended up back at the home break, surfing those wonderful closeouts.
(Note: Don't I look stylish in the top picture? I'd love to say I've finally mastered this walking stuff. Nope. I still walk up, fall off. Walk up, sink the nose. Walk up and shy away from a bona fide cheater five by not fully committing to hanging those toes into the water. I am getting better. And watching that Worm video has helped immensely. Still, it's hard to practice when you don't have a wave that gives you much shoulder, isn't it?)