Ah, the Putrefied Stench of Skunk
In other words, I got skunked big time today. I'm talking at least a quarter of a tank worth of skunk.
When I packed up the vehicle this morning, I was prepared for the worst. The surf yesterday had not been good. I wasn't feeling returning to the scene of that crime. So, doing my best imitation of an intrepid seeker of surf, I'd decided that today would be the day I would make that drive. I'm normally not one to drive in search of surf. I can't afford to waste the gas on such exploits. I also do my best not to contribute to the deterioration of the ozone layer. As a result, I tend to not go far in search of surf. It's different if you already have a distant destination in mind when you leave. I will drive to surf as opposed to driving to look for surf. Did that make sense?
Anyway, I got to the home break. I saw the same surf I paddled out into yesterday. Nope. I wasn't going to do it. I was not settling for it. Thus began the journey north in search of surf. I'd decided I would go as far as the dividing line with the next county, especially since there was a child to be gotten from school at 12:30. My window of opportunity was not unlimited.
Off I drove looking for waves. RPB was virtually flat. The Zoo was virtually flat. LPB had some small lines rolling through. Unfortunately, they broke onshore. What's worse was that the wind was also blowing onshore with such vengeance that I could not have surfed that break anyway without a 4/3. That meant I would just have to keep going north in search of surf.
Once I made it to the break that divides my county from the next, I was met with the same sad conditions I'd seen elsewhere. I didn't stop to watch for long. It wasn't worth it. Back I went from whence I came, stopping at various beaches along the way. I found beaches I'd never been to, beaches that looked potentially promising when there is something in the water to surf. But today wasn't the day for any of them.
Eventually, I ended up back at my home break. Nothing had changed. (Sigh)
I decided to head down into the South Bay as a last ditch effort. By then the wind was up even more than it had been. All of my eternal optimism, thinking I was seeing waves I would want to surf, was no match for the cold truth. There was nothing to surf. Period. Anywhere.
Skunked . . . and good.
At least I had enough time to lift weights before picking up the young squire. (I wonder if he got a whiff of skunk when he got in the car?)