Memo from the Surf Desk: White Devils

Strong off-shore winds create walls of white water. Tumultuous, terrible waves. Pushing in from across the Pacific - or a storm somewhere to the north. You surf them, though. I have. But they're more fear than fun. Sliding down the face of that big white devil. Feet at the back of your board. Arms outstretched, reaching for something... stability perhaps. Bottom turn is always a bit late. Back up that bloody thing. That face. Into the pocket, down the line. Too afraid to look over your shoulder. You know the bastard is back there, chasing you. But you don't want to see its face. The bully. Looking to pound your chest, knees on your elbows so you can't fight back. The bastard. There's ways to avoid these confrontations. The beating you'll likely receive when playing with white water. You can stay home. Stay warm. But where's the fun in that? What good would that do you? Someone has to dance with the devil.


Duke Dangerpants

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