Sunday School

Maybe it was the wetsuit, or the winter weather (I sure do miss Mexico). Or maybe I drank too many White Russians with my buddy Bricky. Whatever it was, one thing's for certain, I couldn't surf worth a shit on Sunday. It's not like there weren't waves - mostly the closeout kind - but some of the rights were alright. With a strong shoulder and a fast face. I caught a couple. Running my fingers along the front, grabbing the rail because my backside is bullshit. Most of the time, however, the sea swallowed me whole. Short excursions into the aquatic unknown. Upside down and underwater. I really can't complain; shitty surf is better than breakfast in bed. And while the waves weren't what I wanted, I did score some stoke. Took four hours and a few frozen fingers, but we were outta the water in time to see the Seahawks school the Redskins. A few pints at Peaks, followed by burgers at the Bushwhacker. Not bad.


Can't Quit You.

Studious.

Plenty of Pigs.

Takeoff, Todd!

Pig Carving.

Bushwhacking.

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