Buncha Bologna

Someone once said that surfing is the only activity where the participants stare at the playing field before they begin. Which is to say that baseball players don't actively observe the diamond, nor do hockey players evaluate the ice ahead of a game. And while I don't agree with this opinion entirely, it is odd to see people staring at the sea, throwing handfuls of grass in the air or pointing at what some would see as nothing other than the ocean itself. That being said, I am as guilty as the next guy, having spent this past Saturday sitting in the sand waiting for the wind to die down and the waves to pick up.

We had arrived early, pulling out of Port Angeles around eight a.m., stopping quickly for coffee and eating shitty cereal and soy milk as we went west. Our excitement faded fast when we found ourselves nut-to-butt with a half billion car campers. Where in the fuck did everyone come from?! More to the point, how the fuck did they hear about this particular place?! It seemed odd, honestly, as most of these people seemed more interested in drinking than any sort of outdoor activity... you know, like surfing. So I really shouldn't complain. They can have the campground, and I'll take the ocean!

The wind didn't die down, in case you were wondering. It was full of fuck all afternoon. But you gotta go, because there isn't anything else to do besides drink and eat. There were a few fun ones, though. Some long, lumpy lefts. The occasional closeout. And all sorts of short right shoulders. It could have been better. But shitty surf beats just about anything. And we ended the evening with a bottle of wine and birthday cake. I really can't complain. Follow the link for a few more photos courtesy of Karissa.

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