Rare are the weekends spent surfing without anyone else. Camped out in the corner, alone, with nothing more than a small fire, a bottle of wine and a couple of camp chairs. It happens in October. When the kids are back in school and the conditions can be, well, uncertain at best. It's good, though, the days and nights we spend together, uninterrupted. It can be quiet. Picking a peak, maybe fifteen or twenty feet apart, and surfing the shoulder. We come in only to snack on something. Then we surf some more. The evenings are incredible. A quick shower followed by a beer. She'll sort out something else to eat - Karissa always cooks. We can see the sun set from where we sit, in front of a fire, with out feet up, chatting about waves and whatnot. We go to bed early. An opportunity to sleep more than we do during the work week. Coffee is followed by something simple to eat, as soon as the sun shows up on Sunday. And then we surf some more. Fargo is filled with the sound of Seahawks as we drive back from the beach. Football in the fall. Maybe we stop to watch the end of the game. Maybe we don't. Another cup of coffee before we board the boat. And then we park and unpack at our apartment, and spend the dwindling hours of daylight dreaming about the waves we had. Or the waves we'll have next weekend.