This is nothing new. These feelings: frustration, envy, excitement, surprise, and so on. Every time I surf out here, driving hours on either end, I am eager and then exhausted, anticipatory and then angry. It all depends. One week, no, one day, everything is incredible and then, as if someone flipped the Magic Surfing Switch, it's all gone. Nothing but ankle high ripples across the Great Pond. And so went that week, the last we'd spend in Washington before departing for Japan (which is where I am writing this). Chris had flown into town from Tokyo. We were planning to film a short video about some abandoned military bunkers strewn along... well, you'll find out. We also planned to surf, assuming there'd be some. And there was. At least for a few days. Waist high waves tipping slowly from left to right, or is it right to left? There was rain and hail and wind and sunshine, and all of the other things you appreciate after the fact. Hindsight and shit. We rode motorcycles in the woods, drank beers in a cabin, cooked food over a fire and shredded the fucking Gnar. And then we got on a plane and left. Stay tuned for stuff from this side.