Eighty One & Offshore

Some people go to church on Sunday. Some stay home and nurse a nasty hangover, or have a late breakfast with a few friends. I on the other hand, manage to accomplish all three. What used to feel like a lot of work - a few too many around the fire, followed by overzealous idiots eager to be the first ones in the water - Sunday mornings are now my time to sleep in, drink coffee, eat food with friends and paddle out when I feel it's appropriate. Praise my Lord. Sunday surf is my religion. The small swell and offshore winds my church. And the friends I share my coffee with, that's the congregation.

I used to feel rushed. Burdened by the agenda of others - mostly people unwilling to surf solo, excited to share the experience. Fair enough. But ever since I met Brandy and Angel, all of that has changed. No longer am I anxious. Worried the waves will go away. I take more time. Not because I'm nursing the aforementioned hangover, or because I'm lazy (anyone that knows me will vouch for my endless energy), it's because there will always be waves. More on Monday. A few more on Friday. And I am tired of surfing on someone else's schedule.

So this Sunday was similar. We woke up around eight, maybe nine. Brewed a few cups of coffee on our crappy camp stove, ate bread and bananas and peanut butter and paddled out when we wanted to. The swell had shrunk - down about a foot. But the wind was still working and it was all sorts of sunny. I surfed for four or five hours, until my arms could no longer propel me properly. Goddamn it was good.

Hang Glider.

Blue Spoon.

Early A.M.

Going Glass.

Pig Fuckin'


Little Lines.

Peanut Butter Banana.

Kariss_Would take all these images.

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