Ten Days To Remember.

The ocean threw bombs, that's all there is to say about it. Crap conditions persisted for a few days, nothing local was even remotely interesting, east winds were promised but delivered through the side door. Squirrely(yeah go ahead and check....it's not a real word, I know) side shore winds messed with a solid swell floating in roughly at 280 degrees. But the cleanest morning of the week was bumpy and a little sick looking. A phone call to the south had us moving out and driving for a break with a more promising report. Little did I know it was going to be the start to the best week and a half of waves in months.

We pulled into the lot and sure as shit, clean lines filtered in as a small knot of surfers worked into position. Steve's truck was empty and he was already amongst the pack, in fact the cars and faces all looked strangely familiar. A testament to the small cadre of week day surfers this far north of the Fiberglass Wall it seems. It's a suprise to me somehow, given the number of surf shops in the state these days. What may be more of a reason and unfortunate is that there really are just fewer breaks per square mile...........

This day is flawless as overhead waves sweep from the north-west over a beautiful left that peels into the rip that runs like a river alongside the headland. From this far away it's a tough break to read, the outside wave especially so as it throws slowly and the shoulders seem to give little hint of the speed needed to negotiate their slope. The inside is a lot more hollow than it appears from here.

Three different peaks are firing with a few waves connecting up and doubling the length of the ride. Ding and I find a couple of slots along the inside section amongst a handful of surfers. The crowd is spread out rather well throughout the water. We see sets approaching and the requisite scramble for positioning ensues, and yet there is plenty of room to move.

For the first time in weeks we have open faces to play with and walls to race. This is more point than beach break with a peak that lines up consistently and throws with a precision only the best sandbars ever deliver. Some run as far as the rip leaving a short choppy paddle to the edge of the rocks and the long paddle back to either the outside peak or the inside, whichever one you choose.

The outside is not unlike sitting in the middle of nowhere and waiting, just waiting..........then the horizon begins to lift and bump with indications of what's coming. And it's not hard to get caught inside here as swells cross from west and north and a board that paddles well is worth it's weight this far from shore. Suprisingly steep drops, I see both Steve and Mark take late drops on longboards and pull off critical bottom turns. Lurking on a fish I pull back on a few as I see a nose sneak out of the foam and gain speed to the shoulder, but there is no shortage of waves. This swell has good power and the 6'6" finds plenty of juice to tap into even this far out.

The length of the ride is deceptive, not so much on the lefts but definitely on the rights. On one ride a smoothly lined double overhead peak, it's a race for the shoulder full speed into three bottom turns and three slaps off the descending lips before a fourth bottom turn and a drift off the shoulder. Lakota sits at the take off spot, now a small speck. Bloody waves are long! I attempt a paddle back out but a set rolls in halfway back and I get to do the beach walk and rip ride out again.