Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Backing up the gold T-top Camaro along the narrow highway, we hugged the shoulder and watched as the black shapes bobbed in the water. "Either surfers or a bunch of sea lions" I thought to myself. We had almost gone past without seeing them. Sure enough a wave formed in the oil glass and a surfer took off and dropped into a spitting quick right and disappeared.
And so began a love affair with one of the sweetest little strips of beach I have found anywhere. We turned around and made our way into the community of beach homes all neatly trimmed out, the road led to a group of tall trees that had camp spots laid out informally as if they quietly offered a place to rest without wanting to be noticed. It was January and there were no takers yet. The road stopped at the river's slow spooling edge as it dumped into the straits.
A car or two were parked and I recognized a couple of Westport guys resting against them, a small fire at their feet trying to keep warm, out in the water there were 3 others pulling into the head high waves as the swells hit the indicators to the east of the river mouth. I suited up as quickly as I could and joined them, dry haired paddle to the peak less than 20 yards off the beach. Along this northern corner of the continent, the deep water is extremely close dropping off to 150' not much more than a stone throw from the beach. No drag and a quick lift for approaching swells gave this wave great punch and it's perfect line. As it ran down the length of the beach it was day dreamy flawless. I was still surfing single fins as this was early '80's and it was all I could do just to hold trim as the wave sped toward the houses now west of us. After a wicked steep take-off and a walled up run the wave ducking under the gray green lip dumped me out about 75 yards down the beach in front of the informal county camp spots.