Spring break fun.

I could do a weekly if not daily blog on stuck vehicles in the sand....

It's a never ending parade......

Dairy rights

(the brief and inconsequential lead in)

After the on-shores came up and the crowds would get in their cars and drive home. The tide pushing or pulling enough water between jetty and sandbar, over the long-forgotten broken, rusty stems of another era.

Reformed white water waves hit the bank and threw over themselves, square little pegs that gurgled and spat ugly. But before they met the rip along the pier that closed the loop you could hold a line as true as any Surfer cover star had shown you how it was done. Right before the inside rail of your board met the roof of the wave and you went ass over tea kettle, hoping not to meet the sand or rock or god forbid the rusty remnant of the city's past experiment in safe bathing enclosures.

As the wind blew harder and the little jetty battled to give you any cover from the surf destroying wind, brief nuggets of free-fall made it worthwhile to try and dodge blue bottles and closeouts. Until the tide took the wave out to the edge of the jetty where it now became one wall of water after another and it was your turn to leave and pack the car.....

Toasted bacon and egg

(Dairy Beach)
I always thought it was a stealth mission. The wind up alarm would wake me just before dawn. I would quietly creep past my sleeping Dad and head out onto the balcony. There I'd raise my finger moistened in my mouth to see if the wind was offshore, if it was I quietly got my towel and wax along with the apartment key and a couple bucks. Then I'd get my board and walk to the front door. If I got this far without a sound from the old man I was normally good to go, if I heard him move it was all over.

"Make me a cup of tea boy and I'll take you down to the beach." That would bring me back into the apartment, there was no way out! I'd save no time in fact I'd probably get there at about the same time with his ride, but it always made me antsy to have to wait while the tea brewed. He could tell but it didn't change a thing, he was taking me come hell or high water, and I was making tea in exchange. At least this way I could make a complete check from Country to Addington if need be.

(Doug Knox: Bay of Plenty)

We would get down to North Beach usually and he would drop me off as the sun was just coming up, a huge ball of orange rising out of the glass Indian Ocean. "See you in a few hours, want a sandwich?" As I closed the back door of the Valiant, board in hand I'd ask for a bacon and fried egg toasted please, "You want the bloody moon!" the old man would reply as he drove off.

Years later he would get a big kick out of telling my friends how I would stumble past him in the dark eyes still closed, I'd wet the tip of my finger. If the winds were onshore I'd quietly turn around and go back to bed, but if the west was blowing that my eyes would shoot open......... the old bugger had been watching me the entire time!

Small kelpy goodness

Small, cold and solo. Weather blew in early. Goodness over.

End of day.

Back from the lung butter flu, surfing cold, crystal clear water.
Spring tides starting to break up winter's sandbars.
Ankle twister holes.
Need a solid west swell to see what's been done.

Washed away.....

The little park got gated off, too many parties on the beach and then nature took care of the rest........ those trees were the shelter for the camp sites..... the beach is now where tents were raised. The road is gone, overgrown and eaten away......

Tucked away

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.

Numerous trips over the rest of the '80's fueled my love for this tranquil river mouth break. The bluff to the east was tarped off under an anthro-dig that was uncovering a lost part of the Makah tribe's history, to think of people gliding in and out of this river to the sea for 10,000 years added to the mystique as did a small cabin set back in the lagoon. As fickle as the straits are I often got nothing surfwise from the trip but to hang out and wander around waiting for another pulse from the North Pacific, other times I came expecting nothing only to find the peak reeling down the beach with waist high spinners. Once I surfed it with a guy who had lost interest in surfing only to rediscover the joy that day, he moved back to the coast, surfing full time again. It had that sort of an effect on you, a magical little corner off the highway slightly hidden.