A trail well-worn...

A trail at the start usually leads to good surf memories. For instance, I walked down to Triton's Doorstep a month ago and got my wetsuit blown halfway down my torso by a Canyon Set. Ah, memories.

A week off of work, but always other work to do. Still, a short stay just a stroke away from The Trestle had me mat-packing. Wetsuit, fins and a mat are incredibly functional travel companions.

Monday through Thursday would be Theme Park Purgatory- much pleasure some passive pain. But oh the grins on my kids' faces. Sliding was prescribed.

Monday was probably negative twenty degrees centigrade on the beach at Uppers. I changed into my wetsuit bare-arsed as the shorebirds, more demure than I, looked on. Puff-puff and I'm immersed. I knew I'd only have an hour of warmth in my pocket so waves were my prey. Not a soul to share with. Double overhead (on the mat) and zipping along the cobbles. Beautiful, thrilling, novel, sensational.

This was my theme park ride. These were my roller coasters. This, my happiest place on earth.

This will never be cool...

But will always be fun!

I had fun at the Mat meet this last weekend. We had good surf and a large crew of pool toy enthusiasts in attendance. I am reminded by watching others and looking at myself in the picture above that mat surfing does not look good. It sure feels good!

Oh, by the way, last winter, on one of the bigger days at Swampi's, Kassia Meador, who is a rather beguiling water nymph, hooted at me while I was slotted, not quite barrelled, on my surfmat, making me feel a little tingly all over, and supporting my delusion that mat surfing may someday make me very popular and attractive, despite my obvious shortcomings.

Humbled/tumbled...

Kendog- one of the other mat-maestros I watch with a students' eye.

Nine days, no work. Nine days, time for surfing. My wife, sick with a little growing grom in her tummy, had the grace to allow me to feed my addiction. Alarm buzzes at 5:30. Out the door I go, boards packed, visions of cylindrical sublimity in my mind.

Each session was a lesson. Got donuts on an early barrel on Sunday and ended up with a nice shimmery patch in my vision, courtesy of a partially separated retina. Frontside cutbacks felt a bit stiff. Maybe that's because I don't know how to bend my knees. I'll have to work on that.

My last session I met with T. Inflate. He is my mat-riding hero. He is stylish and understated with a real stoke for the ocean. We hit a fantastic wave early and caught some head high bombers on the mats. I must say, I was quite rusty (first mat session in a couple months) but had a ball on the magic towel. My first wave, my fin got blown off. A few waves later, I am on a bucking bronco contorting under me as I try to control the mat. Then I remember- you don't control or steer the mat- you feel the mat and let it do it's frictionless glide uninhibited by your feeble mortal attempts at control. You see, the mat is a divine living entity. It will not be mastered. You must convince it that you care for it, then it will allow you to enjoy its company for a session or two. Once bravado and ego emerge, it will turn on you and humble you, usually in front of your friends on a perfect wave.

I'm working on holding a high line on the steepest of faces in order to use the unbelievable speed of the mat to its full extent. I found myself just behind the section on many of the steep runners I encountered. So easy to enjoy, so hard to master...

New Lis due this week!

In other worlds...

Photo: Web Foundling

There are small cracks in sidewalks
Seeds fall in and reach
Around other seeds in search
Of what will inspire germination.
The feet above scatter busy days
Above the heads of small flowers
Now questioning
What will inspire germination

- Padante Namimbu Bakura

Summer draws it's curtains with a fine show of sun and swell. My adored wife and son fly away to visit the in-laws. I begin my work year in two days.

Tonight, I drop off my two beloveds at Lindy Field and they flap off into the sunset. I jag the car to the coast. A beautiful sunset and glassy, waist high waves greet me. "Hmmm, I guess thirty minutes of surf is better than anything else I might do." Mat, fins, down the cliff, into salty reflecting pond. I spin and slide a wave and then another. The sun slips away. One surfer paddles in and then another. At last it is just me, alone, in the dark.

Surfing by sensation is a treat. Although I began to feel like bait after about a half-hour, I did enjoy some solitude and that rare feeling of being inspired for all the right reasons. No one could see me. No one knew I was there below the cliff on which they stood. It was me and ocean in our own slow dance, no one else on the dance floor to impress.

A beautiful counterpoint to life in general.