There’s a reason why forecasts aren’t called thisiswhatsactuallygoingtohappen-casts.
When I checked the wind on Surfline late last night, the questionable morning looked like it would be manageable, seas with a sure chop by the afternoon. So when I woke up this morning to the clanks of toppled plants and violent swooshing palm fronds, I thought to myself “oh boy, this is going to be one of those tough days.”
I figured no matter where I went I’d surely be blown away, but I (with great wind-induced difficulty) secure my longboard on the roof of my trusty surfmobile and headed straight for seal beach, which tends to be slightly more sheltered thanks to the nearby harbor and a couple prominent jetties. I didn’t even bother to check current conditions on Surfline, so I when I happened upon the beachside parking and saw a smooth, glittery surface and break littered with fellow boardriders, my eyes were spinning with stoke.
It was almost as if everyone was stupefied by our cumulative score. As I sat in the lineup, there was evident clicks of buddies sitting together, but in complete silence, almost with a confused look on their faces. The loophole we all stumbled upon churned out some beautiful little peaks, and the rest of the lucky folks and I swapped turns on little lines. Sun beating and water warmer than I’ve felt since December (besides my visits to Central America), I got lost with myself in the lulls between sets. And although the many happy grins voiced the mood of the morning, I never heard a single word out of anyone.
