The minute I wake up, all I want is to be hugging my pretty blue longboard, both of us laying on top of the ocean’s surface, rocked gently by its calming flow.
Even with howling wind white-capping the South Bay, there was an opportunity for joining in a sesh with a few surf buddies this morning, but I couldn’t even remember the last time I surfed alone. Cruising down the windy Malibu coastline, reggae pulsing through my ears, I got lost with myself in the palm trees and rolling hills, not worried about any other sounds but the good beats coming from my subie’s vibrating speakers.
The small crowd at Topanga, with faces beginning to get more familiar, all were reveling in the way-better-than-it-looked surf and grinning ear to ear because they had found a keyhole in the windy conditions. With the sun shining down on the surface and the big seal popping up every so often to check out the black neoprene cloaked intruders, a group of us trimmed down soft Malibu lines, scoring a few here and there that were fist-pump worthy.
I started the first few pages of my new book before my paddle out, and sitting in the sun on my car next to my board in my shortie wetsuit, soaking up rays and popping my head up when the occasional good set came through, I felt a literal wave of happiness, immersed in the beauty in the pages and the beauty around me. The good surf was the cherry on top, and a nice morning turned to perfect.
