The sea surface looked pretty inviting. Lerm checked it and reported doability but nothing to get excited about. He then drove south and potentially scored? Lerm? The winds were blowing gently out of the west. SF buoy says 3.6ft at 15sec. Soo.. maybe that’s the south swell showing?? I heard a few reports last night that it was fun yesterday afternoon. That was painful to hear as I couldn’t get on it. Maybe a repeat this afternoon? Keep your fingers crossed. I hosted a little “dinner party” last night so didn’t fall asleep until the wee hours… then missed the surf this morning. I made my signature stir-fried veggie burritos. Start with some veggie oil in a pan. Add garlic and a ton of onions, then add zucchini, squash, broccoli, roasted peppers, more garlic, cayenne pepper, corn shaved from the husk, various spices.. simmer. Then boil up some black beans. When the veggies and beans are ready, lightly toast your tortillas. After the final flip, throw down some thinly sliced Jack cheese and let it melt on the tortillas.. add some salsa verde, then roll up the ingredients and imbibe. Good with red wine.
Surrrffff!!! Enjoy it!!! There might be a time in your life when you can’t get on it. Maximize your freedom and push hard into whatever you love. Now! Try not to get caught on the treadmill of making money, making money, climbing up that corporate ladder to more money and more power, unless that’s your passion. Try not to bow to societal pressures to consume. You don’t need a big-screen tv and an SUV to be happy. Your kids don’t need to go to a $12,000 kindergarten to be rad, happy kids. Think critically about the “normative American life” portrayed on television, in the media and within your social circles. Price tags don’t mean shit. If you’re constantly focused on saving money for your next expensive material item, step back and think about why that’s your MO. If you’re working 12 hours a day making 300 grand a year but you’re a lawyer for some unethical real-estate developer or an advertising executive for a big pharmaceutical company selling behavioral-altering drugs to kids, think about what you’re doing. Yeah you’re driving a big black Lexus and you live in a McMansion in Walnut Creek, but you’re spreading the ugly, the badness, the evil.
Find what you like to do, what makes you psyched, what makes the people around you psyched, and fucking go for it. I feel like I’m constantly fending away the societal pressures to get on some money-making, career-building, future-orientated, capitalistic, consumptive path. It stresses me out and makes me tense about the future. Eventually I want to have a family and be able to hook the wee ones up phat, but.. at what price to my own personal happiness?
i just try to enjoy the little things. hanging with the neighbor's cool dog, feeling healthy after dealing with nagging back issues, making a steep drop, a cool breeze on my face as i ride my bike to work, hearing a friend laugh, soft light at the end of the day, a real hug, groovy music! Seriously, the music pulls me through.. every time.
stoked gremmie pics from Liquid in Florida
OB not sporting its best face this morning. Again showing its frumpy, hung-over summertime demeanor. Up near Kelly’s Cove I saw a few potential nuggies but for the most part it’s blown-out and crappy. With this SW wind and meager windswell a certain region within San Mateo county could be feeling the love, especially around lunchtime as the tide comes up. Supposedly this legendary break was teeming with eager wave-hounds yesterday afternoon. So, if you go surfing after work today, remember to keep it mellow and maybe give a wave away to someone. “The Werewolf” gave me a wave a few weeks ago while surfing a crowded spot and the positive vibrations of that gift are still flowing through my psyche. I feel indebted to him and would go out of my way to hook that homie in the lineup whenever I see him.
Soo.. let’s see.. the last time I spoke of the hidden Isle of Barhedral Zaharzabo the Flower of Zibe had imprinted a faint multi-colored tattoo onto the palm of my hand. I recited an ancient Zen Koan from my grandfather’s book to dislodge the Flower. When I now touch the tattooed flower petals of varying color on my hand I experience a intense rush of different emotions, depending on which color I touch. Before this moment I had taken the whole story of the Isle of Barhedral, my grandfather’s book, the propensity of members of my family to experience vivid dreams, the existence of my ancestor Marmaluke Dohefdron, the Flower Zibe and the rest of it as a bizarre yet harmless distraction. But now that my body had been permanently marked, and the dream-world of my childhood revived, I grew both anxious and determined. This was for real. I was now committed. For the next two days I buried myself in the book given to me by my grandfather. I poured over countless descriptions of journeys off the north-east coast of Africa. I studied the animism and black-magic of ancient Mali and Mauritania. I deciphered cryptic algorithms pertaining to the colored patterns within the Flower of Zibe. I did my best to translate ancient, faded Latin entries that described the sorcery and legend of my supposed ancestor Barhedral Zaharzabo. The more I read and digested, the more I realized that the hunt for this isle had consumed and captivated various members of my family for ages. There also included countless descriptions of dreams. Dreams of every sort and description. Crazy, fanciful netherworlds; arcane, pungent, olfactory revelations; grotesque, wild seductions, etc. Dreams of dizzying variety and intensity. Throughout many of these dreams appeared glimpses of colored patterns. Throughout many of these dreams also appeared mythical creatures and demons. It was startling to notice that many of the visions and characters within my own dreams of the last few days were described in this book. A guy by the name of Ghonan Klinterlock, writing in Algiers in 1645, described seeing a large red dragon with three eyes shooting arrows of glittering flame. I read dream after dream and slowly became aware of a few underlying themes within the dreams. Patterns of color (specifically red, then yellow, then green then olive then blue). Prehistoric flying creatures spitting rays of flaming death. Crystalline mountainous structures. Glittering, dripping, prehensile fangs. I began to attempt to piece together these various themes.
… to be continued
check the guy on the yellow log waiting for a set
crowds? what crowds?
Did the drive and found a few olas. OB looked mangled and raw. The SW winds had taken the otherwise groovy windswell hostage, creating an uninspired surf-scene. Soo.. southbound. Around a few coastal bends and into that bucolic valley of eucalyptus, raw-sewage, short-sighted development, majestic mountains, inbreeding(?), liberal-hatin’, SUV drivin’, chaw-chewin’, wannabee rednecks, friendly peeps like Yuskei, and a brand-spankin’ new parking lot! Oh yeah! Soo. The winds blew side/offshore at the cove of consequential close-outs. The rising sun cast fresh beams of morning light onto the mountain-side to the south. A semi-threatening, grey-black sky hung over the outer-water and contrasted with the brilliant blue sky above the little coastal burg. A few rainbows formed to the west. Seals snorted and dogs mindlessly fetched tennis balls… loving every minute. The waves cruised in with agreeable consistency. A chunky, head-high set of 4 or 5 would roll in every 7 minutes or so. Between these sets were blurpy, smaller, workable ‘tweener waves. Most of my more enjoyable rides were just drops and high-line races along the about-to-closeout walls. I caught one semi-legit left were I pumped and managed a few bottom-turn/top-turn combos. The best part of the session was the total solitude. A posse formed to the south, and a few stragglers worked it up north, leaving to the whole middle section empty save me. It was super refreshing to deal solely with the ocean. No jockeying or mind-games with other surfers, no pressure to surf well to “look good” for other surfers, no thoughts of, “wow, that guy is catching choke waves and I’m getting skunked.” Just a personal interaction with the swell and wind, water and current.
Saturday Lerm and I ventured way way down south to Pleasure Point. We caught 3 or 4 soul-gratifying, glassy, groundswell, pointbreak peelers in the morning fog before the east-side homeboys paddled out and shut down our fun. 6 or 7 tough guys did there bullying best to “regulate” first peak. Yelling and eyeballing and the rest of it. Soo.. Lerm and I were left with the scraps, leftovers and wide-swingers… which were still fun as all hell.. Maybe a thousand surfers strung between Sewers and Shark’s cove. Many without wetsuits. A few of the bully-boys were fucking KILLING IT at our little peak. It was fun to watch, even though internally you’re hoping that they fall and cut themselves on their fins and have to get out of the water…. Or something.. anyway.. surf.. go get it.
A few Bruce photos from the last few days
found a few waves this morning.
dainty little micro-peelers stoked me out.
older hooded long-boarder followed me around the lineup.
paddled back and forth in an attempt to shake him.
tried to clear my mind of inter-human anxieties.
Paddle away from said dude and interact with the waves, in and of themselves.
A frugal smattering of peaky somethings came to pass.
Slower, trim-happy rides.
Good-vibed friday energy.
Skin-warming California sunshine.
OB looking fugly.
4ft 14 south swell from around 190 showing on the outer buoys (not showing on the SF buoy)
Most likely a few good waves in Santa Crowded this weekend.
(all photos by Tostee)
Slates driving off the bottom
Slappy Garcia... pitted
I didn’t make the drive south this morning. But.. OB looked relatively hurly-burly. A diminutive windswell is doing all it can to provide us with fun, quirky surf but the demon-spawn onshore winds are wreaking havoc as usual. Grrr.. onshore winds you suck!! Same ol’ story. Yesterday after work I thought for an instant that maybe I’d catch a surf at the local. I skated down the street for a check but almost got blown back to Great Highway as I attempted to crest the dunes. The wind was howling and there were a few kiteboarders giving it a go. As I stood atop the dunes, squinting at the surf through the afternoon sunlight, the wind was fucking ripping through my ears.. I thought I heard a faint, mysterious, high-pitched voice within the sound of the wind. It was saying something like, “Weeee wiillll neverrrr agaiinnnn leeetttt youuu suurrrrffff OoooBBbb wiiitthhhouuuuttt loootttsss offff oonnnnshooorrreee wiiinnddd!! Haaa haaaa haaa weeee laauughh at youurrr feeeble attemmptsss to stooppp usss!!!! You meeasslly humans!!”
Grrr! Onshores go home!!! This little windswell could be soooo fun if the local winds chilled out, even just for a few hours for the dawn-patrol. But, as myriad farmers, sailors, picnic-ers, and gardeners have known for eons, you can’t control the weather. It’s bigger than us. It pays no attention to our subjective whims. It automatically rages onward through the millennia to the design of physical laws and natural forces. But.. I guess we could maybe all meet at the beach this evening and drink copious amounts of tequila and get a huge bonfire going and dance around the fire in our long-underwear and scream bacchanal chants in tongues at the top of our voices to these very demon-spawn onshore wind gods and make extravagant promises to the creator suggesting that we’ll forgo the pleasures of the body for multiple lifetimes if only the oppressive, redundant never-ending onshore winds just chill out for a little while.. maybe for a few mornings… please..
Bagel's cool-ass art
Barrelled.. and psyched about it!
Crrraazzzy Broccoli guy
Our beloved beach breaks looked sub par while driving by in the car. They looked even worse when standing outside the car in the chilly onshore wind. They looked borderline atrocious when compared to the tasty, guilty pleasure of a warm donut or two that might be ingested if surfing were skipped. But, alas, thanks in part to CK’s “just get wet” attitude, Kaiser, CK and I ventured out into what looked like comically lackluster conditions. To my pleasant surprise, however, a steady stream of waist/chest high waves pulsed in and provided enjoyable rides. Nothing outstanding. Nothing super fast or long. But enough to get some drops and generally work on your game and paddle around in the Pacific and feel the therapeutic cleansing power of mama ocean. For the most part the waves would peak and then crumble, generally not closing-out. Mid OB looked somewhat attractive, with a few semi-sculpted faces and a little more size than the rest.
It’s out there.
We’re deep in it now. We’ve suffered a month or more of lackluster conditions and stand a high potential for dealing with the same shittyness until August comes around. When brief windows of surf opportunity present themselves, do everything in your power to get on it. Otherwise, this is a time to mend temperamental body parts or finish that book you were writing or improve your grooming habits or sleep more or patch things up with the significant other (who may normally object to the amount of time you spend hunting for surf). The winds were on it this morning. At this point I’ve almost conceded ownership of OB to the onshore winds. They’re workin’ hard at it. They’re up before the dawn, blowin’ their little tushies off in an attempt to cool us coastal dwellers during what, in their minds, should be the hot, steamy summertime. The onshore winds have basically localized our beach and until our friend Mr. high pressure system sets up overland to peacefully disband this unruly gang of territorial onshore-wind arseholes, we’re fucked. But, with the bit of south in the wind there is/was hope for the greater P-town region this morning. Anyone work out a sesh? How sweet would it be to have the long daylight hours of early summer during the peak swell/wind season of late-fall. Imagine 16 hours of daylight in November!!! We’d be so psyched!! Now’s the season when you have the daylight for the post-work surf jam… but the thought of going surfing after work barely crosses my mind these days, even though I live 3 blocks from the beach. So, yeah, I’m griping a bit. Sorry about that. MUST GET SURF SOON!!!!
More on the hidden Isle of Barhedral Zaharzabo tomorrow. Shit has been going down. After waking from the dream filled with magical bubbles, prismatic mountain-scapes, three-eyed, laser-shooting pterodactyl-bats and grotesque amorphous blobs of vaporized animal, I picked up the wooden Flower of Zibe from my coffee-table and noticed many of the same colors I had seen within the bubbles in my dream. Each of the Flower of Zibe’s petals had a different color. I touched the colored petals of the flower in the same order that I remembered seeing the bands of color on the surface of the bubbles. Immediately I felt the Flower of Zibe warm within my palm. I turned the flower over and it felt heavier than before. I gripped it tightly and then began to panic as the flower stuck itself to my hand. I shook and pried to get it off but it felt as if it had suctioned itself to my palm. I paged frantically through my grandfather’s book because I thought I remembered seeing a few drawings of the the Flower of Zibe attached to people’s hands. Next to one such illustration I read, in hastily written old-English, “State the following koan to disconnect the Flower of Zibe from thee hand:
Deny the reality of things
and you miss their reality;
Assert the emptiness of things
and you miss their reality.
The more you talk and think about it,
the further you wander from the truth.
So cease attachment to talking and thinking,
and there is nothing you will not be able to know.
To return to the root is to find the essence,
but to pursue appearances or "enlightenment" is to miss
To awaken even for a moment
is to go beyond appearance and emptiness.
Soo.. I restated this koan and sure enough, the flower plopped off my hand. I flexed and moved to my hand to make sure there was no lasting damage, and everything felt ok. I then looked closely at my palm and noticed that a very faint imprint had been left by the Flower. A dim tattoo, both the color and shape of the flower, had been left. As I touched each petal on my hand a rush of various emotion swept over me. When I felt the blue petal, a calming wave of comfort and ease passed over. When I felt the red petal, a gushing sensation of passionate heat sparked within. When I felt the yellow, somber reflection coursed through me.
… to be continued
paper folding by uc santa cruz proffessor huffman
Happy Monday. Huey the surf god has not been overly kind to us bay area shralpers lately. The pickin’s this morning were no different. meager. If you like it small, ugly and messy, you’ll find miles of empty beachbreak awaiting your eager presence. But.. maybe I’m too harsh. Saturday morning witnessed some glassy potential along our golden three-mile stretch. I got out there for the early and found a few racy, gratifying sections. The waves were small but they would often peak up and zip along. The quick, nimble surfer could find bursts of speed and carvy opportunities. The beginner might be stoked on the absence of duck-diving and on the relative ease of seeing and predicting how the incoming waves would break.. But.. that was Saturday. Today it’s lookin’ bleak.
Soo.. I received an email from niceness reader Emily inquiring about good surf-trip destinations for an intermediate longboarder lassie. She had been considering Nias but I explained that the fast/steep nature of the wave, the shallow coral, the relative inconsistency of the spot and the herd of seasoned Aussie rippers might compromise her enjoyment. She surfs OB and has been to Maui and describes herself as “pretty fearless.” Sooo.. I suggested Sri Lanka or central America or mainland mex or new zealand or the Maldives. Other considerations might be Morocco or Senegal. Anyone have advice for an adventurous traveler who wants to bust out of the first world or obvious destinations (costa rica, bali, Hawaii) but who might not be ready for the barreling craziness of Indo/Chili/Samoa?
Shout out to CJ who "owned" the tri for fun triathalon in Pleasanton on saturday. She came across the finish line with a big smile on her face, barely affected by the miles of swimming, biking and running she'd just completed. As the french might exclaim, "Schweeeet!"
Also a shout out to all the dad’s on father’s day.. Robme, Jdz, Jimmy Rowe in Southampton, my own Pops, Blakestah, Christian, Don Cote, and all the other radical dads out there. As a dad, remember that you’re responsible for maintaining a bit of your troublemaking, laughing, adolescent tendencies. If the kid is feeling the pangs of parental lock-down… it’s your responsibility to remind him that while there are societal bounds that need be observed, it’s still ok to cut loose and be a bit wild. I always fantasized about being the push-over dad that pretty much let his kids run wild. The ol’ Rousseauian (Emile) vision of letting the kids learn through nature and their own experimentation. Of course.. not being a dad.. I don’t really know what I’m talking about. But anyway.. keep it real dads. Don’t forget that you’re a kid too.
Picasso (i think)
Like a dumbass i bailed on surfing this morning. A semi-reliable spotter on the road tipped me off about the relative puny-ness of the conditions so i nestled under the covers for another hour of shut-eye. But now as i look at the cam and the buoys i wonder if i didn't make a grievous error and miss out on some leisurely but delicious morsels?? anybody have a good time out there this morning? It's strange to see it flat around here. It just doesn't happen very often. Take your 5 yr. old or your granny or you dog out for a spin on the longy today and pretend like it's east-coast summer or waikiki or some shit. With blakestah gone for a few days.. anyone looking at the maps want to make a weekend/early-next-week forecast? I know that a few of you are stormsurf.com junkies. Who's tracking the systems and wants to make a stab at it? anyone?
Soo.. when last i spoke of the hidden Isle of Barhedral Zaharzabo, i had just drifted off to sleep after paging through the book left to me by my grandfather. Thoughts of the Flower of Zibe drifted through my mind, along with visions of the coastline of northeastern africa and mathematical formulations of the golden mean, the spiral of life. Throughout my childhood i experienced fantastic, supernatural, emotionally-taxing dreams almost every night. For some reason this propensity for vivid dreaming became quelled during my adolescence and in the last 5 or 6 years my dreams would probably fall within the range of "normal". But.. as soon as i dozed off on the couch after reading my grandfather's leather-bound tome an intense, shockingly vibrant dreamscape filled my consciousness and reminded me of the heart-pounding nights of my childhood.
At first all i could sense was a thick, putrid miasma surrounding me. i seemed to be flying just above a fetid swampland, barely skimming the tops of trees and muck. The vegetation was ridiculously thick and i weaved in and around countless bush, tree and thicket. The sky was a forboding dark grey, with stormclouds rumbling and lightening flashing. Huge gaseous bubbles constantly welled up in the stagnant water below me. They would gurgle to the surface and then slowly tear themselves away from the film of slime and algea covering the surface of the swamp. The bubbles would rise out of the water and hover right below me, floating directly underneath me as i jettisoned through the air. As i looked into each i could barely discern a pattern or sheen on the surface of each. What, under normal circumstances would be an upside down reflection cast on the surface, now looked to be a distinct pattern of colors. Each bubble cast it's own rainbow of colored patterns on it's skin, floated below me for a few instances, and then drifted off into the ether. I attempted to take note of the ordering of colors but was distracted by the phantasmagoric world all around me. Gigantic bright-red teredactil-esque bats swooped in the air to my right, occasionally glancing at me with a set of three blazingly red eyes. I watched one of them triangulate its stare in this strange, cross-eyed formation and then emit a flash of brilliant lazer from the cross-section of gaze. I looked down to see what it was shooting at and saw this sickly, oozing blob of purple jelly wrythed fitfully on this football-field-sized lilly-pad. Random orifi of the gelatinous creature expunged remnants of animal it had killed/subsumed.. the teredactil-thing then swooped down and grabbed the jelly-creature in its talons and flew off into the distance. I looked in another direction and this mountainscape appeared before me with beautiful, sparkling crystal lattices refracting the sunlight in brilliant prisms. The longer i stared at the prisms wafting in the air the more i sensed that the pattern of their color somehow related to the pattern of colors i'd seen in the bubbles.. which were still hovering below me in succession. Just then a larger-than-normal bubble wafted up toward me and i looked onto it's surface.. this time the pattern of color was definitively imprinted onto my mind's eye. I then noticed a rotating form within the bubble itself. I couldn't quite make it out but it looked like a miniature beating heart. For some reason i decided to reach into the bubble. Just as i broke the membrane the small little heart morphed into a fanged mouth of doom and enlarged into this petrifying demon head, dominated by a snarling, dripping, chattering snout of teeth and fury.. Just then it opened wide and swallowed me whole.. then i woke up... but i still remembered that pattern of color.
OB looking frumpy but not painfully out of range. Probably your best local bet for a high-performance section or two. I voyaged southbound in an attempt to ingratiate the wind into my surf experience. Checked a few spots and then decided i was "over it" and headed for a chai and bagel. Read the paper and learned about scientologists in california public schools teaching faulty science to our youngsters in regard to illicit substances. Read about the 9/11 commission reiterating the total absence of any link between Al Qaeda and Iraq. Much of the same disturbing news and broohaha geared to titillate and sell papers and generally make a sensitive, moderate, peace-loving man dispair. Soo.. then it's 7:10 and i decide to park and trot over the dunes and just go surfing without a second check of conditions. People in Bagdad are suffering to get their life back in order. Their kid's school doesn't have electricity, they can't go visit their friends after dark for fear of being shot by Marine snipers, their cousin is in the hospital with his leg all torn up from a car bomb that exploded as he was playing soccer with his friends in the street. In Kabul the same shit. people struggling amidst adversity.. peace-loving people entangled and strangled by the power-plays of politics. Same in Liberia, Sudan, North Korea. And now in Saudi Arabia.. westerners getting shot and killed for the color of their skin. Jihad warriors justifying murder and death because of a slight varience in religious dogma. intolerance. hate. poverty of the soul. lack of knowledge. lack of understanding. the will of man.
Soo.. for all of those people unlucky enough to have their communities and lives ravaged and fucked by war... it was time to surf. In the face of absurdity... surf. The cove was near-lake-like as i approached. the SW wind blew side/offshore.. the swell looked to be dying a raspy, pitiful death. Great conditions for the loggers and beginners. Real gentle and groomed and tiny. However!! i found a few sensi nugs in the mix and succeeded in pumping down the line on a few and even smacked the lip on this one little pitchy left. The water felt brisk but the sunshine combatted the chillyness and i was left comfy and warm in my rubbery cacoon. My last ride was a slow, peeling left that let me trim and glide along. I shuffled my feet forward to maintain trim and just stood there, caught in the unfurling of time.
Occy knows what's up
The sneaky little groundswell that blessed our shores yesterday is now gone. I hope you found some waves in the last 24 hours because fuglyness pervades the scene right now. The localized SW onshore is mucking up the beaches and the measly short-period windswell isn't getting around any coastal corners into protected spots.. though maybe somewhere down in santa cruz county is feelin' some love? How cool would it be to dial up coordinates on some teleportation computer software.. then instantaneously be transported anywhere in the world. We wouldn't need cars or bikes or planes. The most popular, beautiful spots would be teeming with people all the time. Huh.. maybe that wouldn't be so cool.. ok.. the teleportation software is only for you and your family/friends. So.. if i had that software.. i would've woken up around 5:30 this morning.. teleported over to some islands off sumatra for the early. checked spot to spot until i found the perfect overhead reef-break.. preferably a right. nobody around 'cept lerm or robme or kaiser or kus or jake.. or all of em'. We'd score plate-glass barrelling groundswell for a few hours.. then around 8 i'd teleport to some small town in Bhutan for a tranquil breakfast of chai-tea and fruit overlooking gigantic, grandiose Himalayan peaks. Then around 9 i'd teleport to work. At lunch i'd teleport to the Maldives or Tamarin Bay or somewhere warm and tropical with headhigh+ groundswell, slack winds and no crowd. Surf for about 45 minutes then teleport to Bangkok or somewhere like it for an inexpensive but muscle-relaxing Thai massage (of the real massage variety!!).. Then teleport back to work.. then after work teleport to Boston for a post-work monster jam with my boy Xaq, but not before the two of us teleported over to the Damkringk coffeeshop in Amsterdam for a fat spliff of the Jack Herer. We probably wouldn't jam in Boston.. but rather teleport over to the Joshua Tree area for an open-air, balls-to-the-wall, generator-powered, epic desert-jam. then over to Paris to hang with my head DMD. Maybe then down to Aix-en-provence for a romantic stroll around town.. then to Varanasi for some Naan and veggies and a yoga session with an old-school guru. Then teleport into the second set of some concert i want to check.. then right into bed... wake up at 6 the next morning for a repeat..
only a teleport away
east coast niceness
lego wave (this may have been posted here already?)
Meaty windswell winding its way into our shores right now. It looks like this burst will only last 24 hours or less.. as the california buoy is already down to 8sec. But.. it should diminish gradually over the next few days. OB looked haggard but within range for the stout of body and determined of mind. EG Pimp's stomping grounds most likely fired off some delicious morsels. Find your spot and go get some olas. With the wind blowing out of the SSW Lindy might turn on for the lunchtime high-tide. Be on the lookout all you lovers of the lindy lunchbreak.
surf!! so fun.
Ok.. soo.. further developments in the quest for the hidden Isle of Barhedral Zaharzabo. If you remember, last week i received a strange letter containing a note and a delicate, multi-colored wooden pendent. The letter spoke of a hidden island off the coast of north africa and explained that the flower-shaped pendent was in fact a key to unlocking the cloak of insivisibility surrounding the island. I also found a book given to me by my grandfather that explained that the vivid, profound and often frightening dreams i experienced as a child (and as an adult) could serve as the medium through which clues to finding the island were revealed. Soo.. on friday afternoon i returned home from work and began fiddling with the wooden pendent, referred to in the mysterious letter as the Flower of Zibe. The Flower of Zibe seemed solid but i noticed a subtle malleability to it's petals of various color. Each petal had a different color. There were 10 petals in all and the colors ranged from white to to green to red to dark blue. Stymied, i opened the large book given to me by my grandfather and opened it up. The book looked and smelled ancient. It contained nearly 1000 pages and many of them were hand-written, with scratched out phrases and words and passages written in the margins. Much of the writing in the beginning was in Latin. Toward the middle the language switched to old english and i saw many passages signed by my ancestor Marmaluke Dohefdron. I saw reference to the Rosicrucians, Talmudic numerology and other esoteric 18th century occults of religious mysticism. There were many maps and diagrams throughout the book, mostly depicting the atlantic coast of northern africa and southern Europe. The Flower of Zibe was sketched out enumerable times. It looked like countless, deeply thought-out mathematical formulations had been made in an effort to unlock it's message. Repeatedly i noticed references to the golden mean, to the spiralling, ubiquitous, pan-natural shape of the pine-cone/shell/milky-way/graphical derivation of phi. At the end i noticed 20 or 30 pages written in my grandfather's own hand. I began reading some of the things my grandfather had written... but soon i was nodding off to sleep... and into a dreamworld of renewed vigor that i hadn't experienced since my childhood.
(to be continued)
jeff divine photo
Don King photo
Maldives (Mexisurf will be here soon!)
argh.. i didn't get out there this morning.. my moms returns to Philly so i enjoyed a leisurely breakfast with her instead. However, based on the current lack of wind at the beach and the smooth, inviting veneer of the sea-surface i'd say it's a definite go. Both weekend mornings it was blowy and gusty (and sunny!) but still surfable. I surfed yesterday it utter hacked phlegmy confusion.. but managed 4 or 5 legit down the line rides in only 40 minutes of water time. On saturday morning the Kelly's Cove crew were shralping and smacking lips and generally running roughshod all over the messy, thumping wind-swell juice.
soo.. this morning might be golden out there? any first hand reports?
surf. so fun! just gettin' out there and catching waves is a blast. It's also nice to just be on/at the beach. we're lucky.
in other ethan family news my pops scored his first hole in one! he's psyched. good one pops! A well-deserved accomplishment.
Eric posted a true "tale of the high seas" over the weekend.. check it out.
"niceness, ms. pacific ocean said no saturday night just after sunset about 30 nm offshore, between between monterey and cape san martin. my sailboat magic bus was dismasted in 30-35 kts wind as we were (rapidly) headed south in the 2004 coastal cup - bound for santa barbara. These winds that have apparently blown out all the standard beach breaks this weekend created spectacular conditions for ultralight sailboats, so spectacular that just after dark yesterday, after planing through a three wave set, with sheets of water flying to both sides, we took a gust that accelerated the boat to another level (20+ kts speed through the water on a 27 foot sailboat) before laying our rig flat with a bang. after half an hour of work setting the broken spar free to its grave at the bottom of the ocean, we headed ne to monterey under power of a 2 hp honda outboard motor, wind and seas on the beam. we (in the interest of keeping the boat light for max speed) were only carrying 2 gallons of fuel, and we were making about 2.5 kts over ground towards monterey, so we were unsure wether we had enough to get us there. we were in contact with coast guard through the night by radio, and through the niceness ethos observed by mariners, a 500ft car carrier diverted for a rondevous and in a hairy exchange at about 4 am yesterday was able to drop extra fuel. Turned out we didn't need it, as wind and seas abated as the night wore on and we approached shore, but I will never forget it, pulling along side a giant ship, recieving a heaving line as crew members took photos, after which they lowered a tin filled with gasoline on a line. usually you want to stay as far away from the shipping traffic as possible, this time it was nice to know they were out there and willing to lend a hand. we reached monterey harbor at about 8 am today unharmed except for the chunder scarred thoats of 2 of the four of us onboard and of course my poor lovely boat, missing her wings. I've done this race before, it is always a challenge in different ways. Its too bad that we are not enjoying the fading breeze and sunset in the sb channel right now, as I expected to be, but it is also a hell of a lot of fun to handle a 27 foot boat like a longboarder doing a drop knee cutback, on an open ocean swell 30 miles offshore. Sorry for the sailing story on a surfing blog but they're not really that different at heart and i love both."
i don't usually like to acknowledge the landlord. but.. this t-shirt is pretty funny (from fecalface.com)
Luke Chueh painting (from fecalface)
Slavin photo from so cal last weekend
Best waves since central america.
P-town's "cove of nirvana" again barfed up the messy but effective nuglets.
Constant, relentless, never-ending windswell slabs slapped up along tempermental sandbars that did their best to hold the shape for us fans of the peeling wave. It felt great to take off into a few chunkified, speedy, semi-snarling situations. I caught a few fast pig-dog backside rides and then one ledging right that allowed for a high-line fast-track pumping sprint. I could only surf for 30 minutes because my mom is in town but i caught more substantial waves in those 30 minutes than i have in all my combined sessions since returning from central america. strait up! Shit.. and i'm tellin' you.. it felt fucking great! finally.. a few waves at one of the local spots. Tons of people out (maybe 50?).. i'm wondering how many were influenced by yesterday's discussion on this here website? Regardless, the crowd wasn't really an issue if you were willing to paddle north and the vibes seemed super mellow and chilled.. great to see Yuskai out there. He's the guy we often refer to as LHGVAG (Long Haired Good Vibed Asian Guy). Sharkbait could also be seen rippin' shit up out there. aww yeah..
Also sweet to see Adam out there for one of his first sessions since shoulder surgery. He hurt his shoulder a few months ago while performing an inspired but insane act of gentle heroism. Adam was sauntering down a path in the park on a sunny sunday afternoon. He had his arm draped around the shoulder of his cutie lady. The birds were singing and people were drumming and spirits were high. As the blissed out couple passed a little grove of trees Adam thought he noticed something shimmering toward the middle of the grove. The two young lovers walked off the trail and into the dark, mysterious forest.. as they approached the dense, innards of the grove they had to step over bushes and bypass a few bum encampments. Soon they began to discern a rising hum and could see what appeared to be a blurry, vibrating smear in the trunk of an old, grandaddy tree in the middle of the grove. The closer they got, the louder the hum grew. Soon they were almost next to the tree and they were taken aback by what appeared to be a swirling black vortex stuck right in the middle of the tree's trunk.. It was only about 1 foot in diameter but it slowly swirled around and it was impossible to perceive what existed within. A low, powerful, sustained, vibrating drone funnelled out of the vortex and the two of them were both frightened and curious. Soon a soft, tranquil cooing voice sang out from the vortex. They couldn't make out any particular words or language, just a relaxing, mesmerizing, welcoming melody. Just then Adam's lady began to reach out her hand toward the swirling anomaly. Immediately Adam felt a twinge of internal warning as his girl's hand broke some membrane and submerged into the vortex itself. At that exact moment the soft, comforting voice shifted into an angry, screeching, violent cacophony of dischordant rage. A gushing, sucking wind began to rage into the vortex and colors of blood-red and fire-orange began to flicker and wisk within the tree's innards. Adam's lady began to yell as her hand and arm were quickly sucked into the vortex. Adam acted quickly and grabbed her by the waist and began tugging with all his might. The evil presence within the vortex saw Adam struggling against it's feeding on human prey and unleashed a volley of lightening and gutteral wrath and nearly killed our mild-mannered fellow surfer. But the man held fast and with a quick motion grabbed a hunk of mud from the ground and tossed it over the hole in the tree where the vortex resided. As quickly as that the winds subsided and the screams and lightening ceased. Everything grew immediately still and Adam's lady began to pull her arm out of the tree. But.. just before she pulled it totally out the vortex made it's last gasp and sucked violently. Once more Adam grabbed his love by the waist and pulled with all his being. He pulled her out to safety but in the process tore his shoulder muscles clear away from the bone. Then he took a huge glob of mud and covered up the hole entirely.
soo.. that's what happened..
i've posted this before.. but.. shiot.. ti's nice
Lindy this morning!
Another morning of relatively calm winds had me sniffin' around for rideable waves. Northern OB looked unappetizing.. to the point of resembling regurgitated nastiness. I saw some semi-appealing areas around mid-beach, and seriously considered giving it a go. Probably slightly overhead. mostly disorganized thumpers, but quite a few glassyish pockets and zippy walls on offer.. or so it seemed. Not too too much work.. though you'd be takin' plenty of mischievous closeouts on the head. Sloat looked funky and whitewashy. no takers on the early tip, but i saw three heads bobbing around out there on my way back from San Mateo county's finest.
Hit up beautious, mysterious, rambunctious, semi-secret Ram Adnil for the early. When i first arrived, around 6:34, there were maybe 25 people in the water. The surf looked pretty good. Relative glass. LHGVAG out in the middle of the pack catching rights. Fairly consistent head-high windswell lurching, groping or meandering shoreward. Closeouts predominated, but a respectable percentage of waves decided to not break all at once. A few waves flirted with overhead+ status. i paddled out toward the north and caught a few quick lefts. took about 3000 waves on the head.. then locked into a multi-section right that allowed for a few pumps and even a mid-face turn!! woohoo!! maybe my first real wave all month! then i took another 50 duckdives.. where were all these waves coming from?? I guess this spot successfully pulls in the steep 7ft 9sec windsell from 322 degrees. Actually, you might want to keep those numbers in mind if you enjoy surfing this storied San Mateo county surf park. Could be magic Mar numerology. I caught a few more fun rides.. had a chance for an awesome right but stood up slightly off-balance and kind-of kooked my way down the line.
soo.. i hate to say it but the wind started blowing with more ferocity as i de-suited in the dirt lot. might be too late now? also the tide's on it's way out. .5 low around 12:30.
another lil' poll if you're so inclined:
great books (Dune, Shogun, Cryptonomicon, Love in the Time of Cholera)
Aspect of your surfing you most want to improve (finding the barrel)
Surfer(s) with great vibes (alex martins, sharkbait, LHGVAG, Tom, Loon)
Country producing the finest females? (Brazil, Quebec...montreal.. not a country.. but.. damn!!)
pet-peeves (country-clubs, fraternities, GWB, hair in the drain, missing good surf)
current fave bands (musicians) (Tortoise, Miles Davis, Zakir Hussein, Bill Frissell)
most underrated but sexy body-part (small of the back, ankles!)
shots from the last south swell in Stinkeye Cruz (courtesy santacruzlineup.com)
My surf-scene knowledge comes second-hand from the Lerminade. I woke up around 6 and was both shocked and awed to observe the total absence of wind. Lerm soon called to inform that the beach was bigger and messy. I guess the wind blew late into the night and the sea-surface hadn't had time to settle down yet, or maybe this windswell is just inherently messy. Soo.. i thought about hitting P-town but instead ended up kickin' it "root down" at my place.. Made a huge smoothie with ginger/blueberries/peach/banana/apple/OJ/ice and played some music and stretched. Lerm later informed me that Pacifilus was a bit more sedate than OB, but still gnarled and grumpy and mostly lacking in rideable waves... but.. hopefully we'll hear it strait from the horses mouth.
If you could have any wave in the world in your backyard for just you and your friends which would you choose? keep in mind consistency/water temp/winds/etc. (off the top of my head i might choose Lakey Peak or Trestles)
If you could instantly purchase three pimpin' pads anywhere on earth.. where would they be? (for me: SF - in the woods behind Cole Valley, Kauai north shore, southern france.. or NYC)
If you could've grown up anywhere in the world, where would you choose (Los Osos, CA)
3 fave surfers off the top of your head (Tom Curren, Gavin Beschen, Slates)
Fave lady surfer (Lisa Anderson)
Fave non-surfing activity (jammin', smoochin', eating, napping, reading)
word.. work beckons.
more on the hidden Isle of Barhedral tomorrow.. some crazy shit went down yesterday!
images from foreverstoked.com
It may be exquisitely beautiful out. There may be daylight until 9pm. There may be semi-fun windswell in the water. There may even be some bands of southern-hemi groundswell reaching up in here. But, all those things are meaningless and inconsequential in the face of the CONSTANT, NON-STOP, BRUTALIZING onshore wind that seems to have parked itself at our favorite surf spots and won't relinquish it's death grip. The wind is a funny thing for a surfer. On one hand it's the wind that creates the very waves that sustain our passion. The winds of far-off storms interact with the surface of the ocean. The friction between the two causes small wavelets to form. The sustained wind of the storm can then get a better grip on these small wavelets and they soon become large waves with short distances between them. As the waves propogate outward from their point of genesis, they slowly coalesce and form into mature bands of long-period wave-form goodness... Which, if not smooshed or deflected by opposing winds, eventually alight our shores with soul-gratifying peelification. However! when the winds are close to home and blowing in the wrong direction, they can wreak havoc and tarnish an otherwise stellar situation... as you all know...
anyway.. a friend went to SC yesterday and enjoyed. If you have the time and the means.. get yo arse down there.. pronto.. take pics and let us know how it is.. or maybe.. enjoy it.. but when reporting back to us assuage our bruised surf psyches by understating the real sweetness down there. If you scored 12 long, glassy groundswell walls, and there were surprising few people on the East Side, maybe say, "you know headies, i scored a few down in SC but the drive down there was kindof annoying and i got my fins caught in the kelp a few times and i got sunburned and there were only a couple cuties in the water.. not 10 or 12 or anything, and i only managed 3 or 4 linked turns on my best wave, so.. it wasn't legendarily long or anything."
soo.. shiit.. in other news there are crazy protests going on downtown right now about the Biotech conference at the Moscone Center. The protesters are pissed about the oft irresponsible (immoral?) ways of many biotech companies. Slews of people are concerned and/or irate about the societal power the biotech industry exerts in America. Whether it be the 11 million American children on Ritalin or corn that's been genetically modified with human genes so that it contains human antibodies that attack sperm, the biotech industry flexes it's powerful muscles in sometimes scary ways. Here's a quote from Phil Angell, Monsanto director of corporate communications, "Monsanto should not have to vouchsafe the safety of biotech food. Our interest is in selling as much of it as possible."
but.. it's also important to remember the many many people within the biotech industry who are seriously committed to finding cures for diseases and to helping their fellow man live a happier life. soo.. it's a two sided coin..
ok.. soo... also.. yesterday witnessed some more developments in regard to the hidden Isle of Barhedral. After re-reading the letter and twiddling with the beautiful, otherwordly multi-colored wooden flower i suddenly remembered a book that my grandfather had given me before he passed away. I fumbled around my bookshelves a bit and found the old tome behind some surf mags and other detritus. I pulled it out, dusted it off and opened it up. It was an old book, printed in London in the late 19th century. No title on the cover, just a thick leather binding with some gold-leaf around the edges of the pages. I opened it up and on the first page my grandpa had written me a note. I don't think i'd ever seen the note, as i'd received the book as a little grom and never even opened it up. The note said,
"Hello there sonny boy! I hope that the contents of this book become useful to you. You know that your grandma and i always loved you, but we also thought you were a bit wacky and lived by the beat of your own drum. While i know your mother and father often rebuked your idiosyncratic perspectives and propensity for relating your vivid day-dreams, i secretly enjoyed them and was filled with hope that you might someday attempt an age-old quest that's been hovering around our family for ages. Sometime in your life, you may receive a mysterious letter, along with a wooden pendant. You may hear a tale of a magical tropical island populated with beautiful women and abundant food. You may hear that this island is surrounded by trecherous, pounding surf. You may also hear that this island is cloaked by a veil of invisibility. My grandson. All these things are true. your ancestor Barhedral Zaharzabo was, in fact, one of the most extraordinary sorcerers the world has ever known. He possessed a remarkable propensity for using natural materials to alter the perceptive abilities of human beings. His aphrodisiacs were the stuff of legend. People came from all over the middle kingdom to seek help from his magical hand. The secret to Barhedral's ability rested in his super-natural dreamworld. According to the legend passed down through our family, every few generations one of our kin realizes a incredible tendency toward surreal, immaculate, narrative dream visions. These dream visions have led many of our family through the centuries to storied greatness. They have also led many to horrid torture and mental collapse. When you were a small child your grandma and me watched your eyelids flicker as you slept and knew that you were one destined for this ability for powerful dreams. As you grew older and recited your dream visions to your parents and us at the breakfast table I marvelled at the depth and severity of the worlds you were seeing in your unconscious. I rarely piped up because i knew that your parents wanted to try to steer you toward the path of normalcy. But.. now i am telling you that within your dream world may lay the key to unlocking the secret to the hidden Isle of Barhedral. You see, the wooden Flower of Zibe is really a complex, multi-facetel puzzle box. Supposedly when the box is solved, a map will be projected into the dreamworld of the person who solves it. The dreamworld is also where the clues to solving the Flower of Zibe reside. In the book that i've left you are a plethera of suggestions for cultivating your dreamworld so that you'll be more open and aware to the clues shown to you. The clues will always be subtle and enshrouded in enigma. If you are diligent and truly destined. The riddle will be solved and our family may finally fulfill it's ancient quest. I love you grandson..
Good luck. and watch our for signs in unusual places and shapes."
.... to be continued
Arose with the sun, stretched, drove to a few spots, got thoroughly denied, drove home. When I walked in my front door i noticed an envelope slipped through the mail slot. Written on the front, in old-style calligraphy were the words, "A plead." Perplexed, i walked through my yard, put down my board and wetsuit and went inside to open and read the letter. The letter had a threadbare, weathered look to it, as if it had travelled through great distances and many hands. As i took a closer look at the calligraphy on the front it reminded me of the penmenship used by 13th century British monks who copied bibles in monastaries on the Isles of Scilly and Man (I studied religious history in school). I carefully opened the envelope and removed the ancient-looking folded parchment inside. Right before i put the envelope down i noticed a dash of color inside. Upon closer inspection i perceived what looked like a small wooden flower. I pulled it out and was awestruck by the exquisite and precise craftmanship of the multicolored, intricate wooden pendent. But.. i wasn't sure exactly what it was. I unfolded the note. A long message was written in the same old-style penmanship. The old-english dialect was difficult for me to decipher but luckily my many late-nights spent researching the first english-language periodicals in the rare-books collections of my university library finally paid off with some practical use.
The gist of the letter is as follows (forgive the modern colloquialisms used by yours truly)
"Hello my friend. Hopefully this letter has found you in good staid. My compatiates and i reach out to you as a final, desperate hope. You do not know us, and this may seem far-fetched, but we are close friends with an ancestor of yours. The great Marmaluke Dohefdron, your great great great great great great great great great great great great great great grandfather was a model gentleman of courageous spirit and outlandish daring. He led us on a quest to find a hidden island off the shores of NW Africa. This island, he informed us, was filled with great tropical beauty and abundance. He told us how the legend of this island had passed through many generations of your family. This mythical place is said to be blessed with entrancing, fresh-water lagoons filled with thick, scrumptious fish. The palm-filled jungles filled with fruits and vegetables in abundance. The island is supposedly sparcely populated with a beautiful people with a strange genetic mutation. This mutation results in there being 4 women to every man. The island is also ringed with colorful coral reef that sculps the breaking waves into seductive, mesmerizing, tapering lines. These waves, according to Marmaluke, are one of the only drawback of the island as they pose a serious threat to any wayward sailer or swimmer, and i can't imagine how they could bring any good to a human soul. There is also something very unusual and special about this island. It seems that an ancient ancestor of yours, by the name of Barhedral Zaharzabo, was a powerful sorcerer of Northern Africa in the times before the great civilizations of man spread throughout the Mediterranean lands. This Barhedral settled his family on the island and cast an incantation that clouded the island in a sheath of invisibility. no human eye could penetrate this shield, making the island all but invisible. To this day no modern man has found the island, thanks to the incantation of Zaharzabo. Marmaluke has asked us to ensure that one of his kin receives the Flower of Zibe. Alongside this message you should have received a multi-colored wooden flower. This magical token was constructed by Barhedral himself and is the key to unlocking the sheath of invisibility around the island. Only a genetic decendent of the great wizard can use the key and find the island. The key itself is a puzzle of sorts and we wish you success in unlocking its ability. Many have tried over the eons and all have failed. We wish you luck
- (signed) Brothers of the Amalgamation
... to be continued
the hidden Isle of Barhedral
hola lovers of olas.
With all this buzz about "santa cruz is on fire!" "Santa Cruz is off the hizzy!" "All Time Santa Cruz!" "The waves in Santa Cruz are fucking orgasmic right now, like have 10 simulaneous orgasms while on 3 hits of the cleanest
Ecstasy while slurping down a fresh chocolate milkshake while getting the deepest back massage by a team of beautiful Latina goddesses!" (that's actually how someone described the waves to me) I, like probably everyone else, entertained thoughts of the SF - SC challenge. With a 4am departure I could be on the west side by 6.. then out of the water by 7:30 and back into the city around 9:40. Would it be worth it for 5 or 6 glassy groundswell walls? Hells yeah! Was i able to peel myself out of bed after 4 hours of Hans Blix and the Inspectors mayhem last night? Hells no! Soo... with very low expectations i hussled down to San Mateo's sort-of/almost south facing surf park and jumped in the water for a few. The water was freezing and crowded, and the swell was *barely* noticeable, but i still managed about 5 or 6 little squirrelly rights. I only really got going on one of those waves and managed to maneuver a frontside carve that felt purdy good. I kind-of removed myself from the pack and paddled further outside and deeper.. I was out there by myself until these two groms paddled out. they were doing good on the 1 foot waves and then out of nowhere started to heckle me.. saying shit like, "Kook!" and "Go Home" in this weird adolescent/mocking tone. At first i couldn't really hear them because i had my earplugs in, and i was sitting kinda far away, but after repeated heckles i knew it was directed toward me. It brought me strait back to 3rd grade when some of the neighborhood bullies used to pick on me because i had a crappy Huffy bike. I was able to just ignore them and keep catching waves but it still left a sour taste in my mouth.
Regardless of the frigid water, crowded conditions, miniscule waves, and groms yelling "go home kook!" to me, i still managed, somehow, to enjoy the little taste of surfing after 3 days off. But man.. i think the central american trip took the spark out of the summer surf situation around here. I definitely remember in years past feeling hella stoked about whatever waves were on offer in the off-season. I remember thinking, "I can't believe people are complaining about the waves around here!" Growing up surfing on the east coast it would be absolutely FLAT, ALOT of the time. Growing up with that reality made it easy to appreciate any and all waves that graced these nor-cal shores. I mean.. there were actually waves.. maybe not magazine perfection.. but.. not lake-like! With that mindset the sessions often ended up better than i expected. The little corners and blown-out closeouts were soooo much better than the measly 2-inch nothings i'd spent most of my life surfing. But now.. after spending a month surfing sick, offshore-licked points and reefs, with macking swells, bath-like water, and really friendly vibes literally every day.. It's tougher to feel the primal stoke on the super-shitstein days around here.. but.. it'll come around..
Sharp Park this morning
Norischmegma this morning
was it this bad last summer?
After driving around this morning and getting thoroughly skunked... again... i contemplated a personal change in perspective for the nor-cal off-season. This is something that many seasoned bay area surfers have known and internalized for years but i guess that i'm just beginning to realize the ugly reality of the matter. Either travel to areas exposed to southern-hemisphere swells, or shift mental focus to another sport/hobby/passion/discipline until the waves/winds come back around. This is a time for morning musical explorations, for refining your yo-yo skillz, for snuggling up with your honey for some pre-work smooches, or for some morning mountain-bike riding followed by long, centering yoga sessions. I still have the "must surf everyday, must find waves, have to surf, can't relax until i find waves, must find waves, argh!!" philosophy flowing through my consciousness and now i'm not so sure it's the healthiest way to go. ya think?!
I feel like we had more surfable days last summer than we've had this off-season. more south winds.
But.. enough with the griping. I'm sure many of you out there in niceness-land sniffed out secret pockets of sheltered, glassy nirvana this morning and are quietly chuckling at my whining diatribe.
The winds were snarling onshore even at 6:11 am.
good luck out there..
I'm currently reading "The Tao of Health, Sex, and Longevity" by Daniel Reid. In it he translates the expression "Tai Chi" to mean "the Supreme Ultimate Source." Sooo.. that sounds like something worthy of attention. If you're curious about ancient eastern views on nutrition, breathing, excercise, philosophy, love-making, etc. you should peruse this book. The chapter on "Ejaculation Control" is also very enlightening. Check this classic 2500 yr. old quote from Su-Nu Ching,
"For a man to nurture his male powers, he must nourish his Yang essence by absorbing Yin essence. When men and women indulge freely in sex, exchanging their bodily fluids and breathing eath other's breath, it is like fire and water meeting in such perfect poroportions that neither one defeats the other. Man and woman should ebb and flow in intercourse like the waves and currents of the sea, first one way, then another, but always in harmony with the Great Tide. In this manner, they may continue all night long, constantly nourishing and preserving their precious vital essence, curing all ailments, and promoting long life. Without this basic harmony of Yin and Yang, neither medicines refined from the five minerals, nor the most potent aphrodisiacs, will be of any use. If the vital essences are dried up due to excessive emission or complete neglect, they can never be revived."
soo.. for all us performing fasts or abbreviated fasts.. one item that maybe us guys should also cut out is ejaculation!
think about it.
the Taoist Way recommends maybe 1 ejaculation a week for men in their late-twenties or early thirties.. hmmm...
for the women it recommends as many orgasms as possible due to the fact that women retain their "vital essence" while men excrete it in what the french call, "petit morte"... "little death."
Tim Curren at Linda Mar yesterday
Cory Lopez at Linda Mar on June 3, 2003.. Lindy.. so consistent!
late-night chillage threatened dawn-patrol reveille.
body snapped up anyway and i made the rounds.
OB bigger and blustery. doable but you'd be workin'.
i continued driving along the coast but didn't see anything.
Back still irked but on the road to recovery..
Tonight Tortoise at Bimbo's (kick me an email if you're going to the show)
Slates lost to Pattachia yesterday at Restaurants in Fiji.
Irons beat Tom Carroll.
Cory Lopez beat Fanning.
We need some good waves around here.
The scrappy conditions may be enough to quell the jones.. but.. we need some tapering, glassy lips to improve our games. preferably at OB.
Caveman gave me the idea to go on a little "abbreviated" fast of sorts.
No sugary foods (candy, muffins, sodas, cookies, etc.)
No fried food
No red meat
My goal is to make it to the weekend!! ha! but.. seriously.. just going yesterday without my midday M&Ms, and then without my post-work beer... was fucking rough! crazy.
also.. anybody do Palates? I know that strengthening your mid-section is really good for assuaging muscular back issues.. any thoughts?
restaurants - fuck yeah!
indo - mo' fo'!
what's up kiddies.. sorry for the late update.
Logic would dictate that the surf is/was on fire this morning since i tweaked my back yesterday and couldn't get out there today. My prediction, based on my inability to surf:
perfect glassy headhigh A-frame barrels cracking and peeling up and down the beach. Niceness heads pulling into thick shacks and hooting each other deeper and deeper. Some freak of nature causing severe "downwelling" and the water temp warming up to around 75degrees.. just for the day.
but seriously.. blakestah says it's choppy out there.. from my house it looked relatively smooth.. and the sun was radiant. the wind blew strait out of the south.
this weekend witnessed mostly lackluster waves. Lerm and i hit up a point break around 11 miles north of santa cruz on saturday and stroked into some tasty mini-peelers and some weird gurgling bowls and such. Good times. then sunday and monday OB delivered a smattering of tasty nugs, but mostly upchucked smarmy, hacked disorganization.
anyone score this morning?
shout out to Morgan downtown.. thanks for sayin' hi.
mick lowe at restaurants
baja.. i think?