Sirens of the Sea

During our conversations through the week it became apparent that both Jason and I where anxious to get out to the coast to feel the surf. Although the surf reports where looking good, family and work considerations cast a doubt on whether I’d be able to join him. Someone was looking over my shoulder, or maybe Theresa could just feel my restlessness, but on Friday I got the green light to go “play with the boys”. That was all I needed to make a quick call and start organizing gear.

We got an early start on Saturday morning and while the weather report was somewhat neutral with a lot of “possibilities of…”, the sky looked more promising with big patches of blue sky. A quick stop in Aberdeen for groceries, and we were soon sitting on the dunes eyeing the surf. All was looking good, so we quickly setup camp, changed into our drysuits and got our boats ready. As I was checking all my zippers to make sure that they were indeed closed, I couldn’t remember the last time I had been in the surf. Obviously too long.

Like the mystical Sirens of Greek mythology, the sky and surf conspired to get us in their grasp. As soon as we were committed with boat and gear the sky clouded over, the wind increased significantly, and the temperature dropped. We had to put on our hoods to fight off the biting cold. Jason looked like some kind of Hollywood Ninja with this full faced balaclava. Still a bit of cold couldn’t dampen our excitement to get on the waves.

We spent the afternoon getting reacquainted with the rhythm of surf, and as I suspected I was rusty. My braces and hip snaps where robotic and lacked the effortlessness of when I’m in the zone. Jason seemed to be doing better, regardless of the fact that he was paddling his Sterling Ice Kap for the first time in surf conditions. Slowly the timing started to come back but not before we each had to roll a couple of times. Still no one swam, and as we tied our boats with aching fingers in a sudden hail storm, we where quite pleased with our session.

Back at camp in dry clothes we enjoyed our grilled steaks and stuffed potatoes as we rehashed our stories of the afternoon’s successful rides and humbling capsizes. Jason treated us to a new apple tort that he baked in his Dutch oven. That night as I pulled the hood of my sleeping bag over my head, I was reminded of the old beer commercial; “It doesn’t get any better then this.”