The report said 62 degrees. Tried to surf sans booties and was denied; the water gave my feet an instant ice cream toe-ache. I guess there was an arctic upwelling of some kind. I grabbed booties, but was stuck with my hole-riddled 4/3 wetsuit. Had to duck maybe 10 waves on the paddle out and yelled at the top of my lungs after the third dive, my eyes bugging out of my head. But that didn't bother anybody. OS and I were the only two guys out.
Astonishingly, the next beach up had a gaggle of people flailing around. When I checked it half hour before, I stopped counting after tallying 60 soft toppers, spongers and kayakers all seeming to get in each other's way, despite the size of the beach and the variety of peaks. I got back to the ranger's gate quick enough to grab a refund and headed south, to where I was currently, ducking waves and marveling at the size and frigidity of the a-frames.
It was tiring to get to the outside. It reminded me of the paddles when fall starts to turn to winter and one wonders if he'll ever make it (and even considers turning around after that ninth wave over the head that turns you sideways, making you feel like you've made no ground). But I made it.
Waves were steep and wedgey and surprisingly easy to catch on my 2+1. The board seemed to be made for these waves. I started to figure out that if I crouched low on the drop, I would stick in the pocket and trim high and tight for the duration of the ride. I wouldn't outrun the curl and I wouldn't get swallowed up. I'd just stay tucked in. Like I'm about to do tonight, in an attempt to get rid of this sore throat I picked up from the freezing sea.
The Fall - Totally Wired