Bucket Lists

"What's on your bucket list?"
"Spending a whole week on a beautiful beach with just my dog. How about you?"


"Throwing buckets."

Pass the Pedialyte

'Cuz this kid is totally SICK!

Seriously... Dude's got way better skillz than his old man at 18 months old. Note his ability to get super low and the positioning of his hands, not to mention how he's looking down the line at the next section he's going to shellack.

All I have to say is, "Nico, surf!" and he does this, board or no board. Well trained.

The Ecstasy and the Agony

THE ECSTASY (TOP 4 PHOTOS):
6.5 feet at 15 seconds
Sunday morning sunshine
Light winds out of the southeast
Multiple spots lighting up along the coast
Good intel telling us that a certain sandbar was finally working again

THE AGONY (BOTTOM 2 PHOTOS):
The sandbar not looking too hot
Choppy drop-ins causing blown waves
Swell growing and getting less predictable
A switch to a longer, heavier board mid-session
Several heavy wipeouts and unsettling hold-downs
A collision with my board underwater leaving a sore calf
Getting caught inside again and again and again and again
The riptide widening to about fifty yards and pulling me out to sea, alone
A 20-minute paddle to reach my lineup spot, where I caught a final bomb... and ate it
Over the course of the morning, the swell jumped, the interval grew, and the tide
.
.
.
.
dropped.

MORAL OF THE STORY:
Don't leave waves for waves.

A Case of the Mondays

I'd been planning to hit it Monday morning since seeing the predictions of a little long interval south swell last week. But souths never usually materialize too dramatically up here, and such was the case today. I checked the buoys at 6am and saw that the interval was only reading 5-6 seconds, as compared to the 18 second pulse that was projected. The wind was supposed to be whipping by noon as well. My hopes for an epic spring session were further dashed when I looked at the cams and saw flat seas and a negative tide.

Against my better judgement, I packed my gear, filled up my car with gas, bought some coffee, and headed west. There were only a couple places that I thought might be working. The first one was tiny, but glassy. I checked another spot and saw two guys out. On queue, a set rolled through and it looked about waist to chest high (see above). It was enough to get me into my suit and down to the water. I needed to get wet, regardless. On my way to the spot where I planned to paddle out, I saw a giant bird just standing at the waterline. When I got closer, I realized it was a huge bald eagle. I was tempted to run back to the car and get a camera, but decided to get surfing instead.

The two guys paddled in pretty much immediately after I got out there. Amazingly, a couple good sets came through and I got some nice rides. I stayed out about 2 hours before the wind came up and the tide filled all the way in, causing the surf to lose any semblance of potency. I wondered if anywhere else was working so I stopped by Cannon Beach surf shop. The owner, still in his wetsuit, said he caught an hour of decent surf as well, before the tide and wind killed it.

Looks like this week is even going to be smaller. Isn't it a little early to be singing the summertime blues?

"Did you see that?!"

"Did you see that?!"

We both asked the question at the same time. As if we could have missed it. The tide had dropped so low on Sunday morning that it turned a monolithic rock way out in the ocean into a left point break. This was a true mysto spot, one that we hardly ever had to share with other surfers, purely because it rarely actually worked. But the minus tide was working some magic and it switched on like a light. Head-high sheetglass barreling lefts for two hours. Just Nash and me (and some other dude who must have spotted us through the trees, but he didn't seem to want to catch waves). This was Sunday, by the way, a day that I was going to write off because the reports read 5 ft. at 9 seconds...

The picture above was from the first spot we checked. Not as good as the second, but you get the idea.

Hitting the G-Spot

The third annual G-Spot Invitational happened again on Sunday in some small but amazingly fun low tide beachbreak. The sun was out all day, we surfed for nearly three hours, and nobody got hurt... although there were plenty of friendly drop-ins. It's starting to feel like springtime in the Pacific Northwest with mellow waves, periods of slack wind, and days where it can be sunny, rainy, and a little snowy all in the course of a few hours. My family even braved the snowy drive over the mountain range to attend the festivities and had a cold beer waiting for me when I came in. It hit the spot.

The official results are as follows:

Best Wipeout: Nash
Best Wave: Tie between Marque and Slim
Most Fun: The guy in the black wetsuit...

See past G-Spot recaps here and here.

Police - Message in a Bottle

Worth It

Last week I snuck out to the beach after putting in a long day of writing. I knew I'd be leaving town for a dry weekend, so I had to make the most of the smallish conditions. One peak was overrun with 10 or so surfers, so I paddled out at the second creek, opting for a steady flow of tiny waves all to myself. It was glassy and fun and I ran into Slim (right upper corner), who was putting his new Art Colyer-shaped "speed dialer" through its paces. Looking forward to blowing off more steam when the waves pick up a little this week!

The National - Daughters of the Soho Riots

Good Days

The swell came back in a big way on Saturday. When we got to Seaside, there were already 30 rubberized souls sitting in the rain on the righthander that was peeling perfectly back into the rip. I noticed that the left was going mostly unridden. We're talking shoulder to head high A-frames. The left wasn't quite as pretty, but I'm always willing to sacrifice a little quality for the chance to get a few more waves. Paddling out, I tried to avoid the crowd by choosing a route that put me outside the farthest longboarder. As soon as I made it to the outside, a set came through. I paddled past the first wave, and saw that the second one was perfectly lined-up for me and a longboarder who had position. Surprisingly, the logger backed off! I spun around quickly and did a two stroke entry into the steep face. It was a perfect right. I did a nice long bottom turn and flew down the line, past a bunch of guys who were most likely cursing my luck. Though I finally made it to the left side of the peak, that wave I caught within three minutes of hitting the water was my best of the day.

On our way home, OS and I speculated about how many really good days like that the North Coast of Oregon gets a year. I could only think of five or so days this year that I could call "epic," but then again, I only get out 2-3 times a week (if I'm lucky). We then started trying to devise a matrix to determine the quality of life a city offers by certain factors - like number of good surf days, snow days, climbing days, biking days, etc. available to the city dwellers.

What do you think?

My Morning Jacket - Off the Record

Flat Spell

Sissyfish is in the throes of a flat spell. I've been distracted by work. The kind of work that grabs you by the ear and twists until you can only concentrate on one thing: Finishing the work. Luckily though, I have three things that get me through it:

1. It is truly flat out there (see picture above of a sinking logger from last session).
2. My surfboard is getting closer to being finished every day (right, Moonlighters?).
3. I just booked 3 weeks in Nica an hour ago (Playa Colorado for 2 weeks, Maderas for 1).

So please excuse my flatness. I'm sure it'll pick up very soon.

Guided by Voices - I Am a Scientist
(Click above to find out why!)

Rite (Left) of Passage

I did something today that I've wanted to do since I started this blog. Sorry, no photos this time...

New Order - Vanishing Point

Pray for Surf 2

Yesterday we gambled at a spot you have to hike to. We got there at 8am and it looked pretty rough. Overhead-plus sets that wanted to close out in big, scary lines down the beach. So we waited for the tide to change and walked out along the rocks to see if we could jump off from there, to avoid a very difficult paddle.

When we got really far out on the boulders, we noticed a few specks emerging from the treeline back on the beach. They were carrying boards. First there were two, then four, then six, then ten. The first two surfers made their way out to where we were and before they lowered themselves into the sea, they knelt, bowed their heads and crossed themselves. After that, they very gingerly entered the water between massive sets. I noticed that one of the guys ground to a screaching halt as his board hung up on a barnacle-covered monolith. But he made it outside (barely) before the next set came smashing in.

Once outside, we realized that these dudes knew what they were doing. Immediately, one caught a right that was easily head-high and twice as thick, and pumped in big s-turns to outrun the whitewater. Backside.

OS, Marko and I walked back to the gear we'd stashed on the beach, discussing whether or not we would be in over our heads here. By this time, there were eleven people in the line-up, which was officially a crowd (especially in this neck of the woods). We sat on a big log and watched, toying with the idea of paddling out in the rip. We had come this far, and the other guys were making the most of it, so why couldn't we? Our buddy Nash showed up with his shiny new board and jogged to catch up with a girl who we had seen on her way out to the rocky point.

We suited up. It was Marko's birthday and he was going to get some waves. When we were just about ready to go out, two surfers came out of the water and sat down next to us on the log. They told us they were part of the Christian Surfing Association and that their group had gotten access to a camp that overlooked this magical place for the weekend. This spot is notoriously fickle. As we watched members of their group drop into big rights that were becoming more and more groomed by a higher tide and wind that had switched to offshore, I asked how they knew this break would be working when they made the reservation to stay there (they only do it once a year).

"We pray!" he said, and laughed.

We took his advice and paddled out in a strong rip and made it to the line-up in no time. I was slightly undergunned on my 5'8 quad (c'mon Moonlight, I need my 5'11!) as I noticed several step-up pintails in the group. I got bounced off my first three waves, but made my fourth and fifth, the one that I took back to the shore. And Marko got the wave of the day, the perfect right-hand gift for a guy whose Oregon surf stoke had been wilting of late.

Jens Lekman - I Saw Her in the Anti-War Demonstration

Surf 'Til Dark

Spring conditions finally arrived Oregon last week. We had one of those days where you leave work at 3pm, hit the beach by 4:30, check a few spots, and still get in a three-hour session. The waves were waist-to-shoulder high and fun. Very glassy. Smiles all around the line-up.

I've been out of town at my grandfather's memorial service, which put me within striking distance of several good Californian breaks. As I sped up the 101 Saturday morning, I saw nice beachies working all through Ventura. Rincon looked really inviting (and not too crowded). But I didn't surf.

On Sunday morning we held a service on the beach at Montana de Oro. Again, I spotted a surfer here and there on the drive down to sea level. It was misty and the wind was offshore. Three Marines in full formal black and blue array walked out through the mist on the sand and delivered a folded flag to my Mom. They played taps. It was a perfect farewell.

It rained a lot down in SoCal, and it was sunny in PDX. I'm looking forward to scoring more springtime magic in coming days and I'll be sure to update Sissyfish more now that I'm back home!

Peggy Lee - Is That All There Is?

Pray for Surf

This is one of my favorite surf images/ads, but I can't remember where I got it. What an amazing single fin Brewer. And is that the famous model Iman (who married Bowie)? Beautiful. Anyway, I'm looking at a very small window for surf this week - specifically Thursday afternoon between 4-7 pm. I hoping for some devine intervention to deliver ridable waves between storms.

Hope you're all getting some...

Final Fantasy - Please Please Please

Pointillism

"I'm gonna shove that easel up your ass!"

Yesterday I was sitting in some mushy surf, watching a certain break go off like I'd never seen it before. It was absolutely beautiful in its angularity, size, color, consistency and power. It's widely known by surfers here that there's a strict underground policy forbidding any photography of the wave. Tales of bloody deer heads on car hoods and cameras being ripped from the hands of dumbfounded beachcombers all reinforce the legend of this, arguably the most coveted break on the West Coast.

Bobbing in the less-than-stellar conditions that I had relegated myself to yesterday (a spot a half-mile closer to the beach), I couldn't help but imagine what would happen if I were to amble out along the rocks with my portable easel on my back, a flimsy canvas under my arm, and a beret perched askew on my head for good measure.

I looked left at a dirt parking lot filled with Ford F150s and wondered if I'd even make it past that grizzly gauntlet, where locals have been known to huck rocks at kooks and pros alike, especially those threatening to shed light upon the perfection of the only thing that makes life in that seaside town livable. At least I'd have my easel box protecting my back and a square of stretched fabric to deflect incoming sticks and stones.

Then I thought about writing a short story about it. I smiled as a dark speck dropped into the glassy left impossibly late, drew out a precise bottom turn that brought him ten yards behind the roaring whitewater, and then swiched his weight on the rail, whipping himself back into the trough, where he was immediately swallowed like Jonas, ejected seconds later only to spray a triple overhead rooster tail that sent him back down the wave, where he repeated the process.

And I just might sit down and write that story. When I get a little time.

Alex Smoke - Don't See the Point

This post is dedicated to my grandfather, David Cosley, the man who passed an intense love of adventure, family, the Sea of Cortez, and off-color bar jokes to me. Godspeed.

Share the Stoke

I spent the last couple days nursing a stoke hangover. On Friday, I was part of a challenge to follow the flow of water from Mt. Hood to the Pacific Ocean, doing outdoor sports along the way. The whole thing, taking place over the course of one day, was documented for the company I work for, Nau. Initially, I thought I'd only be part of the crew, providing technical assistance and helping with water shots, but Thursday night I was informed that I'd be one of the three "stars" of the movie, along with Alex from Nau's office and Steph from the store.

The caveat: The first leg involved skinning up Mt. Hood and skiing down the mountain at sunrise. I'd never so much as had ski boots on my feet before. Not to give too much away, the first few hours were really a comedy of errors, with me hosting multiple "yard sales" in the snow, all my gear scattered around me. My two compatriots were incredibly patient with my incompetence. They were accomplished skiers, and they shared their knowledge with broad smiles on their faces.

The second leg was a paddle down the Sandy river. This was a relief for all of us, since the rapids were pretty mellow and the sun was shining. I'd negotiated whitewater in rafts before, so I was a little closer to my "element." By the time we finished the float, I was pretty funky, so I dove into the icy runoff. Clean and cool, I was wide awake and ready for the drive to the coast.

We arrived at Shorties at around 5:30. It was time for me to return the favor to Alex and Steph, who had never surfed before. Looking at the ocean, I realized that the final payoff of the film - me surfing on some quality springtime waves - was going to be a bit tough. The conditions resembled the big washing machine waters of winter. But the inside stuff looked pretty mellow, so I gave some dry land lessons on how to paddle, pop up, and avoid being knocked out by a longboard. We got in and I pushed Steph into some whitewater. Amazingly, she popped up pretty confidently and stood for a couple seconds, despite her initial fear of the choppy, short interval reforms. I looked over, and Alex was instinctively stroking with both arms into an unbroken reform. He stood up a couple times, once long enough to claim his wave by throwing up both hands in victory.

I was pretty hellbent on catching one of the outside bombs to end the film, so when Steph and Alex headed in, I headed for the outside. It was such a battle to make it, but I finally got out far enough to sit on my board and gather my thoughts. What a day it had been. I was tired, dizzy, hungry, and all alone in the heaving swells. I thought about the philosophical, religious, and environmental discussions relating to outdoor sports we'd shared during our hours on the road. I considered the fact that I had just added two more people to our Oregon surfing population. By the same token, after 30 years, I'd finally joined the ranks of Oregon skiers.

The sets were overhead and closing out. From behind, I could see the waves kick up brown sand from the ocean floor when they exploded. Not a good sign. The sky was getting pretty dark. I picked the next wave that looked rideable, turned, and paddled with the last of my strength. Making the drop, I angled down the line and saw a huge section shutting down in front of me. With no other option, I dove headfirst into the turbulence.

Certain that my wave wasn't the surfing equivalent of what Steph and Alex had done on the mountain 12 hours earlier (skiing graceful s-turns in the pink sunrise), I walked back up the beach to where our crew was changing into dry clothes. Surprisingly, they showered me in praise for even making it to the outside and attempting to ride one of the set waves. But more gratifying than that was the appreciation they showed for my taking the time to teach them to surf.

It's a sentiment that's been expressed in a million ways, but is there really anything better than sharing stoke with friends?

New Order - Let's Go

Short Sands Magic

Always great to sneak out on a Friday and get some waves. Hadn't been to Shorties in a while, and it was nice to get it on a day when it could be surfed again. The sun was shining, the sets were aplenty (and peaky up and down the beach). Ebb and I exchanged waves for three hours. Cha-ching!

I guess you could say today was a good day. See you Sunday...

Boy Least Likely To - Paper Cuts