It was one of those mornings, I felt great, we had waves, small but waves are waves. The wind was due to come on at 1PM. Plenty of time.
I was enjoying my breakfast browsing through a journal about the "secrets of backdoor". I think I understood the general gist. Drive if you're deep, stall if you shoulder hop. I dunno, for some reason it flipped in and out of French, which exposed my average education.
The coffee was going down too well at this point, that's when I realised I'd been sipping on last nights beer. Two beers later. Snooze.
I woke up, it was 1:15PM, damn it. I looked out the window and it still seemed calm.
I drove up to Triangles, It's a perfect A-frame 15 minutes away. I probably shouldn't have driven but it's a swell magnet. Fat but a long wave. Cutback city.
Wind? What wind? It was crystal glass, liquid mercury. Staring at the surf I threw my board on to the sand which cut my foot. Faaaark.
I paddled out anyway, I can deal with that later. The session was a dream.
Driving home I saw Bridgette's light on. Sweet. She's the local nurse. I stopped by and she offered me a beer which I couldn't decline.
She didn't have any stitches, only a stapler. Holy cow those staples went in. I looked and saw the size of her arms. Ah yes. I'd forgot her nickname. Bridgette the barnacle basher, any tide lower than 0.3 meters and you'll see her out there bashing barnacles off the rocks.
Seeing those wrists and feeling her strength couldn't help my mind but wander. How creamy must her mash potato be.
— the stokefairy