Monday, August 24, 2009

Dancing On The Jetty

There is a certain smell the east coast gets, when the Atlantic has been stirred up by swell. It is a mixture of salt water, sea weed and tar. The sand is mixed and coarse under your feet. There are more surfers than tourists. Even those not tuned in to the surf station, know that something is different. They look out at the waves and wonder what it would be like to be way out there.

We arrived at dropping tide, around noon. I figured after two days of macking surf, the locals would all be elsewhere trying to get their jobs back. There was still plenty of swell when we unloaded. Lil Wrecking Ball and my Bro Davey got out of the car looking at postcard Huguenot; blue water and sky with perfect chest to head high rights, licked by a slight off shores. I set up camp and gave L.W.B. his board, Davey went with him dragging his 9'6".

After the umbrella was hoisted, the sheet was anchored, and the coolers were parked in the shade, I grabbed my yellowed 7'2" and waded out. I caught a nice little right, and it was lined up so perfect, I just stood and trimmed for a few yards. I caught three more and L.W.B. made it outside to sit with the big boys. Davey paddled for a big one and went over the falls rodeo style. L.W.B. and I caught one together and he fell because he was laughing so hard. I pushed him into another and he fell on the take off, and got dragged for fifteen yards before coming up, hands first, laughing. We all caught a few more, and cruised in to recharge.

We sat and ate sandwiches, and L.W.B. asked why I was so happy. I told him the beach was the only place I felt totally comfortable. He turned back out to the waves and pointed and talked a hundred miles and hour. He skim boarded, rode his Boogie board and stayed in the water until I had loaded the car and started it.

It could not have been a better day, except I missed having number one son and Mama there. He was stung by a Man-o-war on his last trip and it will take a bag of video games to get him back in the water. Mama doesn't see the logic in five hours of drive time for three hours of beach. Go figure. You can't have perfection, it angers the Gods.

I am a surfer. I had forgotten that.

W.B.Z.N. *Pics from: