Autumnal best describes the Saturday run, and the weekend in general.
In windblown Victoria it is the season when, most often, the chance for sheet glass presents itself, the chance for one of those days when horizon and ocean blend, when an approaching swell line rises with little contrast from the sea, creating squads of squinting surfers gazing into the outness wondering if this is another set coming.
For the first hour or so on Saturday squinters were everywhere, the waves well shaped but miserly in frequency. This led to a fairly predatory pack where I chose to sit, though it mellowed and I did manage, here and there, to get a fast high line going, occasionally frustrated by its loss as I was forced to go around the odd guy trying to dodge a set.
Rich, wisely, chose the left off my right, and I think got the better of it as a cross wind later blew into mine, but left his left unruffled and groomed. The lucky toe rag later claimed a best-for-a-long-time session.
Sunday, quiet and a chance to rake leaves as the winds went into the foul south, overcast, the odd bit of rain and a late afternoon nodding off in front of the tv watching a documentary on the life of Walt Whitman.
The pics, Washed Out at Woollie x 2, and the Front Step at Home, just before sweeping.