To the point of cliche, timing is everything. As I sit here I gather it is anything from 15 feet grading down, depending where you want to search on our long and lovely coast.
There is a slight ripple on my coffee so you can work out where I am.
A Saturday run saw the back end of a lovely swell from last week, which was happily missed as a visit to my dear old Dad interstate was my lot. A great catch up, sitting, laughing, talking about old times with a mixture of joy and that sad feeling you get when you realize how time sits coiled on your shoulder.
Good days, though my knees and ankles are suffering as the runs in the hilly terrrain of Dadland did the legs in.
So back to Saturday. Pretty much a carbon copy of last Monday. Small, strong offshore and crowded, but if you were cunning you could get the odd good one. I first opted for Winki, scored a cracker on the get go and thought you beauty I'm in for a good one. An hour and a half later with nothing more to speak of except people, I paddled back around the point, walking up Bells to join the crowd. More consistent, running long and tight on the point, it proved worthwhile as the crowd kept drifting off the take off while I managed to be a clever dick, bolting wide as the faintest ripple of a set waved at me from way out back.
A couple right through to the beach made the day.
Sunday and onshore, I busied myself with a little project I've been mucking about with. A few weeks back I took a few snaps of the Hellboy, (you're weird dad) with the hope of getting an essence in wax.
Early days and a bit detail obsessed even for my hammy fingers, but as it is refined it may look OK.
Pics: Winki, Bells doing its high tide point break thing, the reference shot of Tommy from my iPhone, and where I'm at.