A fair amount of swell this weekend.

Not unusual around now, but swell without any wind is a rare beast and on both Saturday and Sunday you'd be hard pressed to blow out a birthday cake on the headlands of Victoria. Lucky me had a leave pass both days, as the ratbags had 'commitments' and the adorable one did too.

"Get out!" I was told, so dutifully I obeyed.

Like a shot out of a cannon.

Saturday was surprisingly solid, and I was trying to get back on the thruster after months off it on hulls and boards without fins.

Add a new set of Cdrive-fins, plus a twitchy 6'2" meant a long and shaky start. With guys out on boards ranging around the 7-8ft plus, I was getting the 'you're dreaming' as I scratched around on my little thing, but eventually old fatboy scragged a couple, undistinguished though they may be.

Luckily the swell held into yesterday, and the loosened arms meant an easier session with a fair few under the belt at the end. I wasn't ripping (as if) but the corners of the mouth turned up a couple of times.. and the surprisingly small crowd was a happy one.

Pics.. a snap from Steve Ryan of a Saturday wave I don't even remember, with clouds and glass from a smaller yesterday afternoon.

A pretty magic kind of afternoon yesterday. I managed a window of a few hours, the swell finally picking up a little and so a later run down to offshores and the yen to give the amended finless another run.

This time around with very nice 3 foot waves and an atmospheric afternoon the board and more importantly my body kind of behaved. Slotting and trimming now with much more ease the magic carpet came alive. Most interesting though was when I handed it over to my mate Harley.

Harley comes from an aviation family, and has been able to fly since he could walk, given the unique circumstance of growing up on a large tract of land with an enthusiastic and slightly eccentric dad who stuck a control stick in his hands at three or four.

After his second wave he paddled back all wide eyed.

Driving back he was somewhere between speechless and you couldn't shut him up.

"The closest thing I've ever come to flying."

Neato quote for a first time on finless.

I think my amendments get a tick.

Pics. Wave offerings both tubular and cloudular, my finless, Harley and Ed Sloane looking like Kirk Cobain, plus the RATHER EPIC sunset on the drive home as shot out the car window...er... by someone or other.

I'm not in a philosophising mood so I'll keep it brief.

Yesterday I had was one of those once every couple of months visits from my Musical Pals from Sydney.

It is always a great chance for a catch up, we have a project to work on, and the surfing is generally alternative. Luck being on our side this day, a six am run to the the coast drew a fortunate dice with a nice four foot plus swell licking the shore, sunlit and chilly, but very tempting.

Winki got the nod because of the tide and available time.. Richie rode finless because I'd made some fixes to the finless Derek Hynd made me after seeing Derek's own board and where he'd taken the bottom contour. My board had always been slippy, so when I saw the perpetual adjustments DH had been making I felt I had permission.

Some additions to the outer rail and an inner ridge looked interesting and conceptually sound on completion.

The ride report was 'if I had four thumbs they'd all be up'. I was stoked and I'm going to have a return to the board after a long layoff now, though my late surf waves were a bit disastrous as it'd been too long. One wave made me realise, just before the face plant, that things were much better, even though I was much worse.

Till next time.

My highlight was a very long beauty from uppers to the valley on the hull, in the morning sun.

Pic: Winki in the morning light, and my rough and ready sun cure plus kneadable epoxy gerry rig concept proving fiddling.

Dim prospects can sometimes delight. Or from poor circumstances gems come flying into our laps.

With Mother's Day coming there was no way I was going to absent myself from home on Sunday, though my weather eye did notice it was going to be pretty average anyway unless a dawn session was possible. (Fat chance)

Saturday, then, got the nod, and again I went against the flow of the small swell forecast and tried a spot I rarely check.

A tidy little right hander under a cliff, eventually by myself for a couple of hours, then a paddle up the cliff line to a long right that improved as the wind shifted more offshore and the swell started to kick... followed by a couple on the left in between on the way back to the car and after six hours I had definitely had enough. It just kept getting better and better, a little patience was the only thing between me and a great big smile.

Pics: The little right, the other little right that got bigger, and the left that got even bigger. Started at two foot, ended at a solid four. I'm not complaining.

Now I know you know my errant son gives me great cause for grief, and we wonder what will become of him, much as we love the little wretch.

He gets his major jollies from skating, board and blade, with the blades usually getting the nod, though as I've said time and again, I wish he'd come surfing more often as he has 'gifts'. This clip has just appeared on you tube. It starts slow but towards the end various alarms go off as he risks life and limb.

Now, to get him to pull up those pants and...

...tennis anyone?

Surfing being what it is, bad can follow good and frustration is often the bedfellow of delight.

Last Sunday, with a swell report of a rise in the afternoon, I lazy day'd it, relaxed, had a coffee and chat, then made a run with an anxious eye on a distant but dark horizon. The rain started on the road down, I changed at Bells to that distant dark line not that distant now, and entered the lineup to a hammering on the hood of neoprene I'd awoken from its summertime slumber. That was my greatest comfort as I sat waiting for the very occasional ruler edged five foot set of new swell to roll through the lineup. Two of us sitting, sitting, then four, then six, then eight.

All the while nothing, then one good wave for me followed by a patter in the face as the wind swung and it all turned to ruler edged crumble.

If only.

Which is probably what Osama said to himself moments before the lights went out.

Pics for today. the lonely grey glass at Bells, and the Sid the Huntsman Spider, who sits above us in the lounge room at home. For the moment.