An odd day yesterday.
The swell had risen and I'd been missing out on the morning offshores because 'I had to stick to my list', that list being my little black book of to do's and thoughts, the Small Dark Dictator of My Days.
Or one of them at least.
Yesterday the rebel in me said stuff it, revolution time, so I allowed myself a morning surf, while it was still good, instead of a grovel in the sharky dark in the onshore slop. (Note: A four metre Great White cruised through the line up two days ago.)
Winki was busy and a bit odd, but some four to five foot runners were whistling through at times, so it had a lot to say.
All I had to say was 'just four good waves'. Three good waves out of three had me thinking a jackpot had been hit, knowing the place for over 40 years allowing a well read roaming of the lineup that for once kept yielding payoffs.
Sitting out the back and aiming to go in, I started to daydream about the last wave. "A big one and just wide enough to block the guys up the line. A barrel at the end of a good 200 yards would be nice"
Blow me down if that is what appeared before me.
A cracker, broke up and out while I paddled for the lip line, catching everyone else inside. I managed a late take off, a long run, with a few happy turns and TWO good tube rides, in out, in out, as I hurtled towards Lowers. Straightened off and virtually stepped onto a low tide rock.
A good way to start a day.
The pics: Bells just after I got out of the water. Winki was better.