Mountain Man's Global News Archive
Web Publication by Mountain Man Graphics, Australia
As I packed the last of the items into the truck, I took one last look around at this space. Not just to see what I had left unpacked, but to take in the ambiance one more time. Because I knew that as I made my way down the road, say 10 miles or so, that would be the last I'd really think about this place. Surely I'd remember waves, people and the good times. But I knew that the actual details concerning the physical area that I'd spent the last 3 months in would quickly leave my mind. I wanted one last good look around. And then I was gone. The last 3 months had passed by hastily. The morning subroutine was simple and to the point. Wake before dawn, listen out the window for local waves. If waves, then surf local. If not, logon to the net and check the buoy data. If conditions looked good for a ride down the coast, then pack and go. If it looked like a down day, then go into town, get supplies, do a workout in the pool, go skating or hiking, come home, get on the net, check the data, have a few drinks, talk story with hundreds of other addicts, go to sleep. Totally automated and efficient. One falls into a rhythm with the tides, winds and swell. The sun, moon and stars. Like a secret society who's only form of communication is telepathy, you find yourself at the same old breaks, seeing the same old faces, pulling into the parking lot at virtually the same time. All looking for another shot at that magical fleeting session. The fact is, they come about 1-2 times a week around these parts this time of year (fall). But to catch them, that's another story. One has to be prepared to stay unemployed, work nights, become a criminal or what have you to get the goods. There's a lot of ground to cover on the OP. A good horse and a cleared out itinerary are essential. In fact, the prize is so elusive, so mysterious, and so fickle, that when you catch the woman in the act, her memory burns forever in your mind. Forever. And if becoming a member of this secret society cost you a job. A lover. A life. You gladly pay the price and take your chances. All the more reason to remain committed and single minded. Can I tell you of the physical bliss that pervades your flesh and soul after a 4 hour session in 2X sheet glass? How about the hike out through 3 miles of mud and rain? Can you recreate the emotions conjured up by sitting around the living room with the 2-3 guys that shared this experience, recanting the day's waves and glory? I'm not sure... Can I tell you of 16ft, 20second groundswell hitting the reef all day in a way that you'll understand my sacrifice without actually tasting this woman's charms? I think not. Can I tell you what it means to be balanced perfectly upon tide, wind and swell so that you know precisely when to strike without you actually paying your dues? I think not. Suffice it to say that the Fall was spent exclusively in the company of the elements responsible for the conception of this secret society. A society whose members will be confidants until the end, regardless of what comes after. I have paid the price and have come away from the transaction with memories of waves and friends that will surely burn like bright light in my soul for all time. You can take away my job. You can take away my lover. You can take away my social life. But you will never, ever, touch the light that burns inside this surfer's soul. LemmingŪ
LOST COAST The Saga of the Sandman: Keeper of the Eternal Flame, Surf stories, and the PNW.