So then today I’m like, “Don’t be an idiot and bring the wrong board this time you kook,” as I (carefully) selected the weapon of the day like a hunter and a gun rack. This time, it is truly 7-11, as it just starts to get light enough outside to know it’s time to get in the truck and go to work. Then during the day I watch the buoys drop from time to time on the computer, down a foot, down a foot, yellow disappears and is replaced by hues of green. Then close to quitting time I’m like, “You idiot. You should have brought C-1. It’s getting smaller.” I arrive and it is smaller. Very much so smaller. Small enough to want to have a 7-2 with me instead of the 7-11. Small and weird enough looking so that there are only four people in the lineup and I’ll make five. The swell is a bit torn up and is laced with cross chop from the outgoing tide, making it very difficult to take off on the 7-11, and had I had a 7-2, it would have been a far easier endeavor to hook into a wave between chop and boils and second lips, etc. Plus it had almost a southern hemi feel to it and was breaking in the middle-outside and to the north, and I was having a hard time adjusting to that angle for some reason. It was mostly lefts. After three waves, I knew it was just a matter of time before I nose dived 7-11, something that is very easy to do because it is such a flat board in the nose. Then of course it comes - the self-fulfilling prophecy. Nose dive at the bottom of a steep one. The set takes out everyone else. When I come up, it’s only me and one other guy left for the rest of the night. I am the last one out of the water and up the stairs in nearly pitch blackness. My truck is the only vehicle on the street.
- cliff