Interesting letters....

I originally wrote this blog for my 10 or so friends I keep in touch with.
They are scattered around.
Easy to update.

At first
they were the only people reading.

At first.

Now random people write me letters.

I never write back.
And none of the writers have ever mentioned their real name.

Blogging feels ridiculously narcissistic.
Getting a little old already.
I was just curious how blogging worked?

SO...
One day I posted a few photos of beautiful surf of my home.

I was born and raised here.
This is my home.
25 years of cold water.
Tried to leave twice.
Came back.
5 of those years I was out of the water from a back injury from dropping in on to rock.
Feet first.
Compression of the spine.
Gained 30 pounds.
Lost it riding a bike along the beach.
I still live with the bulging discs.

Another 4 years kept me out because of surfer's ear.

I was out for 9 years.
Spent a winter in Mexico kitesurfing.
Got back in shape and ready to paddle back out.

Got back on my surfboard 2 years ago.
Still nursing the back.
But I am in the best shape of my life mentally, physically, spiritually---literally.
People don't recognize me.
New 'locals' stink eye me.
Strange.

Every once and a while an old timer tilts his head and puts it together.
They say the same thing every time.
'you look so different?'

It's the only place that many of us would even want to be a surfer.
Still amazed by our place---every day.
The most heavily localized point break and stretch of sand on the west coast.

The history here goes way back.
Way before John Mel set up a surf shop on Hwy 101.
Way before he moved to Santa Cruz and birthed Peter Mel---famed mavericks madman.
The history here is deeper than surfing.
This is the oldest city on the entire west coast.
My grandfather and great uncle worked at the shingle mill in Astoria back in the late 1920's.
My great grandfather fished here in the 1800's.
They came over from Scandanavia.
They watched the same waves.
Walked the same sand.
Tried to catch the same elusive salmon.
Too cool.

So I got a few letters.
About those photos of our sacred spot.

And yep.
You are right.
It's true.
Bad bad idea.
It's like bitching about people hitting on your girlfriend
and then putting nude pictures of her all over the internet.

I whine about crowded surf.
And post a photo to contribute to it.

The saying is true.
"Some excitement is meant only to be contained."

So no more surf porn of the sacred.
Pics are removed.

And this must be what blogging is all about.
Called out on my own bullshit.

Thanks anonymous writers.

Point taken.

Investing time--- for free time gain

Two days.
Six hours.
28 waves the first day.
39 waves the next.
Paddling.
Paddling.
Paddling.

Feels great to be sore.

But why were there 15 guys out in the lineup at 2:00 in the afternoon on a Wednesday.
Unemployment sucks.
Makes the lineup grow.
Too many 20 somethings in the water.
Don't they have jobs?

Last year, this time, there were only 5 guys out at best.
Welcome to the future.

The better the wetsuits....the bigger the lineup.


Oh yeah.
I am a commercial fisherman.
Decided that I wanted to do it---not so much for the money.
I did it for the adventure...and to prove to myself I could---with no experience.

A 30 something who found a seasonal job that lets me surf from October to February.
The real surfing season.

But I need to get back to 'getting ready for' work.
39 days till the season starts.
39 days till I permanently affix the family size Dawn liquid soap bottle in the shower.
The ultimate degreaser---de fish oiler.

39 days to get the boat ready for every potential mishap.

Last year...the alternator went out at 2 in the morning.
Not a soul in site for miles.
It's like sitting alone in a graveyard as the fog rolls in.

Oh yes.
The prop fell off 3 times last season.
Nothing like hitting the accelerator and not moving....at around 1 in the morning.
Wondering if you can get anyone on the radio who is willing to lose the rest of the night of fishing just to 'help a guy out'?

Ran out of gas a few times due to a faulty fuel gauge.
Too embarrassing to ask for help.
Just sit and wait.
Till someone calls you.
"How's the fishin'?"
And you humbly admit.
They laugh.
And then they come help you.
Pity tow.

Oh yes.
A few things to fix.
Or I will suffer more ego blows.

But most certainly
something will still go wrong...
when least expected.

Such is commercial fishing.

But today.
It's really hard to keep my mind straight.
Too many clean lines rolling in from the horizon.

More coffee.
And stick my head down in the engine.
No duck diving today.

Insuring another year.
Fishing all summer and surfing all winter.