None Shall Pass

Anticipating a small window of opportunity, my brother G and I headed out Sunday at 6 a.m. in hopes of catching a brief reprieve in the otherwise stormy winter conditions that have been hitting Oregon lately.

Lack of surf and the inevitable jonzing-induced optimism that comes with it, prohibited us from reading any writing on the wall with regards to the realistic potential for surfable surf. Perhaps our most telltale sign that today was not the day to go surfing was the big branch that had fallen across our usual path to the beach.

Not to be deterred, G and I pressed on until we reached our usual spot-check point. With dense fog covering the entire beach, spot-checking had to take on the sonic varietal.

“Definitely sounds like there are waves.” Said G.

Giving new meaning to “You gotta go to know”, G and I suited up and paddled out into the abyss. There were definitely waves - an endless wall of 15 footers and white water to be precise. We made it no further than the inside reforms.

Adding injury to insult, my bro’s “wave”-of-the-day ended with him being surprised to see me emerge from the white water which caused him to accidentally shot the nose of his board into the side of my face in an effort not to run me over. God bless the 5-mil hoody.