There is a humming inside my body right now. I am sitting perfectly still, composing my thoughts upon an electronic version of a white sheet of paper. And yet, my body is humming and purring. Finally, finally I get what I have been waiting for almost an entire year. A full on Northern California pummel swell came straight out of the turbulent waters south and slightly west of the Aluetian Island chain. With a wide fetch, lots of sustained winds, and miles of oceanic grooming, the lines came charging into the Northern California area starting on Sunday. I have been on a non-stop wave festival rollercoaster ever since. And with more swell on the charts, my main concern is fixing my fin box that broke today during my marathon session at Ocean Beach.


In a twist of strange irony, the Coldwater Classic was being held in Santa Cruz at Steamer Lane over the weekend. Without a trace of winds well in the water prior to the macker that lit up the buoys Sunday morning, the preliminary rounds were a great disappointment to not only the surfers but also to the fans. They moved the contest up to Waddell Creek for the days leading up to the weekend semifinals hoping for some little waist high air festival or something of this nature.

But then came the finals . . . how would you like to be surfing jenky, crappy one foot wind slop for two days, trying so hard to manufacture some sort of speed and continuity to your surfing, and then BOOM the last day of the contest it goes way over ten foot. The buoys at Half Moon Bay were 17 feet at 18 seconds, and that is a real deal, hopefully more than a few times a year kind of swell.


Well, I wasn't about to sit and watch other surfers enjoy this feast of power from the sea, and I headed north with my camera and board, hoping to catch this swell with my body and my aperture device. I was not disappointed. They were towing in at one spot on the coast north of Santa Cruz. Watching from the beach and trying to muster the guts to paddle out on my ridiculously under-gunned 7'6 fun shape, I saw a set that changed my mind from considering it to moving on to another location. The tow crew had the grown men giddy as schoolboys. They were zipping around on these monstrous faces, not worrying about the paddle aspect, and just having a nice sunny day at the beach afterwards -- complete with BBQ, stereo, and some icy cold ones. Kind of like high skill skiers chilling on the patio at the lodge after successfully descending the most difficult run on the mountain. With a tow up the hill and provided you don't fall, there is no consequence. But paddle surfing is a different story; you have to face the music constantly during your session.

I faced the music just up the road at another point break. It was by far the biggest I have ever surfed this particular location, and the drops were ledge-like the closer to the point that you dared to go. I was content trying to snag the wide-swingers that closed out the initial peak. Can you say maxed out? My fun shape was chattering down the face of some of these behemoths, barely holding in with the tremendous amount of speed generated on the drop-in. Yes! I am alive! There is a Poseidon, and he is pissed off!

ER Harris