Team Shredder

and a pink and blue sunset. Literally and symbolically. 20-30 good waves, 4-5 being mad, and only about 2 had to be shared. Even that was fun, because they were nice people. No choad to be seen, for they were all watching the dumb game. I love football season.

The swell
was disappointing in that I caught it too late, at high tide. Big yet rolly polly waves as fat and mushy as Tony Baloney after two weeks of debauchery in NY. Getting out of shape happens fast now, but in my animal kingdom of surfing it's mostly mental. I felt an inner weakness somehow, an inability to get with the energy and groove of the big rollers. Hidden Dragon ditched me and was replaced by Weirdly Nervous Gelatinous Blob, which would be fine if I weren't also on my rag. On rag=off balance, plus WNGB, so 99 out of 100 waves were missed.
I broke the rule of never turning my back to the ocean, who knows why, perhaps to look sadly toward the shore, thinking I'd have to paddle in. One never paddles in. One never walks down the hill with toboggan left behind, why would one paddle in? When I turned back around to face the mocking rollers, I got smacked in the face with the crazy red, pictured above. How could I not start laughing?! I'm only a person.
When the red simmered down to a non-distracting level, yet it wasn't too dark, a roller finally let me in. It lumbered along for a while, then hit a shallower spot and reformed to a steeper, faster, shoulder-high semi-mad ride. A right, all the way to the parking lot.