It’s tough being the first North swell of the season. There you are, frisking about up around Alaska, waving at the polar bears, tossing a few boats around, making the cruise director queasy.
Meanwhile, down in Cali, everyone’s watching you. They’ve seen your picture, they know what you look like. You’re a sexy swirling thing, twisting the night away for the satellite cameras. Smile, say cheese. You’re the blip on a graph, the hump of the curve, passing through the wires from screen to glowing screen.
Everyone knows you’re out there. Everyone knows you’re coming. They’re putting their racks on the car, planning vacation days, and stopping by the beach every hour.
Is it here yet? Is it showing?
But it’s a long way to Cali, and you’re starting to feel lazy. You make a stop by Santa Cruz. Everyone is so glad to see you. It’s nice. But it’s such a tiresome business being a swell. You have to work so hard to make the perfect peaks. Too many lulls, and you’re judged a fizzle.
Then, the wind picks up, and you’re thinking is it really worth the trouble? Down South, they’re still waiting for you.
So much pressure.
Today was the day. A north swell, bringing surf galore was supposed to roll into town, which is an unusual thing for October. So far, nothing. Here and there, a hint, a teaser, but no waves. It’s nice to know some things are still unpredictable.
Still, I think I’ll go for a little bike ride. And I’ll make sure to pass by the beach.
Because you just never know.