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Old 08-17-2011, 11:04 PM   #2
WilliamDafoe's Avatar
Join Date: Jul 2011
Posts: 521
Well I too have a story

It's been 7 weeks since my last surf.

It was hard to convince myself to go today. The report said 2-3', and you never know if that means closer to 1' or 4'. I decided to chance it and had a really nice afternoon - it was about 3 - 4' with some bigger sets, and the water packed a real punch. (I need to stop trying to block waves with my head! I have a knack for placing myself exactly in the impact zone.) I messed up the timing with the tides, but it worked out totally fine.

I was shocked when I first pulled into town -- it was mobbed. I guess I haven't been to the coast on a summer weekend for a long time. My work schedule used to give me Fridays off, so I would always try to avoid surfing on the weekends. I stopped by the surf shop to say hi to the owner and got a big hug right when I walked in. I can't tell you how much I appreciated that. He immediately said, "It's a zoo today. Park there (gesturing to one of the four or so parking spaces they have at the shop) and suit up." While I was putting on my gear, a woman around my age or (god, I hope) slightly older started talking with me. She and her husband are from B.C., and they had rented gear and were headed up to my regular spot. She asked if it was my first time surfing, and I said no, but that I'm a beginner. She said, "Today is my first time." What could I do? My response was, "Well, this is going to be the best day of your life."

The shop owner told me to avoid the cove because of the crowds, and he had me leave my car and just walk a bit to another break. I was scurrrred! I've never surfed anywhere in Oregon but my little cove. But I went for it -- great location, but much more public than I'm used to, which freaked me out. I had to do some serious self-talk, but it was worth it.

So here's the thing: Not one other person was in the ocean as far as I could see. No one. Gorgeous sunny day, people were actually sun bathing (damn, that water was cold, though - instant ice cream headache), and I was literally the only person, surfer or other, in the water. NUTS! I'm telling you -- this is why I can't imagine learning to surf anywhere else. After about 1.5 hours, 3 kids with boards got in the water about 100 yards away from me. That's it. Amazing. (But I can guarantee you that cove was bursting with surfers, SUPs, and kayaks.)

I had a good time today. I had some good, long rides - smooth, curvy, scootching up and down the board. Beautiful hanging out, too-good-to-be-true, long rides. I went for a lot of green and got only one small one -- I cannot figure out green waves and it's really tough. I took a lot on my belly and knees (at least, until the wipeouts) and it helps to do that to get the feel of them, but I just can't take the drop on my feet and figure it out. I don't know; I know it doesn't taking "figuring". I've been here before. But it's really frustrating me.

I surfed for a while and then paddled way out, past even where the green waves formed, and just floated. It had gotten glassy in between sets and the sun was beating down -- it was so beautiful. I was sitting on my board, just trying to process some heavy **** I've been going through, but things kept bringing me back to the present. Either the sun reflecting on the water, or a couple of times a perfectly round head popping up 10ish yards away from me (! - a sea lion was surfing with me!) -- something would cause me to lose my train of thought and come back to the present. Over and over. So I would just watch the water and feel its rhythm under me and stay in the moment. It's really one of the many gifts of surfing: an inability to be anywhere but right here, right now.

When I was finally done, I huffed it back to the surf shop, board on head, and was met by the owner. He asked how it was, and I asked why in the hell I've been dealing with the crowds at the cove this whole time. He said, "Yeah, we keep this spot to ourselves." Consider my mouth shut. Awesome day gets better? He showed me the secret warm outdoor shower he has around the side of the shop and told me I could use it. I mean, honestly. My "shower" usually consists of me dumping a gallon of water from an old plastic milk jug over my head, à la Flashdance, in the parking lot at the cove. Nice to drive home less of a mess than usual.

It was a really beautiful day and I feel like my little heart hasn't even grasped the beauty of it. I'm super grateful to have gotten out today, and for the kindness of the shop owner.


In Britain’s Isle, no matter where,
An ancient pile of buildings stands:
The Huntingdons and Hattons there
Employ’d the power of Fairy hands

To raise the ceiling’s fretted height,
Each pannel in achievements cloathing,
Rich windows that exclude the light,
And passages, that lead to nothing.

Full oft within the spacious walls,
When he had fifty winters o’er him,
My grave Lord-Keeper1 led the Brawls;
The Seal, and Maces, danc’d before him.

His bushy beard, and shoe-strings green,
His high-crown’d hat, and satin-doublet,
Mov’d the stout heart of England’s Queen,
Tho’ Pope and Spaniard could not trouble it.

What, in the very first beginning!
Shame of the versifying tribe!
Your Hist’ry whither are you spinning?
Can you do nothing but describe?

A House there is, (and that’s enough)
From whence one fatal morning issues
A brace of Warriors, not in buff,
But rustling in their silks and tissues.

The first came cap-a-pee from France
Her conqu’ring destiny fulfilling,
Whom meaner beauties eye askance,
And vainly ape her art of killing.

The other Amazon kind heaven
Had armed with spirit, wit, and satire:
But COBHAM had the polish given
And tip’d her arrows with good-nature.

To celebrate her eyes, her air -
Coarse panegyricks would but teaze her.
Melissa is her Nom de Guerre.
Alas, who would not wish to please her!

With bonnet blue and capucine,
And aprons long they hid their armour,
And veil’d their weapons bright and keen
In pity to the country-farmer.

Fame, in the shape of Mr. Purt,
(By this time all the parish know it)
Had told, that thereabouts there lurk’d
A wicked Imp they call a Poet,

Who prowl’d the country far and near,
Bewitch’d the children of the peasants,
Dried up the cows, and lam’d the deer,
And suck’d the eggs and kill’d the pheasants.

My Lady heard their joint petition,
Swore by her coronet and ermine,
She’d issue out her high commission
To rid the manour of such vermin.

The Heroines undertook the task,
Thro’ lanes unknown, o’er stiles they ventur’d,
Rap’d at the door nor stay’d to ask,
But bounce into the parlour enter’d.

The trembling family they daunt,
They flirt, they sing, they laugh, they tattle,
Rummage his Mother, pinch his Aunt,
And up stairs in a whirlwind rattle.

Each hole and cupboard they explore,
Each creek and cranny of his chamber,
Run hurry-skurry round the floor,
And o’er the bed and tester clamber,

Into the Drawers and China pry,
Papers and books, a huge Imbroglio!
Under a tea-cup he might lie,
Or creased, like dogs-ears, in a folio.

On the first marching of the troops
The Muses, hopeless of his pardon,
Convey’d him underneath their hoops
To a small closet in the garden.

So Rumour says. (Who will, believe.)
But that they left the door a-jarr,
Where, safe and laughing in his sleeve,
He heard the distant din of war.

Short was his joy. He little knew
The power of Magick was no fable.
Out of the window, whisk, they flew,
But left a spell upon the table.

The words too eager to unriddle,
The poet felt a strange disorder:
Transparent birdlime form’d the middle,
And chains invisible the border.

So cunning was the Apparatus,
The powerful pothooks did so move him,
That, will he, nill he, to the Great-house
He went, as if the Devil drove him.

Yet on his way (no sign of grace,
For folks in fear are apt to pray)
To Phoebus he prefer’d his case,
And begged his aid that dreadful day.

The Godhead would have back’d his quarrel,
But, with a blush on recollection,
Own’d that his quiver and his laurel
’Gainst four such eyes were no protection.

The Court was sate, the Culprit there,
Forth from their gloomy mansions creeping
The Lady Janes and Joans repair,
And from the gallery stand peeping:

Such as in silence of the night
Come (sweep) along some winding entry
(Styack2 has often seen the sight)
Or at the chappel-door stand sentry;

In peaked hoods and mantles tarnish’d,
Sour visages, enough to scare ye,
High dames of honour once, that garnish’d
The drawing-room of fierce Queen Mary.

The Peeress comes. The Audience stare,
And doff their hats with due submission:
She curtsies, as she takes her chair,
To all the people of condition.

The bard with many an artful fib,
Had in imagination fenc’d him,
Disproved the arguments of Squib,3
And all that Groom4 could urge against him.

But soon his rhetorick forsook him,
When he the solemn hall had seen;
A sudden fit of ague shook him,
He stood as mute as poor Macleane.5

Yet something he was heard to mutter,
‘‘How in the park beneath an old-tree
(Without design to hurt the butter,
Or any malice to the poultry,)

‘‘He once or twice had pen’d a sonnet;
Yet hop’d that he might save his bacon:
Numbers would give their oaths upon it,
He ne’er was for a conj’rer taken.’’

The ghostly Prudes with hagged face
Already had condemn’d the sinner.
My Lady rose, and with a grace -
She smiled, and bid him come to dinner.

‘‘Jesu-Maria! Madam Bridget,
Why, what can the Viscountess mean?’’
(Cried the square Hoods in woeful fidget)
‘‘The times are altered quite and clean!

‘‘Decorum’s turned to mere civility;
Her air and all her manners show it.
Commend me to her affability!
Speak to a Commoner and Poet!’’

And so God save our noble King,
And guard us from long-winded Lubbers,
That to eternity would sing,
And keep my Lady from her Rubbers.

Last edited by Mike Haven; 02-20-2013 at 10:35 AM. Reason: 2 posts merged
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