I woke up at 5:30 with a burning throat, and my dreams of a Malibu morning with surf coach Siordia, who was already camped out in the bed of his truck on PCH looking at First Point, quickly faded back into my bed.
Being sick succcckkkkkksssssss. Â But no matter, the ocean still rules. Â I clambered into Brothers Burritos at 8 a.m. for some tackling fuel – really good coffee and conversation with the surf family. Â They were all there — Jose Barahona, Frank Paine, Boris Vishnevsky, Clark McTaggart, and Michael (Max) Leko… and a few more that grace the burrito palace on the daily.
After a while of clowning around with the fam, Max (my new roomie) and I geared up to hit the pacific, and as we got down to the sand, laid our eyes on some well overhead walls reaching towards the top of the pier pilings. Only one other person out, we hit the sea for some ocean roomie bonding time. Â I set a few lines on some magnificent monsters, and on the process lost my hat, knowing it would show up on shore and I’d find it in the breakers. The persisten burn in my throat and call of responsibilities pulled my feet to the sand, where I in fact did not find my hat. This being the second hat ever that I’ve truly lost to the sea, it was now serving as a sacrifice to the sea gods – specifically for epic waves and for this sickness to pass soon.
