The Endless Winter

Perhaps the most notable surf film is Bruce Brown's The Endless Summer. It follows a pair of surfers as they travel around the world in the 1960's chasing after waves in remote locations. The idea is that a surfer's paradise is an endless summer of good waves.

It was hot in P-town this weekend. It has also been far too long since I hit the beach for a surf session. We made a late start of it, but left town before noon today to hit up one of my favorite spots, Indian Head in Ecola State Park just north of Cannon Beach.

I have frequented this spot in the fantastic fall, wicked winters, and even the sloppy spring. Often I have found myself alone in the surf, braving the breaking waves with no back-up in case of an emergency. While rare, shark attacks do occur in Oregon and a good number of them have happened around Cannon Beach (though usually closer to the plentiful feeding grounds of Haystack Rock). Another danger is a rip on the north end of the beach that can drag unaware surfers out to sea. It has happened and is one of the most expensive helicopter rides around if the Coast Guard saves your ass. The rip is most prevalent in winter.

Today as we entered the park it was posted, "Indian Beach Parking FULL." I purchased a State Parks season pass (something I've been meaning to do) and inquired about the parking. They were allowing vehicles to cue on the road. When a car leaves, another could enter. With only six vehicles in line, I chose to wait. The wait was relatively short.

At least it seemed shorter than the line for the bathroom once we parked. I held onto the dog while waiting for my wife to use the facilities. I also needed to pee, but decided to wait and do it surfer style.

Pissing in your wetsuit in the cold water is actually quite pleasant. A good wetsuit will distribute that warmth around your body in the ice cold water of the Oregon coast. It doesn't take long for the heat to dissipate and the urine to be flushed away. It's a wet suit.

The line up was remarkably small. Only a couple dozen surfers out. Lots of room for everyone. I waded chest deep, wet myself, paddled out, and caught some powerful white wash back in. Not a bad way to start the day.

Still, I found myself longing for the cold and rainy days of the autumn and winter. A few explorers on the beach, maybe a couple of guys in the water, and no need to fight for a wave. Plenty for everyone.

I'm getting better. I can no longer call myself the world's worst surfer. In that mush I managed to grab rides. That feels good.

I rode a wave back to shore and saw all of the families littering my usually empty beach. Kids running around, playing in the sand and the waves. Parents looking after them. At least they were actually watching their kids. Not caring much if they got in the way of a wave rider, but watching. As I pulled my board out of the water and headed back to my bag for a drink, I remembered my board's art. I've been riding on this girl for so long and so often in such a small line-up, I had forgotten all about my not-so-family-friendly art work. I chuckled. This was my beach. They were only using it for the summer.

After a quick break I paddled back out into white wash. Mush. You can ride mush, but it isn't as much fun as the face of a breaking wave. Everything went calm. The sea turned to a sheet of beautiful green glass. A set was coming. I couldn't see them yet, but I knew they were coming.

The first few broke far away. Perfect green curls a few feet high. Not superb, but easily the best of the day. The next couple were closer, but I still could not catch them. I saw it rise. This one was mine. It was going to break right where I wanted it to. Everyone else had vacated the mush leaving me with the pure glass perfection. I paddled, it lifted, I slid down the face and rode it in to the beach where the livestock roamed. Not daring. Not caring.

My beach. My wave. I looked back at a sea full of mush, dreaming of an endless winter.

* I actually love summer. It is my favorite season in Oregon. Just not for surfing.