every blessing holds a curse
This web site is a massive cope. It’s a “screw you” letter to the thing I most liked doing in my life — surfing — which now represents an oppressive chore, a pool of guilt, anxiety, and regret. Why? First, because I’m well out of my prime, and racked with injuries. It kind of sucks…
David Donovan’s number was called next. Donovan was around six feet tall and slim. He carried himself with a quiet confidence, and was a respectable regular in the N Street lineup. He wasn’t antisocial per se, but at the same time it was not uncommon to see him sitting off on a little side peak…
December 1994 was the best month of surf I’ve ever seen at Ocean Beach. It was double-triple overhead+ for three weeks straight with consistent, moderate offshores and well-groomed sandbars. Mavericks was breaking for much of that month too. The last week of that three-week stretch was particularly notable: Monday was “Jay Day” at Mavs, with…
Trevor and Chase jogged down to the edge of the water, clean white boards under right arms, fins back and facing in. They stretched and did a few twisting warmups, then launched into the relentless, pounding shorebreak, eventually fighting their way through to the long, roiling middle section, where you could sort of catch your…