Beach Bum

I learned new words today.

Gnarly. As in the surf is kinda gnarly, coming in from all angles.
Tubes. As in those tubes are really hollow today, you can surf right through them.
Rips. As in rip-currents.
Fun boards. Some kinda surf-board.
Sets. Series, ridges of waves, as in 'past the second set of breakers is where you want to be to catch the tubes.'

I learned this and more hanging with Josh, whom I met on the #48 bus. Gets your attention when a guy has a 6 foot pointy surf-board on the bus.

We hung out at Ocean Beach, surfer talk suddenly becoming surprisingly *relevant*.

He gave me info on Hawai'i, I gave him info on getting a laptop, so that he can check surfing conditions.

For such a warm and calm day, the surf was surprisingly ROUGH, the surfers having a hard time geting past the surf and breakers.

Apparently the swells were coming in from.... Japan.

Yup, these swells were the remnants of a tropical depression that had hit Japan a week ago, taking all that time to travel across the ocean.

The result was 10-15 foot breakers and surf that was pounding so that you couldnt hear any other sound more than 5 feet away while on the beach.

I havent paddled in sea water since Florida, so it was kinda nice to put my tootsies in the surf.

According to Josh, the water was relatively balmy at... 57 degrees.

Once you got used to it, not so bad, but the surfers had wetsuits on.

Cold. And the breakers were washing surf all the way to my knees, my pants are still soaked.
----
Pounding surf.

Surf POUNDING, man.

Surf 8 feet high. Punding with a profundo that you could feel up in your chest.

Thats what I felt just now at SF's favorite beach, Baker Beach, in sight of the Golden Gate bridge at the presidio headlands.

I was humming the Hawaii Five-Oh theme as the surf exploded in the sun. :-)

There is a nude beach there.

There were nude people there. Lotta topless warming on the sand.

I had a blast just standing in knee dep surf watching the scenery.

Then the fog started rolling in.

And an old guy, 6 foot five and nekkid except for a straw hat walked past me into the surf.

That was my signal to go.

I walked up to the road with the forlorn toots of fog horns from the mutitude of boats large and small frantically trying not hit each other in the sudden fog blanket that obscured the theretofore clear bridge and land.

The surf still pounding in my ears.

Even now, at the Apple store.

My skin tastes of salt.

And I feel good.