Its quite hard to run at the moment, there's a wolf on my ankle

She strutted into the room with a confidence and smile that only people of the roaming variety find utterly inescapable. My boredom levels had reached new lows, and even the pleasure of masturbation had reached a dreary end several days ago in the dark, rank room i called home. So the twinkle in her eye that hinted at unwitting fear yet a strange fondness for what she saw took me to a sordid place that scared even myself. I lit a cigarette.

The distinct lack of self-preservation and a motivation to escape reality led me to a place that only a few know. I ended up viciously savaging her against the wall in the room, as her own morbidly innocent soul watched on. 

As we lay under the umbrella of release, the rain showers of shame and regret began to pepper down harder and harder, threatening to break through the thin veil we had created over ourselves in those moments of passion. As she asked my name, a lingering urge to run suddenly to became hard to ignore. And so i did just that.... ,

Running came naturally to me, as im always on a vector to escape. Not in any drug sense where im looking to move on from reality for a while, but in that there is the generic nomad in my heart looking to move back into the permanent chase of something i didnt know i was looking for. Woman were a distraction through time and usually for money spent, all for the greater cause of keeping me lucidly sane in this sickeningly sordid world we live in post-2000 AD: The great millennium of our lord, as any religious zealot may hint at.

My deepest dream

This is my deepest dream, yet i still remain. Do i remain as my own, or do i follow? I hadnt yet discovered anything that truly held me on a single line, my magnetism wasn't north or south; one days pleasure became the nexts pain. It wasn't much of a stretch then to see i was diverging from my own reality trying to appoint myself onto a line I couldn't quite find, or even name. I was beginning to feel that things would drift away from me faster and faster the longer i put things off. A friend had told me once that 'joyous be the man that earns from his hobby'. Stupidly i had laughed at this little antiquated piece of wisdom, not seeing it as wisdom in the moment. I had only remembered this one amazing piece when i began to reach my lowest. Pain and wisdom were the worlds purest symbiotic relationship, one doesn't exist without the other. Pain experienced in reality outputs wisdom through abstract or lessons learnt, and wisdom causes pain in its transit to giving its greatest gift: peace. Peace is founded on love, and love is our greatest treasure. Something which we have to go to battle to earn.

Ever since my Birthday all those years ago i had woken during nights, struggling with my breath, anxious that the next day would bring something else to give me pain. Now i would wake in fear of letting go of all i had been given and achieved, to give it all up and chase something i didn't even know i wanted to chase! Am i still breathing while i believe that this is all it can be? 

And so, i live in the fear that my masterpiece can start with a single stroke, or die with one.

How can i just keep breathing...

Understanding the masterpiece that we can never grow to be

Its hard to establish, but everyone has a Treasure to search for. Trying to take it, it slips from our grasp; trying to look for it in front of us, it moves to our periphery; trying to run after it, it becomes a singular point of the horizon line. A treasure is something to imagine, enjoy in abstract. Very rare is it for a person to win their treasure. Most chase and reach it, to feel it at their finger tips, only to give up at the point of contact. Its is a humans greatest fear, to attain what they've always wanted. 

Some see what they want to see, others hear what they want to hear. Perception in a heartbeat, a sole shift to believe in our own thoughts. This is why we cannot find our treasures. But they lie not in the abstract world that is full of dreams, yet in the very real void we cannot fill completely. To follow an abstract so completely, yet to remain grounded in reality; this is our saviour, and yet will be our eternal dilemma.

My friend Joseph didnt seem to mind sitting around saying nothing. Hed just sit on my couch, doing a crossword or sending messages to girls he was trying to scam in on. He always seemed to have one that was of interest...and in spite of him saying very little while he was with me, he seemed to have an amazing grasp of vocal interaction on the occasions i had seen him chase a female around. Maybe that was the trick, save the few meaningful words you had for something important, instead of wasting them on trivial social matters.

Despite the lack of communication, we seemed to get on rather well, given that i couldnt talk, and he wouldnt talk. Most things were done in a poetic manner, lunch was decided by a flick of a finger, bar visits usually prescribed by a flick of the head to the door and any acknowledgment of a good looking female was left to a raising of the eyebrows followed by a smile by the receiving party. I was beginning to think that our covert communication was developing an almost criminal element to it, given how discrete and unassuming it was. Little did we know.

A day late in May, Joseph and i were sitting in our favourite little bar, when a couple of men walked in, rather unassuming looking, though in hindsight it would seem the worst people usually are. They have made an art of looking nonchalant about their indiscretions. Joseph was a good friend to have in this town because he was the main marketing man for the local newspaper. Everyone knew him by name, everyone liked him and everyone trusted him. He knew a lot of things before they became public knowledge, if they ever did, and as such i was also always privy to them. Hed send me mail with all manner of ridiculous happenings in the nearby counties.

As closed knit was our bubble in the world, i always felt that i had a connection to hidden things that linked our bubble with others. When my hands became dirty, i could wash them in the knowledge that other people had experienced similar things. These little treasured thoughts made me feel as if i was part of something bigger. I never communicated my desire to search for something outside of the bubble i lived in, and never heard my friend Joseph say anything similar. These men walked in a manner which said they were different, they were hunters. Not in the strict sense of the word, more in the sense that they were searching for something that was always just beyond their grasp. Like all people driven to achieve something from an early age, they were never satisfied with their catch. One benchmark begets another. I could see it in their eyes. 

Walking down streets i knew so well, i would often see people i didn't know, but they all had a familiar look of sadness. It would only form in little registers: a passive turn of the lip ,a vagrant flick of an eye, a downcast look. I had seen the same thing in my own face when looking at myself. Sometimes i would spend hours looking into the mirror, wondering what kept my sadness so well hidden, but let it escape in moments of lapse. Was i really just another pained human walking around with no idea what my treasure was, or if id ever find it.

We all wanted to be something when we were younger, floating through the easy phase of life with a wisdom beyond our experiences, a wisdom that we would never be able to express. And as age slowly grips us, and society expects us to be a reality, we find we cannot love as we really were made to, with intent. And we lose our desire and our capability to be the abstract we wanted to be. The abstract isn't even a profession or a position in society. Its more arcane, its uniquely primitive and sophisticated at once. Its what we describe as love.

Most people believe they have it. They give their souls in the name of it. People will sacrifice their own well-being and lives in the name of it. They will destroy the chance to find their treasure in the name of it. But they dont have it. How can any man expect to take care of others, if they cannot take care of themselves. 

This love is a mask, these people wear a mask of love. The face value is the same, and it tastes just as sweet. But like all candy, its taste disappears as time goes on. The sweetness becomes boring, and boredom reflects itself with sadness. Even under our umbrella, as we try to love, and be loved, we are destroying what we wish we had. We give up on our treasure, and we become another crack in the mirror we look through.

We destroy our masterpiece with a single stroke, the stroke we laid first.

Chapter 1 of many

            I was guilty of having something at my fingertips, only to let it disembark across the sea, across the horizon. Treasures have a tendency to sail, as winds have a tendency to blow. The key is not resigning ourselves to the 'such is life' mantra.

No amount of internal dialogue was going to solve these circulating problems, most of which were rather trivial issues in the world most people live in, but for some odd reason were causing major problems in mine. 

A person id once known was quite wise in issueing me with several ethical themes to try and complete my circular behaviour. I always felt that i was missing something that completed the circle. Never sure whether it was one thing or several, i would regularly spend days trying to conclude which little pieces of the puzzle were missing. It always turned out to be centred around this replacement i was searching for. Places id been and people id met all didn't matter when i imagined my circle being completed with the missing radial. 

One morning late in June, just after id turned 5, my father entered my bedroom with his hand on his belt. Nothing about the movements of the man were overly violent, and nothing about his rants indicated anything that would seem suspicious of a violent tenure, but once a day he removed his belt and hit me once for every year i was old. It was this reason that birthdays seemed an annoyance to me. I cried for several minutes, and then continued on with my day. I hardly spoke to people. I spent most of my time playing with a small camera i had found in my mothers box of belongings. Something about freezing moments of goodness seemed to offset the dark cloud forever following me after i woke up. I sat in the corner and looked at several of the pictures i had taken the day before; a bee, a sunset, some people playing on the swings down the road. Trivial things apparently.

They only mattered to me.

How i became the person i am now is a mystery. I hadnt truelly spoken to anyone since the day i found out the truth about my mother. 15 years without a word. What was communication when it had no meaning? Meaningless words...

This is a story of how i came to talk again.

Treasures

Its hard to establish, but everyone has a Treasure to search for. Trying to take it, it slips from our grasp; trying to look for it in front of us, it moves to our periphery; trying to run after it, it becomes a singular point of the horizon line. A treasure is something to imagine, enjoy in abstract. Very rare is it for a person to win their treasure. Most chase and reach it, to feel it at their finger tips, only to give up at the point of contact. Its is a humans greatest fear, to attain what they've always wanted. 

Some see what they want to see, others hear what they want to hear. Perception in a heartbeat, a sole shift to believe in our own thoughts. This is why we cannot find our treasures. They lie not in the abstract world that is full of dreams, but in the very real void we cannot fill completely. To follow an abstract so completely, yet to remain grounded in reality. This is our saviour, and yet will be our eternal dilemma.

Big Sunday

Wind of a major swell moving across the North pacific is always greeted with excitement and anxiety. Excitement for the potential endorphin rushes, anxiety for the potential beatings. Such a major storm started off as a tropical cyclone in the western pacific last week, morphing into a very intense storm west of the dateline; strong enough even that NOAA called it the strongest storm in 3 years for the north pacific. What transpired was a deep water, super long period swell sent filtering east through the ocean, destination: California.

Deepwater forerunners started hitting the 750mile buoy at around 1pm on friday afternoon. 4ft at 26seconds, which over the course of the next 24 hours jumped to a solid 10ft at 23seconds, though from the looks of the buoys it was very very lully, with multiple reading (done hourly) only showing around 5ft at 23seconds. Whilst this total height is nothing spectacular, the massive swell period equates to these waves heaving enough energy stored underwater to triple in height at select deepwater surf spots. Such was the case where i was heading.

Everything was aligning: winds were perfect, tides were perfect, swell was - although somewhat lully - PERFECT!

I started the drive up north at around 9am from San Diego, pulling out all the usual chat, starbucks coffee, heavy metal blaring at 140dB, and a beautiful 9'6 for company on the 6 hour drive. For those that have never driven the coast past Ventura, its a desolate, semi arid landscape filled with point breaks and long beaches, all looking heavenly under the Californian sun. Driving past the famous C-St right hand point in Ventura, i had timed it perfectly with what i later heard was the first set of the swell. Driving past the point at 80mph i saw 10-12 waves all stacked up perfectly down the point, catching everyone inside and each reeling (albeit a bit sectiony) for over half a mile! The heart went into double time and my right foot hit the floor!

Funnily enough, given the nature of the swell, the next hour along the coast saw absolutely NO waves, it was literally as flat as a lake. Amazing how oceanic energy works this way.

Arrival in morro bay 3 hours later i was feeling antsy and the heart was back to catatonic mode...whiling away the miles with the caffeine levels flat lining. I needed a source of joy, the only option was the ocean 10 miles away. What was over the hill?

Pulling into the national park at Montana de oro, i could see glassy conditions and unfathomably long swell lines. Heart rate jumped to 70.

Over the hills and far away, the park was packed with hippy bird watchers and college girls going for some Saturday afternoon exercise. Bar the hippy's, this place could be considered paradise. Never a dull moment in the park.

Driving over the last mound i sighted the wave i had come here for. A reef which stretches just over a half mile out to sea off of a point, a perfect big wave peak which at times is shifty, but can still deliver huge drops and short heavy sections before filtering into a deep water channel on either side. Though don't get this wrong, a heavy set in the head will see the unwitting man sent straight into the graveyard rocks on the inside, and a harrowing minute negotiating 20ft rocks whilst getting nailed by 10ft of whitewater.

No one was out, it was 10-12ft and glassy and perfect. After about 3 seconds consideration i was getting changed and running the mile through a beautiful shrub covered plateau to the cliff i had to scamper down to jump in the water. The paddle out is dry hair from inside the cove, all wave energy expelled on the outer reefs. After about a 20minute paddle (around a mile distance) I reached the line-up. It was flat as i approached the peak, and having never surfed the wave before i sat in the channel on the left, waiting for a set. I didn't have to wait long. Big boils and undulations in the surface prefaced the first sets arrival. The horizon went a beautiful shade of dark blue, and i sat steady waiting to see what these long period energies would do. 12-15 waves stood up perfectly as an A frame on the reef, all lined up out to sea waiting in queue for their chance at glory. Being out by myself i had no way of knowing how big it was, no frame of reference on the face. Because of this and not knowing the lineup, one wave that came through was bee-lining right for me. Id kind of paddled my way further into the line-up and one wave started to hit the second boil another 100m further out. A big green peak set against the oranges of the falling sun. I put my head down and powered out to sea, the 9'6" doing its magic through the line-up. I scratched over the wave to look down to my left at the peak pitch out onto the boil ridden flats in front of it, finally seeing the wave size for what it was. As the swell was only just starting to fill in, i was pretty excited for the next day, but today it was all about figuring out the line-up and which waves were the best to catch.

I waited over 40minutes for the next set, sitting out in the middle of the ocean and feeling about as calm as i had felt in the last few years. This truly was an amazing environment. My first set started stacking in from the north, feeling the other outer reef (which isn't a very good wave) about a mile north first. It was filling up the channel between the two reef and i had a feeling to paddle out a bit to the north to greet it. I was right, the first few waves bent in on the left right on top of me, i paddled over them to see a couple of smaller waves from my vantage point 20ft up, and was injected with a hit of adrenalin as i sighted a few very large ones behind them. Paddling at these waves, i spun under the second one and gunned it as hard as i could. The wave grabbed me and had me right on the top, but wouldn't let me in under the ledge. I paddled for two extra super deep strokes and felt the most unbelievable force jet me forward. I stood up and unconsciously heard myself say "holy fuck" to myself as i dropped straight down. Why my mind made me say that is beyond me, i certainly didn't commission it. Maybe it was my way of dealing with a situation i couldn't believe in was in. Bottom turning through the flats i looked up at a massive section about to land on me, i held on tight and powered through the whitewater, emerging into the channel and paddling back out to see 6 other wave do the exact same thing.

I spent the next 2 hours till sundown figuring out the boils and line-up markers, and trying to catch 2 waves in each 20 wave set that came through every 40minutes. In between the ocean was as flat as a lake. The duality of it was spellbinding.

I paddled in and got a ride back to my car from the park ranger who was carrying on about having not seen anyone paddle that reef for years. I too these pics almost on dark as a 25 wave set piled through, causing a huge plume of salt haze to drift along the coast.

Illegal reef

Sunday

Not much can be said for this, it was almost unspeakably magic. I surfed 6 hours with a friend of mine, amongst some of the biggest waves ive surfed to date. 4 hours in 3 tow teams turned up and ruined the tranquillity, noise pollution and a messy surface condition form all the ski wakes. However i did manage to get my biggest wave of the session during one set during this period. After waiting an hour and half for a big set out on the second boil, i monster came in from a more westerly direction. These were the ones which broke on the second boil and peeled along the left for longer, the section holding up for over  200metres.  A ski team was also eyeing up the left, but i started screaming at them and gesturing wildly, and the rider let go of the rope to give me right of way. I paddled hard against all instinct as this thing looked like it was going to break behind me, however just inside the boil it gave me a little chip in at the top and next thing i know i was faced with a massive green wall stretching FOREVER into the channel. I didn't think i was going to make it so i pulled up looking to pull through the back, however for some reason i turned at the top and wad fired out into the channel at about mach 8, my 9'6 positively humming with pride.

First sets of a beautiful day

A tow team who'd caught a wave previous was watching the whole thing and as i kicked out they all had smiles on their faces and were giving me shaka's. Even though the wave probably lasted a little under 10 seconds, it was probably the most intense experience of my life. SO much energy compacted into a seemingly fleeting moment of freedom, nothing else existing in the world except you and 3000 cubic metres of water chasing you down.

Its always hard calling wave sizes; a big scary wave is a big scary wave, that'll never change once over a certain size, which is different for everyone. During the drop and all of it, you don't really feel much in the way of emotions, your brain goes into tunnel vision mode and all other senses and feeling are vaulted whilst you deal with the situation at hand. In the end of the day, the smiles and shared energy from the boys in the channel was enough of a size indicator for me. I was happy.

I paddled out slowly and caught a few more waves, but it seemed the swell was dieing so i ordered one of the jetskis to drop me into the bay and i ended one of the sessions of my life. My mate had gone in about 2 hour previous, so i walked up the path alone and content, a perma-smile sketched on my face. At the car i had just pulled my wettie off, and in my towel turned around and snapped this set come through.

Tow boys on a small one

Big set - can you see the guy at the bottom?!

The last big set of the day as it turned out, and the cue for me to start the car and head for a beer.

This wave is magic, and ill definitely be returning.

The bombie

The right on north side of the bay