Sure enough I cursed myself when I told Dave that I hadn't snapped a leash yet. I made it sound like it couldn't be done with the 9'4. It only took me about five seconds to realize that I'd be the one swimming that afternoon. I even told Dave, he just laughed. I wondered how far out I'd be when it happened.
The karmic watch dogs have a way of keeping us humble and when I felt the cord separate from the swivel with a little snap (stretch, stretch... tick... just like that it's gone) I wasn't too surprised. I knew I had it coming.
The waves weren't huge. The biggest ones, pushed themselves up way outside, stood up on the outer reef, walked right over it and broke right where we were sitting. Call it double overhead, maybe a foot or two more on the big ones. Not life threatening but big enough to throw an easterly shadow completely over you as you turned to catch the things.
It was fun, the waves were like big water hills. The rights were short, basically a big drop all the way to the bottom followed by a swooping, thigh burning bottom turn and maybe a couple of big hooking cutbacks. The lefts were a bit more lined up. If you caught the right one and had the balls to fade right before going left, you could put yourself right up into the high pocket of a freight train of a wave. At that point, you went into a full-on, front-foot, peddle to metal speed run. The left is a longer wave but it's got teeth and if you screw up, there's dues to be paid. Something I was about to learn a lot more about.
To be continued...