I can’t tell you how awesome it was to see Shaun Tomson or Sam Trammel at Surf 24 on ISD. But I can tell you how eerie Huntington Pier, weirdly, is not at 3 a.m. I can tell you how there were guys in mummy bags sleeping (or trying to) on the sand, and how tired watchdogs were checking for wristbands, but unwilling to chase anyone down who couldn’t show one. I can tell you that the waves were slightly sloppy, about waist-high. That they crept out of the darkness and picked up many a resolute rider, powering through the witching hour.
I can tell you that Billabong ultimately won, but that the mood, at least in the middle of the night, was one of drowsy solidarity.