On Friday morning, I received two wake-up texts from my human buoys. (Thanks, guys.) Unfortunately, the earlier one didn’t wake me up. The one that did said, “2 foot grab ur board.” By the time I got my wits about me, low tide was hours gone, but it was still glassy, not closing out, and the water was w.a.r.m. So warm, actually, that it was flooded with jellies.
“The stinging kind? Or the disc ones?” my friend asked me later.
“The disc ones,” I said, ” and a lot of those ones that look kind of like this.” (I held up one of the beaters from an electric mixer.)
“I don’t know, they weren’t stinging me. But they were everywhere.”
It was like surfing in a murky, green Jell-O bath. It was awesome. It was shark week. Continue reading
As you may have noticed, I have a thing for wipeout footage. It’s not that I actually enjoy watching it – it makes me cringe – but there’s something sickly fascinating about watching a particularly nasty wipeout. And these are absolutely brutal. Shipsterns must be the gnarliest wave. Ever.