Nothing more typifies the seemingly counter-intuitive rhythms of the surfer as the inevitable sigh of relief as summer ends. Like the assumption that waking up at the crack of dawn would be anathema to the lazy beach bum surfer, conventional wisdom might dictate that a fiddling cricket surfer would loathe the ant-ish necessities of oncoming darker months. And while this is certainly true in some respects, there is the inevitable double bind that spurs us to both consternation and excitement. As with anything, you take what is given. Wetsuits are still some weeks off, but I'll not be perturbed when they get here.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Nothing more typifies the seemingly counter-intuitive rhythms of the surfer as the inevitable sigh of relief as summer ends. Like the assumption that waking up at the crack of dawn would be anathema to the lazy beach bum surfer, conventional wisdom might dictate that a fiddling cricket surfer would loathe the ant-ish necessities of oncoming darker months. And while this is certainly true in some respects, there is the inevitable double bind that spurs us to both consternation and excitement. As with anything, you take what is given. Wetsuits are still some weeks off, but I'll not be perturbed when they get here.
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1 comment:
A to the men. I love cold, wintery days. It's peaceful and quiet in the water.
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