Notes On A Victory Lap

There has been a two foot (ish)(+) swell running from the moment I stepped off the plane.
We drove straight up to the old stomping grounds in Santa Barbara for a professional fly through and some sentimental fever dreams of old sights.
We caught C Street small and fun twice, and had it not been for a sleeping infant, would have dipped our toes in the hallowed Queen's waters as well.
As it was we arrived back in North County to that same half-thump of body whomp material, the break in front of Red's going typically summer closeout.
The best part of the East Coast to West Coast binge banks on a three hour head start everyday. This has begun to wane after a week and a half, getting me up only an hour ahead of everyone else now, a scampering to the popular spots replacing my habitual laconic stroll of head nodding to all the old timers who begrudgingly accept my presence for a handful of days.
This morning, annoyingly late up, I found myself surrounded by a slightly younger crowd, but more importantly, an electric one as the lightning not only brought a rainbow off the reef, but bars of bolts on all sides.
Scampering in a different direction being de rigeur.

Highlight so far?
This moment of no swell surfing yesterday as my nieces got their first taste of the good life.