Another day of no waves. Beautiful sunny balmy day outside, birds chirping, singing in chorus outside my open window panes. Hamptons summer approaching its end, and at night the feel of early fall is in the air. Once the sun sets, the air is cooler now, pleasant, not so hot or humid. The crickets are out at night too, heralding the coming hurricane swells and storms of fall, I hope…

But, in the meantime, no waves. We had a day or two of waist to chest high surf the last two weeks, but I missed both days for reasons involving work, family birthdays, and so on. No big deal, they were only longboard waves anyhow, and work and family are both more important, but ugh, I wish we’d get some decent surf! Out east at Ditch of course, there’s almost always some kind of longboard wave to ride, but between the traffic and the effing crowds it’s really not my cup of tea in summer. Fall, winter, spring, sure thing! But now with the insanity on the roads and prohibitive endless traffic crawls, fuhgeddabowdit. I consider my East Hampton friends lucky, with their resident beach parking permits. Hats off to them.

We ought to get some wave relief relatively soon, in a few weeks at least I hope, once the autumn storms begin to come our way, tracking up the coast, but just not yet. My boards are all waxed and ready, I’m still somewhat in shape, but please Poseidon let’s have some action! I beg of thee. Let’s see, what else…? Been working on some art and illustrations, some new articles and illustrations for magazines are in the works, but they won’t be out in print for months methinks. But still, it should be fun. Next thing up will be Surf Movie Night at Southampton Playhouse on September 10th. I will also have a little art show hanging in the lounge. Should be a fun night!

Currently, as I’m writing this, tropical wave Dolly has max sustained winds of 40 mph. That’s not much, and she’s way down south and far away, but at least she’s there, at least the Atlantic is beginning to waken from her slumber. We shall see how this fall hurricane season shapes up, fingers crossed. But yeah the crickets, the cool air, the monarch butterflies, early fall is on the way. So many good memories of late August, early September, and all of fall regarding epic crowd free surf and offshore winds. Can’t help but yearn for September and October each and every year out here on the East End. Chest high plus surf at the local beachies, hurricane surf at Montauk point, just so many memories, so many wants and desires to recapture the fleeting aquatic emerald Atlantic magic. Sunrise sessions, barrels, riding step ups and semi guns, as you fire on down the line at whichever point/cove/reef break combo you want to take a stab at. Just heaven, NY Li Hamptons surfer’s heaven all the way to shore.

In reality we only get a handful of days like that, not to mention scheduling, but when it all lines up, sheer magic. Plus, the best part is; all the coffee cup poser kooks never paddle out as soon as it’s over chest to head high. Fucking hilarious: “The wind’s not right, the tide’s too high, the tide’s too low, there’s too many guys out.” So many bogus, dumb excuses as soon as it finally gets good out here. So many posers, so many kooks. One of my friends wrote a song called Range Rover Surfer, pretty much captures it exactly. You just can’t buy your way into surfing. It’s all practice and commitment, it’s all about the love of surfing and the ocean.

Having said that, I’m getting older by the second, and sometimes it’s just too big for me also. I used to be a sort of bad ass, but I have mellowed out significantly. I used to go crazy for 10-15 surf, but nowadays I prefer 6-12 foot surf mostly. But at least I’m not a poser, yet... (Or maybe I’m becoming one?) At least if it’s too big for me I’ll own up to it. “Yeah, it’s too big for me.” I’ll say, and then I’ll just take pictures. But I’m honest about my limits, so that’s ok in my book. Others can judge me how they like, I’m totally fine with that. There was one huge day last year, just massive, the points and coves were maxxing out, and I had no business being out there. So I just hung back and enjoyed the show and snapped some pics.

So in the meantime now we wait; we just wait and see what happens. Hoping for perfect 8-10 foot plus surf, with offshore winds and 70° water temps and thinning crowds. We hope for dawn patrols and dolphins and five hour all day sessions with less than ten surfers out. We hope for evening sunset go outs and a beer or two post session with our favorite frothing mates. All that good stuff. Because hope is grand in autumn, and right just now the world is afire and rife with floods and war and genocides. So we must count our blessings in this kali yuga timescape, and be grateful motherloving thankful for our lucky surfers’ blessings, and share the Atlantic aqua joy as best we can in earnest.

August, and the waves have gone back to sleep. Last few weeks have been marginal at best. I think I went longboarding three times maybe this month? If that? Oh well, beggars can’t be choosers as they say. Summer surf-life in the Hamptons; hardly any waves, and shitloads of obnoxious traffic and hot humid heat. At least the art game has been picking up. Making and selling fine art prints, installing blue chip art at exclusive homes and showcase houses, things could be worse. But, still, I want some damn waves!

In the meantime I’ve decided to up the ante and book my December trip to my favorite Caribbean surf isle and go visit my godfather. Also decided to break down and spoil myself, with some new custom Cis that are set to arrive round All Hallow’s Eve. So, we shall see... Hopefully hurricane season will kick in soon and start to send us some decent swells with offshore winds. We here in the local surf community could surely use a boost. All work and no play makes for way too much meditation practice and artwork. But again, could be worse.

Meanwhile one of my oldest, bestest mates and I are now teaming up with writing and illustration. My friend Dylan is a big wave surfer and writer, living in Ireland, and we’ve decided that he writes and I illustrate. A super cool way to collaborate. In fact, illustration for the written word is one of my most favorite ways to create. The stories inspire me and then I try to draw something that fits with the story. Something about guide rails and deadlines has a profoundly motivating effect. One of our latest collabs will be coming out soon in print format, I will update ya’ll on that when it’s published.

So yeah not too much surf of late. I even took my log off the roof! Usually I just leave it up there so that it’s ready to surf if waves decide to crop before or after work. That way I don’t have to schlepp it out of the house and tie it to the racks. Saves time and effort to just leave strapped tight atop my ten year old Subaru. The art game of late has been going swell though. Art installs have picked up quite a bit, and my own art has been selling of late, so that’s good. I was able to rake in enough profit to get new brakes and pads for the Sube, order some new boards, and pay down some debts, so once again no complaints.

Moviewise, the Southampton Playhouse has been off the Richter. Odyssey IMAX has been selling out nonstop for weeks on end! Full house after full house, one after next. Spider-Man also. The latter’s not really my cup of tea, but the Marvel fans are all over it. Then in September we will be doing our first Surf Movie night here at the theater, so hopefully our East End surf community members will show up en masse and have fun watching people shred on the big 4k screen!

Lastly, during the down time; lack of waves and days off, still trying to hit the meditation cushion most days of the week for at least 20-35 minutes. When all else fails, when the world lets you down again and again, at least one can rest the mind, breathe deeply, and just be still; taking it all in with-open eyed stride. Pray for surf…

In my last blah blah, I was reporting on the lack of chest to head high surf this June/July of ‘26. Then, the very next day after writing that, some fun chest to head high surf just magically appeared! And then for the next week or two thereafter we had a fairly decent run of fun-sized summer surf! Who knew that complaining via printed word could yield results from Poseidon/Neptune or the Diosa del Mar! Go figure!! Apparently I ought to complain in print more often!

Anyhow yeah, fun waves the very next day and perfect for the 5’8” Ci G-Skate. Actually ended up at two different spots, both at about waist to chest high with some occasional head high sets. Thank God, it’s been a while. Session one at spot 2486 was decent-sized, but most of the sets were shutting down. The swell angle was not agreeable to the bottom contours at that spot, so despite the size, it really wasn’t all that good. So after a one hour session there, I got out and hopped in the car to head over to spot number 72846. Pulling up in the lot, heading over the dune, wow! Glassy, fun, uncrowded chest high surf, perfect for a fish or longboard.

I first paddled out on my 5’8”, caught a few good ones, and sunk my fins into a nice bottom turn/top-turn combo on one wave, flaying the top straight off and throwing spray all over one of my mates, who was staring all googly-eyed from the shoulder. After that I caught a few more shortboard waves, but then they started to fade and drop off a bit. So after another 30-40 minutes, I went back in to grab by 9’6” log, and paddled back out. The rest of that longboard session was fun too, albeit back down to waist high, it was super glassy and ended with a beautiful sunset, a logjammer’s paradise.

The next ten days or so we had waves most every day, somewhere in the thigh to waist to nipple high range. Plenty of fun summer surf to be had on your log, fish, or beefed up small wave shortboard. Personally, I have kept to the log, but the under 150 lb groms have been having a blast on pretty much whatever they feel like riding. Yesterday morning into the afternoon was super fun and clean with offshore winds too! Plenty O fun indeed! I was working and couldn’t get in until the evening, but even with the light onshores it was still quite fun after work and the water’s now super warm! Yay August!! The beginning of the hurricane season is upon us, and the late summer water temps here in Li are hard to beat.

So please Poseidon/Neptune and/or the Diosa del Mar, please do bless us and bring us big and glassy waves for the next few months at least! Please O please and pretty please, with overflowing bowls of cherries and then some on top times infinity! Please do bless us with months on end of pumping glassy surf with offshore winds!!

Alright folks that’s it for now. Please do keep your eyes peeled for some art of mine in print, with an article by local legend Dylan Stott, in one of the forthcoming issues of Session Magazine. Should def be a fun read and it’s always an occasion when surfing is represented in bound and printed matter, as opposed to digital LED backlit screens. Pray for surf!

Bloody NY Micro-Waves

Weeks and weeks on end of lackluster, waist to stomach high (or smaller) longboard mush. Sure, a few days here and there were clean and fun, but jeez! We need some WAVES! You know, like chest to head high plus with offshore winds? Please? Ha! Not very bloody likely! The current summer weather patterns seem to be keeping the storms moving a bit to the north of us instead of south of the island, so there’s been very little ground-swell to be had. Mostly it’s just been short-period wind-swell, or micro-remnants of one type or another. Not very enticing.

But, it has been a good time to work a lot and make hay for winter. Plenty of art installs, lots of summer movies, traffic has been god awful, etc. A few days ago however, we were blessed with some fun, waist to stomach high longboard waves with offshore winds that decided to kick in around 5pm. That was a fun session, despite the apocalyptic forest fire smoke and air quality warnings. Always some kind of Faustian double-cross when the waves finally come… I paddled out nonetheless on my G-Skate and was able to get two short turns in, testing out my new fin setup. It was quite gutless however, so after about 20-minutes I paddled back in to retrieve my 9’6” Scott Anderson from atop my roof. After that it actually was lots of fun. Clean little longboard waves with no one out, no one!

My happy solitude lasted for a quick 15-minutes until the after-work peeps started showing up one after next, until low and behold there were now 15 of us bobbing up and down in the murky brown water, dark grey toxic skies overhead, carcinogenic micro-particulate smoke going into and out of our lungs all the while. “Whatevs” I said to myself, “just keep surfing”. So, I kept at it and got a few more waves until I was now hitting the 1-hour-15-minute mark. Then, all of a sudden, I saw it, right in the lineup, just inside of me and only 10 yards to the east; a big ole slate grey shark fin with pink scarred up edges! Yikes!! Time to get the fuck out! I exclaimed to a few of my mates about the fin, they saw it too and we all got out pretty soon after that. I caught a long one in, rode it to the beach, and then went up the dune to wrap up my leash. I wanted to stay on the dune for a bit and see what the shark might be up to. I warned a few other surfers as they came down the beach for a surf check. But they were so fucking stoned or just plain dull and stupid that they just didn’t care, and they went in to surf the rapidly waning shin to knee high waves, regardless of that battle damaged shark on the prowl. Ridiculous…

After seeing more and more idiots paying no mind to the man in the grey suit, I decided I’d had enough and went back to my car to pack it up and go home. It was actually quite a satisfying little longboard sesh-o, but my disappointment with surfers’ disconnect and lack of respect for nature had me a bit bummed out. Oh well, no matter, can’t fix the world, can only fix yourself, hopefully. Driving on home I gave my pops a call to check in on him. He is doing much better and seems to be on the mend, finally. So that was a nice way to finish out the session on my drive home. Keeping an eye on crazy ole popsicle.

Once again the ocean has gone from decent (waves) this chilly spring, to mostly flat these past few weeks. As is oft the norm, once the weather goes from chilly to warm towards the end of June, the waves go flat, or mostly flat, for weeks. There have been only a handful of semi-decent surf days this past month, and most of those were less than chest high. Ahh the east coast, such a fickle bitch…

The water’s still durn chilly too. Most of us are still wearing 4/3mm steamers, but no boots thank God. That puts the water temp at about 58° methinks. Usually 57° or less and you’d want boots. Upwelling, currents, etc. seem to be the cause. Too bad there aren’t more waves as a payoff from all that upwelling! I got on the shortboard, well, my performance fish, for about an hour just a little over a week or so ago. Got one turn in, sort of. Otherwise, It’s been just marginal longboarding.

However, being able to ditch the boots, gloves, and hood does have a sort of profound psychological effect. Makes it much easier to justify jumping in those brisk early mornings in less than stellar conditions. Also, it’s easier to get my longtime mates to head out for a session if it’s not so frickken cold. But still, I am def waiting for better waves to come. I really don’t get too pumped for a surf unless the waves are at least chest high. Longboarding is nice and all, but I really miss the feel of flying down the line, setting up a deep bottom turn, driving up the face and schmaaakkking it! Whap-bapp!!

So we wait… And wait… And wait some more… At the same time, during these early summer doldrums, the art biz has been picking up, lots! I’ve had no days off for weeks! Install after install, house after house, gallery after gallery. Plus this is prime time season for the movie biz too. So it’s been quite busy here at the Southampton Playhouse. Obsession has been drawing good crowds for a few weeks now, and Disclosure Day too. It’s hard to beat a Spielberg summer blockbuster. Plus, we just had the chance to show Donnie Darko on the big screen last week! Not bad.

In the interim, with what little downtime I’ve had, I’ve been meditating a little bit, trying to catch up on my Dharma studies here and there, making art, and tuning up my FCS 2 fins for the coming surf season. Last week I was surfing my Ci G-Skate, but I had forgotten my twinnies and trailer, so I just threw in my Ci AM medium sized tri fins and had a go at it. Wow! Those regular tri fins worked so much better! So, I decided to poke around and see about tweaking my fins for that board. In the old days I used to use TC Redlines for side fins on my rocket fish designs, coupled with a trailer or smaller center fin. TC Redlines had the same base width of most twinnie setups, but the 4.5” height of a regular tri fin. So they had all the hold, but none of the drag. Fucking fantastic. I still have a set, but I wanted to try something newer that I wouldn’t have to use the FCS 2 retrofit tab kit with. Eventually I happened upon the Tokoros. Those have been my fave, go to step up fins for ages, decades in fact, I used to get them in blue fiberglass from True Ames. They now have them in FCS 2 in medium or large sizes. So I ordered a large set and I’m going to try them as side fins for the G-Skate, with an AM Medium or PC-3 sized center in chest high plus surf, or a 4.25” or trailer fin in chest high and under conditions. Can’t wait to try them out…

Every morning I am up early looking at the maps, studying and wondering when some good waves will finally come and grace our shores. So far, as is typical for June/July, it’s been mostly flat or barely thigh high, with lots of onshore wind-slop and not much action. Such is the norm for early summer. Not quite warm, yet sometimes too hot midday, and yet again still with the durn chilly water where you need a freaking 4/3mm to stay comfortable. Not the worst thing, but damn the waves are small to nonexistent of late. Blech and yuck.

The remainder of this week these last days of June ‘26 look to be marginal at best. Mostly it’s just gonna be day after day of shin to thigh high onshore wind-slop. Hopefully something will shift and we’ll start to get some decent summer swells, but don’t hold your breath. Good news is that in a very short time we’ll be in 3/2mm steamers, and then 2mm short-sleeve fulls before you know it. At least then, with the thinner, lighter suits, longboarding and/or small wave shortboarding will much more fun without the sting of cold to hold you back.

Pray for surf!

Paddled out an hour before sunset last night at spot 42. Last few weeks the odd art installs have been kicking in, and the Hollywood blockbusters like Mandalorian & Grogu, Devil Wears Prada 2, Michael etc., have been blowing the doors off. Days off with surf have been hard to find, so last night’s sunset sesh-o was a lucky, late-day godsend. I was on the clock ‘till 7, but low and behold at 6:45 I looked at the cams and to my surprise: PERFECT GLASS AND OFFSHORE WINDS!?! WHAAAAAAAAT…..???

After checking around to see if I should head east or west after work, I decided to make it simple and just go to the closest spot. 7-sharp, jumped into the Sube, cranked the tunes and hit the road. A few minutes later I was pulling into the lot. Upon arrival some of my old surf buddies were just getting out. I noticed they were all fully clad in hooded winter suits and boots, no gloves. So I asked; “What’s the water temp like?” They responded: “COLD AS SHIT!” Apparently the temp had dropped from 62° to 56° yikes!! Luckily I had the appropriate gear in the boot. Excited for a go, I rifled into my hooded 4/3, pulled on some 5mil split toes, yanked the 9’6” log off the roof, and got to marching on down the 5-minute trek through white-silk dunes to the chilly, windy, sandy shore. As the sea came into view with the 41 lb Volan-clad log on my head, my inquisitive left eyebrow went up a-la-Spock; spying some perfect little waist to stomach high longboard waves with gusty offshores, artfully adorned with beautiful day-glo red-orange sunset clouds way up high in the stratosphere. Plus, only a handful of guys out. Doesn’t get much better for a post-work surf in ye ole NE USA.

I could see the waves were quite small, but clean and perfect fun for a nine-foot-plus-noserider. A few guys were out on shortboards but even the best of them weren’t really getting any rides of note. There was basically this initial waist high peak, glassy, semi-decent form, but weak as shit; no hope of doing any turns of worth. The log was the obvious choice without a doubt. So I paddled out with the attitude of sit and wait and see what comes. Don’t be pushy, don’t be greedy, just wait and see what happens. Like a fisherman; just wait and see what’s biting, or not…

At first, it was a funny little wave, sort of close to shore, thigh-deep-shallow in some places, overhead deep in others, not that big, but every so often a fun little waist high clean little peak would crop up, just right for a longboard… Bunches of kids all willy-nilly paddle-scratching all over, no avail. No power. You might finally catch one, but as soon as you stand the wave’s over, mushing out, weak as shit. NNW winds chilly gusting as the eve darkens and the red-orange strato-clouds shine brighter and brighter towards sunset. People say it’s cold for this time of year but, I remember only a few years back surfing ‘till sunset like this. June 21st, just as cold 55°, in a 4/3m and boots, catching wave after cheat high glassy wave until nearly 30-minutes past sunset. Utter bliss…

Teeny ice-chilled-water longboard waves were a gift of last night but today, the waves they’re all gone. Yet, last night felt like the on-switch for summer. I look forward to the coming six months of surfing; summer, fall, early-winter. Bring it! We all need some good waves, lots of them! Badly!! Good waves can make for months of retrospective satisfaction thereafter. If you’re really a surfer; you absolutely need good waves and good surfing, there’s just nothing else like it, both in the present when riding, or in the sweet pondering thereafter, going over wave after wave in your mind. Not so bad.

Meanwhile, onshore wind-slop looks to be the norm for our foreseeable early-June-Hamptons-surf-future. A good time to be assessing one’s quiver for the upcoming seasons. Longboards for summer, maybe some crunchy little chest high rocket fish sessions, head-high-plus step up point break surf in the fall on through winter, one can dream… It still happens, sometimes. Whenever mother ocean does feel it, she sends us good waves and good winds to go with. It’s just a matter of where, when, if, and how, to be lucky enough to be there on the spot when it happens. Once you’re in it you’re in it (the surf life) thank God hallelujah. Being a part of good surfing is tops as it purifies your mind, heart, body, soul, and beyond.

Not much to report of late. A few decent days these past few weeks but I was working on all of them. Meanwhile, been working with my aunt to try and get my 79 year old dad situated in an assisted living facility that is decent and nice for him. He moved south to landlocked Georgia years back, and not surfing has finally caught up with him. Osteoporosis will be keeping him off his surfboard for the remainder of his years it seems.

Otherwise just working, running movies at the Southampton Playhouse, meditating, and making some art and t-shirts. The pic above (at silly Ditch) was fun with warm 50°– 60° sunshine, 48° water temps, and a very comfortable hooded 4/3mm with 5mm boots and 3mm gloves. As I write this the water is pushing 50°, and once it hits 56° off comes the hood, at 58° off come the gloves, and at 59°– 60° off come the boots! Thank freaking god…

Meanwhile the world is imploding, exploding, veering widely off course and so on. War, repression, gerrymandering, mismanaged government, inflation, gas prices too high to want to drive around in excess looking for waves, etc. Blech. I wish we could just have competent, non-corrupt government, but oh well, what a pipedream.

Let’s see what else. We saw our busiest day of 2026 at the movie theater with Devil Wears Prada 2! Insane-o sold out shows one after next all weekend long. Next, my kid is coming back from the west coast for a visit end of May or early June, so perhaps we can finally have a surf together. I have also started to thin out my quiver a bit, trying to find people to match my unused surfboards, that I have either “outgrown” or that I simply just don’t use that much anymore. I have a bunch of really nice ones that are a bit too thin for me nowadays, so if any of you readers out there are interested, please hit me up.

Also, I will be in a new art show at the Romany Kramoris Gallery, May 21st – June 11th, so please do stop by and say hello! I will have at least a dozen limited edition signed prints in the show. Hopefully some decent waves will come through soon, and in the meantime, I will be working on new art, new prints, and new tees for your enjoyment.

That’s pretty much it for now so, Happy Mothers’ Day and have fun surfing! In a few short weeks we will all be in 3/2mm suits! No more hoods, booties, or gloves!! Hooray!!!

Winter ‘25/’26 has passed, thank God. Freezing arctic cold and snow piled high for weeks on end! The water dropped down to 34° for most of February and now, mid March, it’s still only about 37° yikes! Got away for some spring training in the Caribbean as fast as I could for my 50th birthday. Winter always drags me down as a surfer. I get into other things like art and meditation and what not, but I really don’t like spending Nov–April in a hooded winter suit with thick ass boots and gloves yuck. I’ll do it if the waves are good enough, sure, and I know some people really get off on it, but not me. The novelty of surfing in ice and snow went far gone and disappeared twenty plus years ago!

Down south in the pristine Caribbean tropical turquoise waters, surfing with friends I’ve known since childhood, liming with my mates and godfather, it’s just tops. Plus, the tropical fruit, the delicious food, the culture, and all of the characters on the beach, it’s fucking fab. Plus, point breaks are my thing. Def can soar like an eagle on a good point break. I’m not so good at close out beach breaks like some of my friends are, but give me a good lined up reef break and it’s on! Plus, down where I go, etiquette still exists, and the point rotation is civilized and well attuned. The pelicans soar through the waves with grace, while the frigate birds soar high up in the atmosphere, whilst offshore breezes groom the perfect surf, and my 5’6” Merrick Biscuit was a perfect match for the smaller chest to head high days.

Getting off the red-eye at sunrise, then heading straight to the beach to wash off the airplane stank, I pulled up at the spot and was greeted with perfection. Head high and slightly plus perfect rights with offshore winds and only three guys out! Within minutes I was clad in sunscreen, boardies, and my hooded Volcom rashie. Paddling out white as a sheet and a little fat from winter excess, I was wondering how my sesh was gonna go. Could I still surf? Would the Ci Biscuit work? I hadn’t ridden it in nearly ten years! But, after about five minutes, a just overhead perfect righthand peeler bent around the point and began to swell and crest. I started paddling and dropped straight in and started flying down the line full tilt, wrapping one, two, and then three power turns one after next, connecting bottom turn to top turn to full rail cutty, like I had been surfing every day for years. (‘Thank God I can still surf…’ I thought to myself.) The rest of the session got better and better as I got my sea legs back. Plus, surfing with my mates, some of whom are fucking really good, it became a party and reunion! Everyone hooting for each other as we all took turns sharing waves and having tonnes and tonnes of fun ‘til sunset.

The remainder of the week was much the same, with chest high surf for five days straight and the last two days clean and perfect for a nine foot log. It was also really nice to start reacquainting myself with the local dialects both Trini and Tobagonian. Liming with my friends and godfather, sharing traditional meals and stories, just fucking grand all round I can’t wait to be back! After a week of surf and food and friends, it was time to go back to Li NY and return to my role at the moviehouse as master projectionist. After years of running A/V at the Ross where we had three theaters, I am now run movies at the Southampton Playhouse. As a movie aficionado myself, somehow the perfect job found me and put my tastes to work for the betterment of the local community.

So yeah after a week of bliss and surfing with surfer friends both old and new, I had to come back to somewhat less freezing NY, back to real life in the grey chilled northeast. But, after a few days recovering from the red-eye jet lag, some clean little end of winter waves came and blessed us yesterday, March 18th. I had to not overthink jumping back into the just above freezing cold ocean, and consciously make a pointedly concerted effort to not lose momentum after surfing many hours every day for a week way down south, finally getting back in shape and remembering how to surf. But, going from shorts and rashies to a 6/5/4mm with 7mm boots and 5mm gloves is always a bit of a shock.

I had been waiting for the right day to get back in. Not too big, not too windy, no duck-diving, hopefully sunny, etc. Once you’re out of the water for a few weeks in wintertime, you never really know how the water temp will actually match up against the online stats. The net might say 34°-39° but what is it really? Where are they actually taking those temperature readings? Will my suit be warm enough, etc. But yesterday it all lined up. The waves were mostly chest high with some occasionally bigger head high sets in the early morning, light offshore winds, a bit grey and chilly, but otherwise the perfect day to get back in and find out. So before I thought about it too much I just grabbed my gear and raced on down to the beach.

Same when I got there, a quick look, and then I immediately suited up and waxed up my 6’8” Beamish with as little thinking as possible. Perfect! Paddling out there, one of my mates had been scoring a few nice rides, so I sat a bit to the east of him and quietly waited my turn. After a few minutes a nice little chest high one came in. I turned around, paddled and went for it but ate it right quick. I was not anticipating such a punchy little take off and I was still a bit disoriented with all that rubber on. But, after a few minutes I got another little nice one and then after that I kept scoring these fun little glassy waves, one after next for just under an hour. Amazing how you can surf for two to four hours no problem in shorts and a rashie, but with that hooded winter suit on, after about an hour or so you’re plum tuckered out. By the end of the session the waves had shrunk a bit with the falling tide and the wind was starting to pick up slightly so the chill was on the creep. Time to get out.

My mate had gotten out a short while before me, so the last few waves I had I was all alone in the wintry sea, with not a soul on the beach, rather nice. Peaceful, quiet, no one around, just the way I like it. Perhaps better to have at least one other person out there in the winter but, oh well. Anyhow, I eventually paddled in, drove home in my suit, and marched straight into the shower. Def a good day. Plus, it was just barely past noon and I had to be at work by 3 p.m. so no complaints. A morning surf before work always puts me in the right mood and mind for efficiency and polish running films at the Playhouse.

Another trip around the sun since V-Day ‘25 and here we are. It’s been weeks locked into sub-freezing Arctic cold, thanks to global warming and a wobbly polar vortex. Today the high of 37º felt so hot compared to 6º I had to crack my windows on my drive to work! I’ve become so acclimatized to the below-freezing temperatures that all I need to wear of late is a long sleeve tee, a fleece, and a jacket and I’m fine. No gloves, no hat! Ridiculous, no surfer should be that comfortable in freezing cold weather.

At the beginning of this endless cold snap, the ocean was still in the 40ºs but now it’s down to 34º yowch! That, combined with the sub-freezing air temps has definitely turned me off to the idea of surfing for the past few weeks. Some of my mates have been having fun out there nonetheless in the slushy waves, but still, not my cup of tea. Iced tea I suppose, just not my thing. So, I’ve been focusing on work, home exercises, and meditating, whilst enjoying the beautiful view of snow and bright blue skies outside my window from the comfort of my warm house. My blood might have thickened up enough to be comfortable in the cold on land, but not enough to want to freeze my nuts off in the biting arctic winds, and just barely above-freezing ocean temps, no thanks.

Meanwhile the news has been a parade of awful regarding the Epstein insanities, wars, genocides, political chaos, you name it. So once again trying to focus on doing good works, Dharma practice, and staying tight with my loved ones and family members, be they close to home or far afield. In a few weeks’ time I am scheduled to be back in the Caribbean; spring training for surf season ‘26. Hopefully it will be a better surf season for me this year, free of stupid injuries. Definitely looking forward to surfing more with my mates this spring, summer, and fall. Also looking to make more art, and push more print and t-shirt sales but we shall see.

So yes it’s V-Day and love is in the air for some, so let’s try to enjoy the end of the multi-week long arctic blast and start thinking about the coming spring and brighter days, and hopefully less turmoil and evil throughout the world. Hopefully the year of the horse will bring better vibes and happiness for all. (Hope is the key word.) What is nice so far this year of ‘26 is that the local sandbars have shaped up nicely. Hopefully this summer will be extra fun and grand being able to surf locally, not having to drive for 45-minutes to an hour just to score some halfway decent surf, but we shall see…

Today as I write this, the sea is flat, with Lake Atlantic conditions and chilly 34º ocean temps. It’s a great day to be together with your other, staying warm inside together making love the priority. There’s too much evil and hate out there, so let’s make hearts the golden rule and love everyone you know the best you can, and make our friends happy and make the world a better place. (Or something like that.) Soon enough we’ll be sharing waves and having fun once the winter breaks, so why not make the most of winter’s tail end before it’s gone and disappeared.

Back in NY after two weeks away in a surfer’s Caribbean paradise. Last two years have been a bit rough surf-wise. Missing swells, injuries, just stupid shit in general. The usual BS for working stiff surfers on the ole northeast coast of USA. Felt good to get away before the winter starts to hit. Always healing to spend some time in trunks, surfing as much as possible every day while on vacation. Also good to get back to Dharma studies and practices not constrained by schedules etc. Now, after coming home, winter has begun, snow this eve through tomorrow morn. We might even get some little waves out of the low passing offshore, as long as the NW offshore winds don’t kick too strongly and blow it flat by sunup…

Getting back to my ole Caribbean stomping grounds where I first grew up and started surfing. Seeing friends I’ve known for decades, sharing waves and having fun; really puts things in perspective in so many ways. Remembering what it is that really makes me thrive, surfing, Dharma, the delicious foods of T&T, the laid back vibe and liming with my mates, decompressing, finally going with the flow, now that is life. Of course, so is everyday humdrum life too, but it sure feels good to get away and just enjoy/relax and have some fun. First few days had some chest high plus waves, then it died a bit to longboard status for about a week. Super fun, clean, longboard waves to be had, very relaxing.

After about a week it went flat for three days but that allowed for other stuff. Dharma studies, checking out a few restaurants, and going to the hummingbird sanctuary in Tobago’s rainforest reserve. So amazingly beautiful! Even the drive to get there was fantabulous. Amazing landscapes and switchback roads and 180° plus turns round blind corners and crazy narrow lanes, wow what an adventure! After about 1.5 hrs driving through and around the tropical island, climbing up into the hills and mini mountains so lush and beatific, eventually the hummingbird sanctuary came into view. You could look out at miles and miles of lush tropical greenery whilst the little hummingbirds flitted about and drank nectar from your hands.

Then, I was fortunate enough to have found out that if you call ahead you can have lunch made for you when you get there. There is this amazing eating spot a bit higher up from where you feed the birds, with an even nicer view! Fish, chicken, curries, and then soursop ice cream for dessert, fantastic! After an hour or two there it was time to hit the road and trek 1.5 hrs back home to the Buccoo guest house I was staying at, an absolutely wonderful day.

Next day the waves picked back up and I was able to shortboard 2-3 times per day for the remainder of the trip. Last day I hung out with my super-cool godfather, who is one of the original surfers on the island and we were able to catch up and relax and have dinner, before I had to head back to the airport at 9pm, return my car rental, and then hop on the red eye home at 12:30 AM.

Many hours later I was on the Southern State Parkway at dawn, watching the oh so golden winter sun rising bright behind skeleton trees bare naked of their leaves, hauling along at 80+ mph in my Subaru, boards on top and my music blasting to keep me awake. 1.5 hrs later I was home and I unloaded my car, took a shower and went to sleep…

A few days later there were some nice little chest high plus waves to be had at my local break. I had woken up a tad late to be able to jump in before work, but I went on down just in case to see what I might be missing. When I got down there it was chest to almost head high, glassy, and only two people out. Not spectacular, but it looked really fun. Two of my mates were going in so I just watched them catch a few and then I got back in my car to go home and get ready for the office. I made a mental note though; “the sandbar is back”...

Fast forward about a week, after getting back into the swing of things work-wise, and another day of waves came by. We had our first snow, (which I mentioned earlier), and then next morning there were some little waist high longboard waves, but the winds were psycho-blustery and freezin’ flippin’ cold, eff that. I watched a bit on the cams and on some of the Insta-feeds, but it def looked better from inside a house with a warm cuppa in hand. This time of year ‘til May I won’t go out unless it’s glassy, not windy, and preferably sunny to boot.

But then, after day after day of wind upon wind when I woke up this morning low and behold? No wind!! Whaaaat!? I texted two friends and then ran down to the surf. Spot 1 looked meh so onto Spot 2. Spot 2 was less critical but way cleaner and much much more fun looking for a winter longboard sesh. Suited up into my 6/5/4mm, 7mm boots, and 5mm gloves, rubbed on some fresh cold water wax and I was out there. No duck diving!! Thank fucking God... Just wave after waist high plus longboard wave, perfect glass, and only two others out, all sharing waves and the sandbar’s a poppin’. All summer long the sandbar was shite, but now it’s come back and I hope she’ll stick around for another few years and grace us with lots and lots of beautiful east coast waves.

After about an hour of riding glassy little 45° waist to stomach high plus longboard waves on my 9’6”, the wind began to turn and the cold was just barely starting to seep through my rubbers, time to get out. I caught one more wave in and the guy who paddled out with me was also getting out, so we walked back to the carpark together. Hopefully we will see each other again soon in even better, glassier waves, fingers crossed, all winter long…

For as long as I can remember, November has been the windy season out here on Eastern Long Island. We get the best surf in September which is the peak of hurricane season, and sometimes we’ll see the epic surf bleed into October, but nothing ever seems to prepare me for the misery, bite and chill of the pre-winter blustery winds and cold grey skies of November. September through October surfing is grand, with decent, offshore, not too crazy winds and plenty of swells. But once November arrives, suddenly, 30 to 40 to 50 kt winds become normal and commonplace, and the sea starts to cool down all too damn quickly. Within weeks you’re rubbered up head to toe, (albeit in a hooded 4/3mm which ain’t all too bad) but with boots and gloves and that’s it; you’re confined in that mire of thick neoprene until May of next year.

Problem is, all that wind doesn’t necessarily make for good waves. More often than not it’s honkin’ NW or NE, which tends to blow it all flat in mere hours. Other times it’s just endless side-shore or onshore wind blow outs at 30-40 kts plus, with little relief in sight unless you can find just the right sheltered break, at just the right tide, on just the right day. There are at least a handful of good days to be sure, but there’s so much damn wind all month long!

I remember when I was a kid my dad would take me surfing all the time from May through October, but once November rolled around, then came the grey skies and the rain and the wind and the cold, and that was pretty much it until we went on vacation, or until May came about. I remember countless days avoiding the freezing cold wind-whipped surf, going to movies, or eating at Silver’s, or trekking off to the city to hunt around at the record shoppes in the Village and so on. Anything to avoid the oppressive damp cold of grey and late autumn which mocked us, reminding us that winter had not yet even arrived, but your bones were chilled through and the dark came upon us at just half-past four. I remember spending hours watching surf videos, or just doing art in my house, keeping out of the cold and trying to find some joy in the soul-sucking greyness of the 11th month of the year.

Then as I got older, when I got my license to drive and next bought a winter suit, my surfing season expanded. My first winter suit was a clunky 5/3mm O’Neill chest zip. Could barely move in that damn thing, especially with the old fashioned blocky ass chest zip that was idiotically placed exactly across your pecs, so that you couldn’t put your arms back all the way ‘cause that zipper wouldn’t stretch or give way at all whatsoever, it felt like a restrictive bar across your chest. Plus, it really wasn’t that warm despite all the thickness! Ugh. But it got the job done so to speak, despite ice cream headaches and being unable to paddle or anything. Blech. But, when the water starts to dip below 48º F you don’t have much choice.

Even so, November (in my opinion) is miserable. Sure there’s nor’easters and weather patterns that’ll bring you some surf, but again it’s so freaking cold and damn windy that in the end, you’ll only get out there for a handful of days. Better to go on vacation and try to find a nice paradisiacal surf break somewhere in the Caribbean, or just jet off to Hawaii. That’s what I used to do when I was young and free enough to just pick up and leave. Every year just after Halloween I would fly to Mexico, Cali, or Hawaii and stay there ‘till Easter and then come back home and repeat, Samhain to Easter year after year after year. But, then came kids, marriage, divorce, adulthood, endless jobs, and you name it…

Eventually however, the wetsuits got better, and nowadays a good 5mm is so comfy and stretchy that besides all the bulk, it’s really not all that bad once you’re in it; as long as you have a fatter meatier winter board to help with the paddling and extra weight of all that rubber. Yesterday, November 7th, 2025, the wind was quite stupid, but there were some nice longboard waves to be had at a few select breaks that could offer a wind-block. Unfortunately for me, the spot I wanted to go to was a bit too far out to hit up on a workday. So I spent the day doing my workouts at home and planning my escape to the tropics in a few short weeks’ time. I plan to escape to my training grounds far far far south, so fingers crossed there’ll be waves.

On the bright side, once November has gone, December and January are often less windy, sunnier, and choc full of surf. So even though the water temps might be colder than November, the bright sunny days with less wind feel warmer and more hospitable somehow. Seems to happen to me every year. November just sucks, but then in December and January I get to have fun in my winter suit and play around with the seals, oftentimes with little or no one out.

So yes November has come, let’s hope that I’m wrong, and that the winds stay light out of the NW while we get lots of swell, with the water still in the 50ºs for the remainder of the month! If not, try to get the hell out of Dodge while you can, or get used to the ice cream headaches and dark grey sky melancholy; with blustery, cold-damp wretched, side-shore conditions, until things calm down in often sunny and light-winded New York December…

Finally got some achingly needed wave-relief thanks to Gabrielle. After one of the flattest summers in recent memory, despite the one giant hurricane swell a few weeks earlier via Erin, this summer had only a handful of chest high days. On Monday, Sept 22nd, first day of Fall, we finally scored some relief. Super fun chest to head high surf, with clean to semi-clean conditions all morning ‘till early afternoon, plenty of waves and only a handful of locals out sharing in rotation. What a wonderful way to spend a day off! First session the tide was a bit deep, so I opted for the 9’6” in order to just have a lot of fun and take off way out wide and deep, just getting rides as long as possible. The inside wave did have a short rippable section just after the take off, but most of those waves looked like one to two turn rides on a shortboard, so the log seemed the logical choice.

The other advantage of course was that I could sit way outside the impact zone and just wait and pick off the larger rarer sets from far afield, and then cruise all the way into the beach. Then, turn around and paddle back out for another, with an easy pace and no stress, my favorite way to be, unless it’s epic… A good few hours of clean, fun, head high surf, with barely a dozen guys out and one or two ladies out there. Very very fun to be surfing with my mates instead of hordes of kooks and bloody steamin’ wankers.

While out there I realized I definitely need to get back to yoga and pushups whenever it’s flat, so that I can stay in shape and be full on for the swells if and when they come, on this not so wave frequent patch of northeast coast. But yeah it was def a fun day to be a local surfer out here in East LI. The fact that we can still surf good head high days with few or no crowds is more than can be said for most surf locales this day and age. California was overrun decades ago already, and I have heard it’s astronomically worse out there nowadays and then some more than ever.

Some of my friends were killing it; smacking the lip and putting in turn after turn, wave after wave after wave. I did my best testing out my new 6’7” Beamish during my second session, and after falling ungracefully hard on my face and my ass the first three waves, I then started to get the hang of it. Fast as hell and able to put full Gs into my turns with it, I realized how siiick that board will be in head high to overhead point break surf! It’s gonna go like hell in the barrel too that’s for sure, that board loves the late drops and it turns on a dime. Cannot wait to jump back on that board again!!

Anyhow, super fun day and finally broke the spell of missing waves and so forth, or so I thought… After surfing all day I went home, cooked up some dinner and started planning for the next day, where another secret spot was looking to be good all day with SE swell and WSW winds. It was looking like a 100% chance for a full on day of clean and glassy longboard perfection. After dinner I readied my gear and packed some extra wax etc. for next day’s surf, then did my evening mediation practices and went to bed. What I should have done before or after meditating was some stretching and exercises and/or yoga but nope.

Next day; woke up pre-sunrise, made some coffee, started working on the surf report and checking all the stats, then had breakfast and was getting ready to leave the house. I had just finished putting what I needed for the day in my pack and was bending over to zip it up when blam!! My right-side sacroiliac joint popped and that was it: Done! Toast! Blammo!! Fucked!!! No surfing for at least a few days or a week until that shite gets better! Putain merde!! So, called my mates that I had been planning on logging with, and told them I was down for the count for the remaining tail-end of the swell, and then spent the rest of my day doing back stretching exercises, rolling around on a tennis ball in vain attempt to quiet the searing pain, taking Advil to keep the swelling down, slathering on arnica oil and a few other remedies, trying to calm the intense shooting pains rifling throughout my lower lumber area, good fucking lord WTF?!

On the flip side, trying to spin gold from the hay of misfortune; I got the clear message that I was being lazy all summer, not working out enough during flat spells. So now I am taking the hint and am back to doing yoga and working out in the interim periods between swells. I had been telling myself all summer long that I would just surf to stay healthy, but there were so few waves, it just didn’t happen, unrealistic. I mean come on stupid, (talking to myself) it’s the east coast, it’s only decent a few times a month at best on a shortboard, and maybe only slightly more often on a log, don’t be an idiot! So yep, a wakeup call for my stubborn 49-year-old ass to work out, stretch, and stay in shape between swells.

Fast forward a few days and I’m on the mend and it looks like next week Tues–Fri, there might be some possibly epic and pumping hurricane swell on the way via Humberto. I can’t be sure if I’ll be back to 100% in time for the swell, but I damn sure am trying. If not, I’ll schlep on down to the beach nonetheless and take pictures. Hopefully I will at least score some good pics of my friends out there. Only a week or so ago I had told a novice surfer friend of mine that year after year, the older I get, the more I learn the lesson of humility again and again. Funny how true that lil’ speech became within a few short days of speaking it! Good flippin’ grief.

So that’s it for now. Staying humble, getting back to being healthy, putting in time devoted to staying in shape, and keeping my fingers crossed that I will be better in time to join in and surf the coming epic swells of Humberto. Whoever is reading this, it’s looking like Humberto will be right in the Goldilocks zone for next week, but with NE winds so you will most likely want to be heading west instead of east. All right everyone have fun, stay healthy, and see you in the water…

May through October, the main surf season in the Hamptons can sometimes be a dream of perfection. Some surf seasons out here can be full of fun surf and plenty of sessions with offshore winds. It all depends on the sandbars and storms and weather patterns. Will the storm be offshore and make great waves with NW winds or will it make landfall and just be knee high, blown out and onshore. I remember summers where we had great sandbars at Fowler's or Little Plains, and the swells just kept on coming week after week all summer long right into fall. You could ride your shortboard in well groomed chest to head high surf many days of the month, and enjoy uncrowded lineups with just a handful of locals and friends. Tight knit and awesome and it kept right on through autumn.

Then other summers it would be longboard only for weeks on end through the months of July and August, with only a handful of chest to head high days, but they happened here and there nonetheless. This summer however, out here in Southampton and Hampton Bays, it just hasn’t been happening. Lots of flat days, not so great sandbars, and seemingly higher than average tides from erosion and climate change have made it quite bad. I was only able to ride my 6’2” round pin twice, and both days it wasn’t even that great. There were a few other days that were decent on a fish, but otherwise it has been mostly flat or blown out in this corner of the Hamptons. “Long Island: The Endless Bummer” as Stevie-D used to say. Out east, Ditch has been looking small but fun all summer long but I can’t park there without a sticker so…

So anyway yeah waiting and waiting for the right swell angles, tides, wind conditions, etc., weeks on end to no avail. Just day after day of flat or nearly flat worthlessness this summer. Then finally along came Erin. It went from zero to one hundred in mere days, and although it was certainly epic in certain places east and west on specific tides and times of day, I just happened to be 100% unable to be in any of said spots at the right time due to a confluence of mishaps and bad luck. Patience, patience… One of my mates went for a surf on the biggest day at a spot that I opted the hell out of because it was just too big for me and my middle aged, somewhat out of shape ass. I need at least a few weeks to get my confidence back in larger surf. Going from flat to double overhead is just not my cup of tea anymore like it was in my youth.

Turns out I made the right decision for myself though. My friend ended up paddling out in some huge surf and got clocked by two, two-wave hold-downs; not once but twice back to back. After that he did manage to scratch together some good ones but man I’m glad I didn’t go out there. Too big for me. The day after that however ended up being quite fun on a fish, in some chest high 100 yard runners at a select secret spot, so it didn’t end badly. Just not many days overall this summer, maybe a dozen or so at the most? My East Hampton and Montauk friends seemed to be doing alright all summer long, but not over here in Southampton. Oh well.

Meanwhile, as I write this in mid September, I have started branching out to more spots to see if I can find a better sandbar somewhere and try to get in some more water time while it’s still warm and beautiful. Hopefully something will shape up and more rideable hurricanes and storms will skirt the coast and bless us with better surf. At least the water’s still warm, upper 60°s to 70° with daytime air temps still in the mid to upper 70°s. Last few years the water has been staying in the mid to upper 50°s right into November, so at least there’s still more time before we all need boots, gloves and hoods. Last year one of my favorite days of the entire year was a sunny day in late November with a hooded 4/3mm, boots, no gloves, chest to head high and overhead clean and glassy surf, with only about ten guys out. So much fun! So hopefully things will pick up and we’ll be able to surf our brains out all through fall into winter. Fingers crossed…

The way things are in the world today it’s hard to understand how people and governments have become so downright callous, mean, repressive and evil. Of course, you could just say that’s human nature, because in many ways it is. People have been waging war and murdering one another since man began walking upright. But, over the past 100 plus years or so there has been this delusion of becoming civilized, peaceful, and beneficent towards one another. Equal rights regarding law, gender, race etc. were thought to be getting better. Slowly in fits and starts perhaps, but better nonetheless on average. Then along came Trump, Bolsonaro, Putin, Li Jinping, the list goes on.

Basically, the rich and the corporations have been stealing from US citizens for many many decades. In the 50s ½ of all taxes were paid by companies and corporations. Nowadays the number is down to 5% or something like that and the rest is paid primarily by middle class Americans. Plus, many of the corporate giants steal billions from US citizens in the form of corporate welfare, and then put the blame on poor people, people of colour, and immigrants. The great irony of course is that someone working two or more jobs at minimum wage can oft barely afford food and rent, while the same companies that they work for, like Mac Donald’s or Walmart for example, are raking in the bucks, paying low wages and taking in corporate welfare all at the same time. It’s like a vampire blaming the victims they’ve drained again and again for not having enough blood!

Innumerable people worldwide have died from neglect, lack of medical or mental care, racial violence, wars, starvation, it’s everywhere, the suffering is endless. But what can you do? Sure some of us can join the Peace Corps or donate money, but most of us can’t. We hear about what’s going on in Gaza but what can we really do? Many just ignore it, put it out of their mind best they can, or make up excuses, trying to blame all of the Palestinians for the evils of Hamas and the Zionists. Anytime you deny the humanity of another person, anytime you call them or think of them as subhuman or animals, the same way the KKK or apartheidists do to non-whites, the same way that the Nazis did to the Jews, then you are making excuses for your own inherent evil. It’s not the other who is to blame for their torment, it is YOU and YOUR evil and hate that will in fact send YOU straight to hell.

But what about the non-hateful people? What about the majority of us that do not hate our brethren and sistren? What can we really do? How effective are protests really? So far they haven’t done much at all whatsoever. So what, we go numb? We just watch it happen like those good people who watched Nazi Germany kill off its Jews? How can we function in daily life if we are good, caring, loving people? How can we even think to enjoy ourselves when there is so much suffering all over the world all around us? Some people make excuses, some demonize the victims. Others dissociate, they go into their own worlds.

Many people try to tell themselves they deserve to succeed and that the fate of all of these other persons who are not the same are fine being taken away by ICE. Many people will convince themselves that they “work hard” and therefore they don’t need to care about immigrants or brown people being stolen away in illegal raids. So you can either be straight up hateful and racist, mean and callous, or you can instead be compassionate and try to help.

Hardening of the heart happens over time. Growing up as a kid where I lived, there weren't a lot of homeless people. But in NYC, only 2hrs west, there were and still are plenty. When I first started going to the city I would see them walking by and my natural inclination was to meet them eye to eye and want to help or communicate. But since many homeless are quite mentally ill, I soon learned to heed the advice of my parents or chaperones on school trips not to make eye contact and just walk on by. The hardening of hearts had begun. Not to say that you shouldn’t necessarily do that, some of the street people are a bit much and yes sometimes it is in fact better to just hustle on by without interacting, but still, it’s the general idea that we’re talking about. Fellow humans and all that.

So there is this general streetwise toughness and self-insulating preservation instinct, putting up walls to fend off the so-called crazies. So let's expand from there, self and other. In such situations, we see the other as a threat to our own well being, safety, or just our sense of ease let’s say. Seeing others who are mentally ill, very sick, or perhaps threatening or different for example, set off our internal alarms to guard ourselves and again, the hardening of the heart kicks in, self-preservation. Sometimes the perceived threats are real, sometimes they are not. Races, religions, political affiliations, mental states, etc., all of these are perceived and interpreted differently on individual levels. Some people, for example, are almost never flustered by the mentally ill and are absolutely fine with whatever may come. Then again many suburban persons freak out at the slightest inkling of lunacy so perhaps it’s all relative.

In some cultures, where the caste system or social caste systems are more rigid, such as India or historical Britain, compassion for one’s lessers is unnecessary and unthinkable. Same with apartheid, and many other places throughout the world. “Oh they are animals, they’re not even human.” The Nazis said this about the Jews, white supremacists say this about Latinos here in the USA, Zionist Israelis say this about the Palestinians, the list goes on and on around the globe. Think about Paris Hilton’s infamous; “Stop being poor!” comment years back. Total lack of compassion based on the idea that we are not them, they are not us, combined with an absolute lack of understanding of what the other person or persons is, or are going through, or how they live in order to thrive and survive.

Then there are all of us who do actually care, who are not racist, who actually want others to thrive and do well. But, what can we do in the face of such evil as what is happening nowadays. Families being ripped apart, people being stolen out of their homes, unconstitutionally stripped of their rights. Little children with no parents, some as young as three, four, or five years of age, placed in a court alone with no lawyer, no legal representation, no parents, to be cruelly deported to a country they have no connection with. It’s sick and it’s evil pure as that. Those on the wrong side of the fence try to justify the cruelty but they’re all wrong, just morally bankrupt horrible people.

Anyhow, let’s talk about those of us who don’t want to repress people or send them away to jails in countries ruled by brutal despots. What about us? How can we go about our day and have a good time knowing about all of these unthinkable atrocities and injustices being brought down upon the heads of our brethren? Are we even allowed to have sports cars and fine dining nights when so many around us are being disappeared, dying of illnesses, or suffering in poverty? One could argue we have to harden our hearts simply to be able to enjoy what we have. In a way we are all living with survivor’s guilt at all times. Enjoyment, sport, music, yoga, food, whatever. In order to lose ourselves in our pleasures we must also forget all of that suffering around us. Then again, to truly be able to help others, we also need to take time to recharge. It’s a conundrum.

Many people with money, or those who vote Trump, have a litany of excuses. Some say the brown people are stealing all the jobs and costing us money for healthcare etc. But if you look at the numbers, it’s not immigrants, Latinos, or any group of people other than the millionaires, billionaires and corporations that are stealing all of our money and resources. The costs are a direct result of greedy one percenters and corporate oligarchs, not poor people or immigrants. The USA has come to worship the leviathan of greed which only breeds more and more greed, more and more inequity, more and more robber barons.

So these are just excuses to mistreat others and propagate hatred. Many Trumpers will talk about how hard they work, how they’ve earned what they have and so should everyone else. Except that’s usually not true. Most of the upper middle class people do not even know what hard work is! Construction, brick laying, that is hard work. Sitting on the computer or doing a 9-5 office job is NOT hard work. It’s just fucking boring and tedious. Rationalization kicks in, trying to defend a lifestyle that is so obviously elevated compared to the middle or lower class. “If they worked harder in school they wouldn’t be in that situation right now.” Pulling yourself by your own boot straps etc., the Horatio Alger myth, blech, stuff and nonsense I say. Sure some people did everything right and now they have a good comfortable life, great. Others did exactly the same but their fate or karma delta them bad hands and their life has turned shite. Others don’t deserve anything at all and are horrible people but they have it all just because of lucky breaks or being born into the right family or what have you. It’s all so damn random.

Going about our day, trying to meditate and chant, trying daily to generate compassion in a world full of hatred and intrigue. Greed and money rule the world and the people are kept in check by iron fisted goons the world over. Many republicans too feel the guilt, they’re not all Trumper psychopaths. But yeah we want to enjoy life and not have to think or feel guilty about all of the terrible goings on. So what do we do? Many of us simply live with subconscious survivors' guilt. It manifests in different ways. Some people tune it out by making excuses like telling themselves they work hard, or that the others out there didn’t work hard enough, or that they’re “illegals” who don’t deserve this and that etc. Then other people will deal with survivor’s guilt by pretending none of the bad stuff is even happening. They just decide it’s not true and refuse to see or hear what is happening all around them. Still others will parade around saying how blessed they are by whatever religion they’ve decided to latch onto and believe that their lack of suffering is simply a gift from on high. What a joke, all of the Latinos in America are probably the most faithfully religious and pious persons there are in this entire country.

Do we have a right to be happy when so many are not? Is such the root of depression and anxiety? Do we just push away and ignore all of the emotions of all those people and children who are suffering, being murdered, disappeared, imprisoned in unspeakable conditions? Do we just rationalize it all away with the wave of a hand? What do we do? What can we do! Many make up false reasons to excuse their not caring. Others use substances or get out there and do something but what can we really do?

Seems to me one of the most important steps is to try and clear the delusion. How did we get where we are in our present life? What decisions have we made that have brought us here? Don’t we realize that we are all in fact the same and that we all just want to be happy in whatever shape or form? There is an old fable about heaven and hell. A person is brought to hell and all he sees is a bunch of people in shackles at a table full of delicious food. But, their arms are bound so they cannot eat, they are chained and cannot feed themselves. Next the person is brought to heaven, which looks exactly the same, shackles and all. But… In heaven all of the people are feeding each other by helping one another. It’s like that, we all need to help one another instead of blaming each other for everything.

Don’t believe the hate peddlers who tell lies about black people not having the “processing power” of whites. Don’t listen to people who talk about Jesus but then mention “God given rights” to own guns; God did not, and does not condone guns. Do not listen to people who vent anti-LGBT hate, the King James Bible was written by King James’s very gay lover! The Bible also condones slavery, murdering one’s own son, etc., the list goes on. The Bible really is best understood by sitting with learned theologians, not backwoods gun nut psychopaths who use Jesus as an excuse to harm others. Jesus preached love and hated money lenders, i.e. banks in the modern era, and there are more Christian Latinos worldwide than whites, hands down end of story, Latinos win at Christianity.

Let us get back to that idea of the shining city on a hill. “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.” Let us embrace our immigrants who came here to build a better life and escape inequity and death. In fact, all Latinos are indigenous, Mexicans and Native Americans are the original inhabitants of North America, not the repressive white Europeans. White people are but guests in this Land of the Brave. Land of the Brave means Native Brave, not brave as in bravado… Lastly, let us stop worshipping false idols, demagogues, tyrants, bullies, people like Hitler and Himmler with blackest of hearts full of hate. Rest assured if you’re racist, homophobic, transphobic, or you hate your fellow man, woman, etc., YOU are the one that’s going straight to hell. Hell is for haters, heaven’s for lovers and those who save souls.

Summer’s cooling down. Mid August in the Hamptons, when the summer crazy tourist season begins to trickle to a close. The fish eggs start to show in the lineup, and that almost always means the cooler fall-like temps are on their way in just a few short weeks or less. Those bloomin’ l’il eggy wegz showed up in the sea last week, and already here comes Erin. This time now at summer’s end, heralding the coming march of hurricanes, when we get epic surf with epic winds and tropical water pushed our way via the counterclockwise storms and über warm Gulf Stream water temps, sometimes with tropical fish out there swimming under and beneath us in the dreamy pumping lineup, so smooth and perfect groomed by NW offshore winds. Fuck yeah it’s time!

Waiting all through June, July, and August, there’s been hardly any surf worth mention. Right now as I write this, Erin is blowing up fast and is already clocking winds of 155 mph! Massive!! Prob should have waves all week and right on through this weekend. The only question is, will the winds cooperate. For now, it’s looking like shite E winds Tues/Weds, right when the swell will start to show. Merde… But, not to worry, there should still be lots of surf Thursday though the weekend. So hopefully the winds will decide to turn NW and grace us with some solid pumping bliss Thurs/Fri/Sat, I hope…

Fall is tops. The crowds begin to thin and disappear, the waves turn epic with perfect offshore winds, and the points, reefs, and coves start to fire with precision and grace, the way we lifetime surfers love and live for. Over the years, friends of mine from OZ, CA, HI, MX, and T&T have come to visit, and we’ve shared the chance to surf some epic, head high to overhead, and sometimes double overhead glass perfection on our step ups, oft with not too bad a crowd depending on what day of the week it was or what hour of the day. One time an Ozzie mate of mine from Billabong was up here and just as he was paddling out into the lineup, I stroked right into a perfect, glassy-clean 10-foot-faced righthander on my 6’2” RPD round-pin. Took off late, somewhat casual, drove hard off the bottom and up the face and then did a little twist beneath the lip and next locked into a flawless Atlantic emerald 30 yard barrel, wheeshing right on through the entire inside length of the cove, dragging my yearning finger tips along the cresting wall, just cruising with complete and mindful joyous illuminated sentience, whilst that elusive NY curl kept on loftily feathering just above my head, riding tight and light up in the pocket, straight on through till end ‘till kicking out. Ozman hooting with unfettered glee the whole ride through! I paddled back out and he was so freakin’ stoked! He said he had heard it got good in NY, but never imagined it could be as good and clean as that!

We ole committed East End surfers wait all long year for fall. Summer might be warm but it’s usually pretty small. Some summers are more consistent, where you can hit it up on a shortboard and so forth. But this summer, it was 90% longboard May through mid-August. So now, with Erin on her way to gift us surf, we can hope she’s the first of many and that we can start to get back into dreaming of epic ‘Lantic sessions these next few months. A short-sleeve full, a springie, or even just a top and boardies are all you’re gonna need until September’s end. Even in October, all you really need is a good 3/2mm right up until November, when you might then switch over to a warm 4/3mm and boots.

There’s nothing as good this life as an all-time epic day at the sacred/secret gilded spot. Wave after head high plus overhead wave, careening down the line full tilt in perfect line with the swell as it races, angles its way on down the reef. The Gs beneath your webby feet as you drive off the bottom into each successive turn with your rail cutting deep, fucking perfect. Seeing your friends get some siiick ones. Most of the committed surfers out here, the lifers, are all pretty good, they know what they’re doing. Some of the kids and 30-somethings, they’re near tops. Also fun to see how well they all do on every variety of surfboard you could possibly imagine. Fish, snubs, wide tail squash, performance/power turn swallows, pins, logs, and boogs, it’s just endless. All the top peeps love their particular gear and they own it, perfect unison between the surfer and the surf, gliding along full speed with the dreamy Atlantic backdrop and Block Island way far out horizon’s edge.

In October it cools down even more but the waves carry on. Not as big perhaps, but somehow more consistent. Something about the October weather patterns seem to gift us good surf more oft than other months. After that comes November which is usually northeast windy and clammy-damp, not my favorite time of year. Although, November is nor’easter season, and sometimes those big nor’easters can be really fucking crazy good. But anyhow summer is still here another month, and the march of swells is starting, so let’s all raise our glasses and toast to lots of gorgeous storms way far off our coast yet smack dab dead center in the Goldilocks zone, gifting us lots of soul-assuring waves, Amen…

Driving down in morning, over the bridge and onward to the outer barrier beach, winding down the marshy summer road, beautifully perfect white egrets, standing perched amidst the beach grasses and lofty summer bayside saltmarsh reeds a wafting in the salty summer’s briny August morning air.

Waist to stomach high plus E-ESE 2-3 ft background swell the past few days with light winds and light crowds. First inklings of fall… Dexter came on by and gifted us some small but nifty little longboard runners three days straight. One kid on a shortboard was killing it, everyone else pretty much just learning or cruising depending on their skill level. Hazy sun and lolling waves, wrapping round the sandbar point of sorts, fun for sure but you needed rail to run on through the sliding little sections 1-2-3-4-and-5.

Light offshores at dawn, just a hint of ENE texture early afternoon. The little swell started to fill in a bit from the incoming tide, adding just a touch of pep and go, to take off early and glean a few long rides. 1.5 hrs of little long waist to almost stomach high longboard lefts with semi-clean conditions. One of the ole dads was scoring some fun looking rides on his oblong ochre mid-range tri. Another few blokes were floundering a bit, but at least not getting in the way. A cordial little early August summer NY session, as the little 8.3 sec interval lefts would rip on down the line and offer up their fleeting teeny gifts.

Donning a hat and short-sleeve full and paddling out on my trusty 9’6”, I wasn’t expecting much but it sure was fun as shite despite the lack of size! Perfect long little lines that you needed at least 8-foot-plus of rail to glide on through with, skipping through the sections, as the funny little curl behind you would sometimes peer over your shoulder and then give you a little boost right through the trough and onward through the next little funny section all beneath the not so hot but very hazy sun.

Taking turns and catching rides with only a few people out there well worth it. Solitude in surfing is becoming the evermore rare commodity, a precious luxury, and any chance I get, I relish deeply these balmy summer longboard waves o’er sand and beach. I have friends who long ago moved away to much more serious and death defying breaks, living their lives in closest proximity to some of the largest, heaviest waves in the world, as they flow right through on 20 foot plus waves. Real surfers for sure. Myself, I prefer the smaller to mid sized waves, less consequence but still lots of fun and action carving turns and hitting lips or getting shacked every once in a while at some odd rifling beachbreak, usually late fall…

The crickets have just started singing calling and Dexter’s just passed on through. Hurricane season is here, now we wait and see. Pray for surf and not destruction, keep those storms a few hundred miles offshore so they do no harm but also generate some epic swell and give us offshore winds. Aug/Sept/Oct our next three months of firing autumn surf awaits. Hmm what else on the wishlist… Oh yeah, lots and lots of tubes!

Dry weather, high pressure, hot sun, but no waves,
June gloom and fog has finally broken as the sea’s heating up,
Low 60s AOK for a 3/2 full or a 2-mil S/S full,
Scattered sandbars in different towns,
All breaking on different angles and tides,
Some at low, some at mid, some at high,
Work gets in the way of nearly all the good days on the weekends,
Despite the fact that days off are not bad and start times are late afternoon,
Should be plenty fine to catch some good waves in the mornings,
But alas…

So far not much luck,
Hoping such a streak shall soon break,
Wanting badly for summer waves and cool water to soon be my norm,
Feeling the bliss of the ocean as it buoys me up in the surf,
The joy of the feel of the water cascading down the back of my head and my neck,
Duck-diving through waves on my way out to the lineup,

Aching for long sunny days at the beach, at a killer good sandbar or jetty break,
Hot little waves coming in, hopefully free of dumb crowds on the weekdays,
Making art, hewing words in my downtime,
Meditating and chanting early morn when no surf or in the eves after surfing,

Missing my youth when saddled with far fewer responsibilities,
O’ the old days of cheap rent in the Hamptons long gone!
So much time to spend all day at the beach,
Solely devoted to waves and hot sun and offshore breezes,
All hot summer through autumn,
Healthy toned tanned from so many days at the beach,
So many hours spent surfing and shredding and styling,
Longboarding, shortboarding, retro-boarding, you name it,
All in the name of her turquoise ocean blue heart,
¡¡La Diosa del mar; Te extraño bastante!!

Haven’t had much to write about for a while. New job, new hours, days off not matching up with surfing windows, but now, finally, the water’s warmed up a bit and you don’t need boots or gloves anymore! Summer is here!! A few days ago on June 2nd, I finally got some fun longboarding in. Only two people out, light winds, semi-glassy conditions and waist to chest high longboard waves. A bit steep on the take off but pretty mellow thereafter so I rode my 9’6” Scott Anderson plank. There was still a touch of chill, but mixed with hot sun so I opted for my hooded 4/3mm. Super stretchy but warm and kept my dome and ears covered.

For the last few months it’s been work at the theater and lots of art and meditation. Days off just not lining up with the surf. In theory I can get in most days of the week but Sat/Sun are pretty much out, since those are the busiest work days. I have an art opening this weekend to boot, on Sat, June 14th, but I’ll be working so I’ll be there in spirit with my art holding court in my stead.

The waves a few days ago at my home break were def fun. I’m sure some other spots might have been quite good, but where I was at it was just so so. Not terrible, not great, but still fun on a longboard. It felt so good to be back in the ocean. Especially since the sun was out and the water was extra clean and clear that day with almost no one out. I guess that’s the benefit of being off on Mondays and Tuesdays; locals’ weekend.

Meanwhile at the Playhouse, Mission Impossible 8 and Lilo & Stitch have been the great haymakers, while Wes Anderson’s latest flick, The Phoneican Scheme, is a joy to behold. I love his films because he frames them like paintings or photos. It’s as much art as it is entertainment, a feast for the eyes and the soul both at once, and always with humor. And we sure could use some soul nourishment in the world as of late. So many terrible terrible things going on in this world. So many tyrants, so much death hate and intrigue, it’s really quite sad and horrendous. These short breaths of happiness via art-making, from the surf, from good films and from Dharma; each their own way of defence ‘gainst the ever-creeping-insipid grey-death-miseries of the corrupted mean peoples’ world of money-greed-hatred and genocidal wars.

So yeah the surf was crisp, emerald green joyous clean and uncrowded, with plenty o’ sun and naught but the seabirds and some kids and some grans on the beach. An hour or two of cool solitude, with wave after longboard wave and the sweet scent of beach plum blossoms, surfwax and brine in the sea…

I found myself scampering around in the Indian part of one of the small towns in Tobago. Tight streets, and the smell of delicious foods and curries mixed with tropical fruit trees wafting and cool air from a passing cold front, tropical/fresh all at once. Winding my way back and forth between side streets to get to one of the bigger houses via back channels and alleys and jumbled electric lines on poles and so forth. After a short while, I found myself at the back of the property of said bigger massive house. It was set on a green multi acre lot on the seafront. Wide open seascapes in front, the land in the rear making a natural barrier for privacy in back.

Once there I scampered down into the back yard. Green, well groomed grass and a huge square white house standing just over two stories tall, with a classic silver Mercedes convertible parked in the bluestone drive. Looking out across the sea the ocean was not Caribbean blue, but milky turquoise like the seas off the coast of Newfoundland, thousands of miles north. Gazing out across the cold brine sea from where I stood in a tropical land, even the house looked far more northern, northeastern. Like a big white barn church or something. Looking out across the waters I saw far off, another land, like a big island, or another larger mainland. The shore of the land across the straight was green and lush down low at seashore, sea level, with an expansive landscape behind. Mountains miles and miles back, and a stupa like natural formed rock, with horizontal striations at the fore like a welcoming sentinel. As if you passed the gate you must respect the stupa and pay respects to pass by onto the sacred lands beyond. The naturally formed stupa rock had snow on top and then a few thin bands of white across, with the rock itself fading from white up top, dusted with snow, to progressively more grey below in said horizontal bands, like a mini Atlantic Mt Meru. 

The sight filled me with inspirative bliss and awe, finding this naturally occurring little Mt Meru type landform there, just offshore of where I stood in what I thought to be a tropical paradise. A gateway before me across the waters on the far shore. Snow capped mountains miles behind, as I stared in wonder and amazement. Twin lands of bliss and refuge, tropical paradise on one side, and then crisp fresh snowy peaks miles back and up across the straight. You could trek your way for miles and miles into the mountainous lands across the straight, beyond the natural stupa until you would find yourself in snowy lands high up. It was right then when I woke up, full of awe and joy and yearning to do my morning practice. Soon I was up just past sunrise, making offerings and setting up my meditation cushion to do my daily chants and reinvigorate my soul with life-fulfilling mantras and peaceful resting sitting. 35-45 minutes later, all done.

Looking out the window I could see the wind was almost non-existent. Buddhas and saffron water filled offering bowls glistening, shining golden bright atop the shrine, sun pouring in my windows. Birds chirping, singing to each other, hoping to get lucky or stake out their turf. Practice finished, I get up, feet on the ground, go over to my desk, turn on the MacBook, start up some coffee and let’s see what’s what with the surf. Ten minutes later sitting down at the computer checking all the cams and the wind and the buoys etc. Looks like some clean chest to head SE swell with light offshores this afternoon. Sea temps about 40°-41°, air temps in the low 50's. Low tide this afternoon around 4:30 PM. That means it should get good around here this afternoon but where to go? Haven’t been out for weeks! Heard some reports of sandbars and dredging and beach replenishment but that’s no guarantee. Maybe Long Beach? Hmm…

The dream floats back into my mind as I contemplate the possibilities of surf this late winter’s day mid-March. Twin spirituality. Tobago and the tropics, surfing, moko jumbies, saltfish, cocoa and fresh fresh fruit, where my soul was formed so long ago. Perfect waves, delicious food and unimaginably endless culture, from T&T and all that that entails. Sprits, saints, gods and deities from all across the pantheon, from Africa to India to Catholic saints, Chinese and Musselmen, Carib, Arawak, Galibi, Celt and thensome. All intertwined together in an intricately woven tapestry of colour, life and magicks wondrous. Then, the stupa-like rock and the land across the milky turquoise northeastern ocean strait in dream. A mix of lands together. The Big Island of Hawaii, where you have tropical fruit and climes at sea level, and then year round snow atop the mountains and wintry frozen peaks. This together mixed with Newfoundland/Tibetan type climes at altitudes so high, way up. Soaring spirit, detachment, and things opposite at face to all things tropical. Desolate, barren, but so unbounding beautiful, so ripe wide open endless spaciousness for the aching soul to bloom. Colour bursts wildly from within the heart to warm the frozen lands of barren uninhabited wild desolation. And tying it all together is that naturally formed stupa rock mini Mt Meru sentinel, standing on the temperate shore, a gateway from the tropics across the straight, to be passed onto and into the endless lands behind, to discover the inner heat which warms the world despite the frigid cold and saves the soul, which, in essence does not exist…

Back at my desk, I bang out the surf report, drop some texts and calls to triangulate the surf and hit the road, and pick up my son ASAP before it all goes to shite. NY swell windows oft go from head high/overhead to barely waist high in mere hours. Need to get on it, stat! I decide to check a few off-the-radar breaks on my east way towards LB. Break 1, sux, break 2, shite, break 3, fun and perfect! Not epic, but looking super fun on a fish or log. Chest to head high but a bit fat. Need some foam to have fun but I’ve got it. My son and I suit up, wax up, lock the car, jog on down to the spot and jump into the not quite freezing end of winter water.

The surf is pretty good for once! Mostly waist to chest high, but with a few head high peaks and every once in a while with only two guys out. Not bad! No duck diving either, another winter bonus!! Just paddle around and through the channel (chanting occasional mantras in my head to thank the winter surfing gods) and you're good. Wait a few minutes for the first wave and then one rolls in. The next 1-2 hrs it’s my son and myself and the two other blokes out there having fun, in chest to head high sunny winter surf. Nothing epic, but clean and somewhat perfect and tonnes of fun. By the end of it we’re starting to feel the chill and tiredness, so we decide to get out and go on home. Lovely day from start to finish. Food for the soul within and without, from dreamtime to waking what more could a northeastern surfer wish.

Readying the 'combi' one day before our 500 plus mile departure into the dense and tropical Mexican heat. Blazing hot unending cloudless sky way beyond high overhead, 12-15 hours plus packed into the Mexican made VW minibus. Hell on wheels but in a good way, with an exalted destination at journey's end. Road warriorship full-force to be paid for—in epic surf…

Hot tropics. Thick green vegetation jutting out of the ground everywhere you can see in the old seaside colonial Mexican city. Giant plants everywhere, easily and commonly overcoming concrete buildings and parched city lots. Giant green fronds and stalks only beat backable via relentlessly swinging machetes and sweat. Scorching bright sun, über dense wet wall air, lungs drowning deep in waves of humid underwater thoughts, 90% humidity deep inhalations, living in liquid air like from an overheated and over-humidified respirator mask with no oxygen tanks on a newer hotter bigger planet. No fervor in the breathing, just….languid anticipation, baited breath, and the waiting and waiting to leave and embark....for long untraveled roads in one's future. Threats of violence or what have you and banditos but; knowing there shall be no real trouble to speak of, so we hope.

We load the 'combi' and I work on painting it up in marker and indelible ink, NY/Eastern-Long Island style. A unique style unknown by but one or two generations; early 90's kids and teens solely and only. A small enclave of Eastenders, Westenders, and pre-gentrification Park Slope triadics who frequented the Brooklyn gardens for their own peaceful purposes and also loved traipsing through NYC's most finely reputed parlours of art. Young intellects as powerfully vibrant as the Parisian bohemians of yore who are no longer with, save in bad art house movies and some old black and white films.

And so in youthful Hamptons/Brooklyn/NYC street artist's style I paint up the combi in salient black indelible ink. Payasos locicimos all over the mini-bus and then we all take our turns painting our names and 'Team Sinaloa' onto the V-Dub. We are off to the Concurso Nacional De Surf Mexicana in Michoacán! And our team is hyped up and in full gear and a-wanting for wins.

It takes us all day to ready up, load, and pack up the van but, by day's end we are ready to go and pile on in. There's quite a few of us packed tight into there and we can all barely fit but, we don't really care because we're so goddamn excited to go. On the long way down there are a half dozen mythic surf breaks to check and behold. We begin driving out of Mazatlan and pass the familiar sites of the old and new parts of the city as we go. Mexican seafront streets filled with puffing VW cars and trucks and minibuses and locals and tourists lolling by quays as we drive along pensively and listen to music. Some other cars are in our cavalcade too and we all go along in a line with happy anticipation for what may come ahead.

As we amble along the seafront, I, looking far far far out and away to the Diosa del Mar, am wondering about the long drive ahead. Banda loudly assaulting me in the back where I'm sitting. It's all so surreal but I'm honored. I'm probably the first ever gringo to be included in the Concurso Nacional de Surf Mexicana, and I am part of Equipo Sinaloa! The others are all chattering away in fast Mazatleco and so I soon don my headphones and listen to music on Dolby C metal cassettes via my Aiwa Radical. AC/DC, Zeppelin, Body Count, Cypress Hill, In Utero, and Bitches Brew… [And guiltily I must admit to Pearl Jam and U2…]

Our drive brings us up the hills of the city past the cliff divers that you see on the post cards and out we continue far into the hinterlands where the carreterra begins and soon we are hurtling along hours on end deep into night on the smooth as silk Mexican pay-toll asphalt highway system which is flawlessly seamless and miracle smooth and perfectly tarred nearly all the way through.

After some four or five hours we are far up and into the highlands and the roads are stark narrow and huge passing semis cut it close to our mirrors as I pray for safe passage along these narrowly treacherous switchbacking roads. My teammates are jovial and in good spirits and the now cold mountain air fills our lungs with big happiness and also too do our Mexican Marlboro cigarettes and laughter and happy eyes and sweaty skin all come a wafting since we are all too close and too tight pressed to move freely and stretch but, nonetheless our proximity bonds us as brothers and teammates naught opposites. We are conjoined in purpose and spirit and our team is good and badass and we all feel that we could win the national contest and bring home the trophy for our Mexican home state of Sinaloa. We have the talent and the means as well as the backing and the time to bring home the gold. And so, we are happy and jovial, hurtling forward breakneck all throughout the day and the night in a small cavalcade...

Noche Mexicana...

Desert lunar landscapes—dry big mounds of dirt and saguaros riddling the hillsides in pale blue dreaming moonlit night. La luna, high and permanent, speeding ephemeral snaking roads de montañaslining by rapidly beneath our rubber tyres. Liquid torrential currents of road fly underneath us as we hurtle along at mad driving speed. Miles Davis blaring deep in my mind for hours on end in 110% bonafide Left and Right STEREO sound; well beyond Myles’s originally imagined measure of studio perfection in both of my ears and deep pensive drags of delicious tobacco smoke filling my lungs and my throat and then mixing on exhale into the cool of the Mexican night. Mountain fresh air and unfiltered diesel wafting and playing in the depths of the cab. All the while the bu-bump of the tightly hemmed road seams bu-dunking beneath us as, we careen at Mach 1 via the Mexican borne German VW engine whilst all others slept... Dreaming their Mexican and Catholic dreams while I, the heathen New Yorker Irish Atheist Jew ponder silently night, and the pseudo-altiplano continuum and deep black sacred winding path roadways and phthalo-blue nocturnal churnings rambling deep, as the others waggled asleep sitting up, or were unconscious or were awkwardly slumping or only just barely propped up by the doors of the combi or their seat backs in front or just solely their seat-belts barely supporting the weight of their heads or their necks as they slept and they dreamt of god-knows-what-images and never-lands-a-wafting through their dream-lit and unconscious Catholic Mexican minds…

All through the night three stolid drivers roll on deep and in tune with the moon and the road. She, La Luna diosa, just kept hanging there, in the black sky like a sentinel, never really moving as the dreaming dark world flew by fast and as fadingly as do our old waning memories pale in the dawn of our aging...

All night long in that little cramped minibus. Sweating… Nodding off for mere 20-30 minute periods after great horrid lengths of near-total-collapsing exhaustion. Hour after hour on the blackest of night Mexican roads. Nodding off and then tilting falling forward and then jolted sitting back up, only to awaken here again and again by the fall of one’s neck and/or by the weight of your skull as it dives and then drops with the bounce of the cab and the seats. Endless hours in perpetual sleeplessness. Dark black jet sky and perfect stars whizzing by in the unending night…

Sometime just after the burgeoning asscrack of dawn a golden pink sun is rising over the mountain ranges and the vast salt flats of Michoacán are laid bare before our sleep crusted eyes. We come in over a small mountain pass into these wide endless salt flats which spread quite literally the length and the entire breadth of our vision, across the earth to great mountains at the farest far edge of the breadth of our vision. We come down the altitudinal mountain road and down down down deep to the flatlands and all we see miles and miles on end are the flats… Framed far off at the sacred horizon by the impossibly far away next set of mountains which form a green and starkly contrasting backdrop at what seemingly might be at farthest end of the earth.

Passing through the breadth of the flats we see all these amazing deep velvet black and bright blaring neon green flowers somehow covering nearly every square inch of miles and miles of those same endless salt beds. They are lightly swaying in the breeze and are turning back and forth from velvet black to bright green as they flutter lazily. We continue on staring in wonder as the sun slowly makes it’s appearance rising low and not really showing from behind the mass of great mountain ranges. As we get close to one of the flats the car belts out a gear grind as Jesus Juan Carlos Montevideo Piña changes gears and the salt flats chockfull of its millions of flowers starts to flutter and break and dissolve into pixels…

Our eyes widen intensely... I’m wondering if I’ve really been awake and sleep deprived for so very long that I might be hallucinating..? But sure enough the mass morphosis continues and picks up in speed and in scope as what must be millions of velvet black and beautifully perfect ultra-bright neon green butterflies rise up and rise up continuous endless till they blot out the azure blue powdery Mexican cold mountain skies and with each flap of their wings they block out and pixelate the entire span of our surreal and oh so visceral landscape. With each beat of the their wings comes either neon green or deep black or bright azure blue from the sky, and as they all fly and block out the heavens above in random flash unison we are overblown by what could only be described at the holiest communion of God and the wilds of nature as we awe at the sight of the butterflies and the unreal beauty of such spectacular splendor. This, was our entry to Michoacán…