Thursday February 24 through Sunday February 27, 2005: Four sessions in four days, all on the North Coast of Santa Cruz County. Rarely can DogMan hit it four days in a row, what with family, job, life...

The end of February hosted a substantial swell, crashing the coast with waves for the riding. It wasn't epic, but it was worth a column. Above all it was fun. Arms are still tired; it's a good thing.

Start of the string; dawn with overcast skies. Waves were coming from the West-Northwest at 6.5 feet every 14 seconds.

The waning full moon backlit the thin cloud cover, illuminating the lineup with a ghastly gray glow. It was 6AM, but the early birds were chirping in the trees, audible yet invisible. Alone but not lonely, standing at the border of weeds and sand, DogMan could see and hear waves raging on the reef amidst the gloom and the mist. Time to surf!

From the tip of the reef, caught in jacking sections of long walled waves, then riding along the shore into the cove of steep cliffs, DogMan surfed wave after wave. Gradually the sun lit the scene from behind the curtain of clouds. Slowly the paddle arms began to ache, then ache some more, then torture the windmilling surfer eager for one more ride.

Time passed, pressing into the working hours as arm muscles gave way for good. Changing from rubber to cotton, driving from ocean to bay, switching from surfer to engineer, all were necessary for the commitments of the rest of the day. But the memories of ocean bliss remained, and a grin split visage for hours after.

Swell peaked for the end of the workweek; you had to be there to experience it. Web indicators showed smaller conditions than Thursday, but they lied. Still from West-Northwest, the swell had abated to 5.5 feet with 13-second intervals.

Booming waves ravaged the reef, tall walls marched ashore, wrapping around the bottom contours. Thick aqueous lips jumped horizontally from the tips of the waves, then curled down with gravity, finally to crash just in front of the advancing wedges. Thus was born short-lived hollow almond-shaped cores of salty air wrapped in burritos of salty kelpy water. Still want to paddle out? You bet!

Stakes were higher, but rewards were bigger. Mistakes put an ugly hurt on the surfer's body, but successes were more than enough to compensate. Still going right, DogMan sat much further to sea than the day previous, waiting for the set waves with the most potential. Choosing carefully meant many rollers went unchallenged. Time between rides stretched, sun climbed its mighty arc, and the unheeded wristwatch ticked ticked ticked.

The moment for a graceful exit came and went. The hour of reasonable work arrival flew from grasp. Not much else to do but call work with some lame excuse, then take the day off. Good thing for cell phones! After a temporary shore excursion, a few minutes leaving voicemail, DogMan dog-paddled back for more bliss.

Again the paddle arms betrayed the part-time wave rider. A few hold-down sets sapped strength from the tiring wave rider. Still one more wave begged to be bagged; it was a double-O beast that came to play. Making a 10-foot drop that bordered on air-only, DM found merciful purchase with one rail and one fin at the bottom of the wall, and barely escaped the crashing turbulence of white water. Speeding down a straight line, hooting more than once, and rising to fall again and again with the crest of each section, DM rode the wave of the day to the rocky shore.

Since the day was still young, it was time to play shutterbug. The pictures in this column are all from the North Coast of Santa Cruz on that Friday during the peak of the swell. Can you see yourself there?

Weekend warriors got a taste of the action on Saturday with swell still showing 5.5 feet every 12 seconds from about 300 degrees.

This time more friends joined the scene, since it was not a workday. Still the waves outnumbered the wave riders, and all who came got their fill of the fruit. The freak waves of Friday sent their younger brothers into the fray for Saturday. It was still challenging, but the fear factor and the commitment level had diminished appreciably.

Arms still grew weary from paddling, boards still tombstoned, and hold-downs still submerged the surfer on a regular basis. But you have to enjoy what you can get when you can get it. Flat days of summer aren't very many months away after all. Maybe you got some juice on Saturday too.

And then it all fell apart. The end of this spell of surf was a time for confused conditions, with an underlying Westerly swell of 4 feet at 8 seconds. But this doesn't begin to describe the chaos in the lineup; you had to factor the wind swell conditions of 3.5 feet (and climbing fast), 3.5 seconds and 180 degrees. A storm was blowing in from due south, and the wave action had all but disappeared into a boiling sea of uncertainty.

Expecting a fun sess with waist-high waves, DM invited yet another surf bud to the shore. They parked at 6AM to peer through the vanishing darkness at a complete jumble of white water on the rocky reef at low tide. Gulping the hot strong stimulant of coffee, both surfers were awake for the day. Spouses still slept back at home, precluding a return to the domestic front. Might as well surf!

Well they tried. And tried. And tried some more. Short period junk from many angles tore the ocean surface. Increasing southerly winds pushed thick heavy clouds across the canopy of the heavens. A storm was moving into the area in a hurry, and yet not a wave had been ridden. Paddle practice was the optimistic view of the sess; a complete waste of time was the pessimistic assessment.

Oh well! Can't always be a great day to surf. Soon enough the angry ocean spit the surfers back to shore where they changed into civilian clothes and ruminated on sessions from better days. Since it was still early, they cruised the coast, watching the gathering rain race into the area. And finally back to their mountain homes they retreated, to tend fires in the fireplaces, and wives in bathrobes.

But you can't fault them for trying! The end of the string was an ignoble thing, whimpering and staggering to the end of the weekend. Not even a shadow of its former self from the Friday feast, Sunday offered time to reflect, write this account, retouch some picture, and play journalism DogMan after several days of surfing DogMan. Hope you enjoy the results..

CU Out There,

DogMan