It's early morning at the beach on a low low tide. Other than myself and my dogs, the place is deserted. Conditions are calm, clear, and cool. And the waves...

A series of waves roll ashore, peeling perfectly to the right off the exposed rocky reef. They curl and crash in organized fashion from right to left as seen from the beach; each one finally flings itself lip first onto the sandy shore as it reaches the end of its travel across the ocean.

Many of these waves are hollow, barrelling, tubey. They push foam balls from within their hydraulic cylinders, not quite spitting spray from the collapsing core. It's a sight to see, and well worth considering for a session.

But there is at least one reason why this morning is not a surf day, at least at this beach. The waves are only 12 to 15 inches tall on the face. Double over ankle is not a height most surfers consider rideable! The beauty waves are miniatures, suitable for riding by people of the same scale. And those sorts of folks are in rare supply in Santa Cruz.

So the morning is for watching, and for being with the dogs. The canine souls on the shore don't much care about the tiny waves, they have their joy running, wading, digging, and chasing the occasional sea bird along the shore.

Still, it's a beautiful morning with none of the lingering fog that is so prevalent this time of year. Perhaps another swell is on the way to amplify the heights of these tiny waves. Perhaps another tide, another break, another hour, another day will be suitable for riding waves in DogLand. Until then, enjoying the present is the order of the moment. And after all is said and done, that is fine enough indeed.

CU Out There,

DogMan