We've got this thing going. I guess you could call it a routine. But those get boring. We usually flee the city around five on Friday. We drive north in a hurry, forgoing any opportunity to spend time with friends or family. Sometimes we eat dinner while we wait for the ferry - Marination Ma Kai makes killer kimchi fried rice. Following a twenty-five minute float, we stop to buy beer and fill up Fargo. We'll usually pull into Port Angeles after eight; find a few friends, drink a couple of cans and shoot the proverbial shit. If we're lucky, we'll get up around nine the next morning. From sleeping to the sea takes but ten minutes.
This weekend, like the last, a buzzing sound beneath the bed woke both of us up. It was a text message from our dear friend, Dr.Jake: "Waves are waist high. No wind." Well hot damn! But by the time we ate breakfast, drank coffee and paid to park, there was wind. Lots of it. We stood on the sand for over an hour, hoping it would die down. Bored, Bricky decided to put on his man pants and paddle out. I stayed ashore. Sometimes you score. Sometimes you sit. It's a goddamn dice game. Anyhow. Here's a few photos from the time we spent standing around on Saturday.
Buncha Bullshit.
Tall Twigs.
Shell Game.
Creeper.
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