I got all fucked up Friday night. Went to a hockey game with my god brother and drank way too much whiskey. I was still spinning around 7am on Saturday. Ate a big breakfast, packed a small bag and hit the road in search of surf. With reports coming in from the coast: no swell in the straits - we decided to drive all the way out west. Four hours in Fargo felt like forever, though. My mind still wet with whiskey; staring out the window, trying to stay sober. But I'll be damned if it didn't look good when we got there. Head high or maybe more. Picking up and peeling off the sandbar that sits front and center. The sun was starting to set, however, so we decided to stay ashore, maybe surf in the morning. The weather was wonderful. Windless and warm enough. We built a big fire, two stories tall, cooked a couple of hot dogs and hung out with these two dudes who had been camped on the coast for forty-five days.
Yoga Joe.
Mac & Cheese.
Cover Shot.
Double Decker.
Photos by Bricky.
