Sunday was sorta exciting. Offshore winds when we woke up. And rain... lots of rain. Everything was wet, so there was really no reason to sit around our camp site. We paddled out around eleven following a few cups of coffee and way too much goddamn granola. The tide was out, but on its way in. The first few were fun, Karissa and I sliding by ourselves. Friends followed. Stoke harvested. With a four hour drive and a few stops in front of us, we packed up all of our camping crap and started back toward Seattle.
A late lunch at
Granny's Cafe was followed by a phone call from my father: "The rear tire on my rig just blew. How far ahead are you guys?" Fuck. It could have been a lot worse, though. Luckily the steel belt stayed together, preventing a four foot fall and additional damage. We took the truck to a friends place in Poulsbo, filled Fargo with a few of my father's things and then (finally) sailed for Seattle. Just glad the old man is alright. Turns out his tires were ten years old! Maintenance. Shit is important.
Eyeballin...
Blue Peel.
Cute Cap.
Skeg.
Shitty Surf.
Blondie.
BOOM!
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