That long left. Breaking slowly over a rock reef. Fifteen feet from our front door. Which, I might add, did a damn fine job of keeping out all kinds of critters. We'd wake up early and look out the little window in the kitchen to see how big the waves were. After drinking a big cup of instant coffee and eating a brown banana, we'd slip into our shorts, er, a Seea suit in Karissa's case, and proceed to paddle all the way out to the point - which will feel like five miles after the first three or four days.
The wave begins breaking about fifteen-hundred feet from shore. Maybe more. One wave will take awhile, but you'll be grinning like an idiot while you paddle back to the point. And so therein lies our issue; where the fuck do we go from here?! Where can we find a wave - long and left, soft and slow - that is as easily accessible? Where there's warm water and cheap beer. Where the people aren't pretentious and hammocks hang from the front porch and you eat avacados and eggs every afternoon. We're exploring other options. But we'll need to go back. Because there really isn't anywhere else that can compare.