The Day After the 2007 Thanksgiving Day Swell

I awoke this morning knowing the end had really come. I was bone weary. I could feel the new cold air radiating around my piling supported house from inside its walls. The north wind was slashing through the pine trees outside. I knew what the ocean looked like in these conditions: raggy, pushed over fluid humps passing by the sand beach, racing south. The air temperature had plunged to around 40 degrees last night. The reality of the coming winter was in my face.

Yesterday was the triumphant 3rd day of the 2007 Thanksgiving swell that will not be soon lost to memory by any surfer on this part of the coast. Yesterday morning I raised from deep sleep ready to take a risk---a slow breakfast and prep for the day's waves. The cold front, I knew, was on it's way. But I wanted to surf both sides of low tide, with low tide being around noon. So I had a little waiting to do. I also knew I wouldn't last but so long out there, so my timing was critical. As a long-time east coast surfer, I knew I was risking ruination by the inevitable wind switch to north, but I took my time anyhow.

When I arrived at the beach access, there were places to park. I was surprised. When I climbed over the dune boardwalk, there were way fewer surfers in the water than yesterday. I guessed that it was less crowded because it was, after all, Thanksgiving and I suppose some guys were just too dog-tired to paddle back out again. I understood. As I have noted, we don't have larger swells like this stay around this long very often.

My guess is the typical east coast surfer would surf the first two days until crippled by the shock of such good waves for so long under such perfect conditions. This swell had a re-vitalizing effect though on many. It produced a symphony of wave and human energy until all was spent. It's demise marked a season's end in a way, and the beginning of new hope in us all for another opportunity just like it somewhere out in the future.

The wind was now a staked-out southwester about 15-25 mph. Small boat wake sized side-shore wavelets rolled across the face of each ridge of surf pushing across the bars. This surf was so fast and would curl up tight in the shallows over the sandbars inside. Big swift "C"-shaped faces offered a way long, liquid wave playground to every rider. Guys were paddling in multiple directions toward the next place their peak would emerge, others sitting waiting patiently, recovering from the hold-down on the inside. All trying to stay lined up on a particular oceanfront house where they had seen the last big set break. The next peak was their's.

I recognized the familiar slender silhouette of my almost 18 year-old son, Jack, as I squinted into the sun to the south. He said he had been out a little farther south for about 30 minutes. I watched him take off on a few long backside lefts which carried him way inside each wave. Finally he had had enough of fighting his way back out I suppose. I saw him trudging up the sand dune to the beach access stairs and then on to the parking area.

I saw so many great rides these three days by so many people I know or at least am acquaintances with. There was so much pure joy all around. A day of Thanksgiving to be sure. I left this day however, reassured this all can and will happen once again. I'll be sure to let you know.