The Mauri-Doyle Surfboard
My family moved to Carolina Beach, N. C. when I was ten. The beach was beautiful, pristine. There were no condos or high rises. The dunes were big and rolling. There was much more beach then, probably one hundred feet between the dunes and the water. At low tide there would be huge tide pools to play in. The water would get so warm and we’d chase fish that had gotten trapped. I’m a Pisces and have always loved the water. I’m also an excellent swimmer. I made some new friends Sean and Harry and they introduced me to surfing. In California where I had moved from we were more into riding horses than surfing. I wanted to become a surfer and quickly realized that I had a big problem - NO SURFBOARD! My unrelenting begging finally caused my dad to cave in and he took me to the surf shop. He tells the owner of the surf shop that I have never had a board and that I needed one that would be good to learn on (not cool). I want a professional fiberglass board like my friends have. The surf shop owner produces this thing that can hardly even be called a surf board. It’s huge, it weighed a ton, and it wasn’t even fiber glass. It was a foam boogie board on steroids. No self respecting surfer would ever be caught with one of these I thought. It was a beast, the Mauri-Doyle training board, foam so it wouldn’t hurt you if it hit you. Huge so you could balance it easily. My first board was the Volvo of surfboards. Despite all my misgivings I grew to love that big ole spongy board and we spent many pleasant days together playing in the waves.
The Cut
When I was thirteen we moved from the oceanfront house to one four blocks away. It was harder to walk to the beach on the hot road with my surfboard, towel, and beach chair in hand. My arm would get tired from carrying my board. I’d hold it with my left switch to the right, jump from the hot road to the grass and finally make it to the beach. One day I took the walk down Atlanta (my street) to the beach access then over two blocks to Hamlet where there was a break. It was a normal day surfing by myself. The waves were just O.K. I was thinking of going in because the tide was getting too low causing the waves to suck up onto the sand bar. This would make them roll up in a big tube all the sudden and slam you on the bar. I wiped out in one of these and my board came back through the wave and hit me in the ankle. It didn’t really hurt very badly but I got out of the water to get a good look at it. I remember it looked really white. Then I saw that the skin was hanging and realized that I was cut pretty bad. I must have been in shock because it seemed like no big deal. I tied my tank top around my ankle and walked home. By the time I got home the shirt was soaked in blood and I felt weak. It turned out that I was cut pretty badly. My mom took me to Dr. Barrios’ little home/office where he commenced to stitching me up thirty seven stitches some inside some outside. It’s still the worst cut I’ve ever received.
The Flex
Hurricane David bears down on the North Carolina coast. Residents are told to evacuate. Surfers wax their boards and hit the waves. The day was nasty, the wind was howling. The waves were huge and choppy. On a nice day the waves come in glassy sets and peel off one way or the other. Storm swell doesn’t have sets just big and bigger. This day the waves were ten foot plus, one right after the other. I grabbed my board and my wet suit and headed to the north pier. I had to surf hurricane waves (not too smart). I was alone, I fought and fought to get out when you try to paddle out against oncoming waves you’ve got two choices duck dive under the waves or paddle over. Most the time you go under the wave trying not to get pushed back in. I did this and finally got out to where the waves were breaking. I remember a huge wave swelling up in front of me. I made a decision to go over top of it before it could break so I paddled like hell got up a burst of speed and made it over. SHEEEWWW. Finally I thought I had made it out. I sat my board for the first time. My breath was ragged, my lungs raw. Merely seconds after sitting my board I look up and guess what… another monster wave swelling in front of me. Same thing I push my board under me lunge forward paddle for my life. I remember getting to the top and thinking I was going to make it over. My hopes were dashed. I found myself holding my board freefalling backwards. It took awhile to hit the water. I got slammed. I just remember not wanting to let go of my board. I had it gripped on the sides. I was scared, out of breath, and caught in the washing machine. My lungs were convulsing for air. I felt like I was getting pushed deeper and deeper into the water despite the fact that my board should float me back to the surface. Then I felt something happen that made me think my life was about to be over. My board flexed in my hands like it was about to break. I thought if my board broke I would never make it to the surface to get the air I so badly needed. It was all I could do to keep my lungs from pulling in saltwater involuntarily. Finally after what seemed an eternity I surfaced. I was weak and beaten. I turned to the shore caught the first wave in lying on my board and went home. I was almost destroyed by Hurricane David.
My family moved to Carolina Beach, N. C. when I was ten. The beach was beautiful, pristine. There were no condos or high rises. The dunes were big and rolling. There was much more beach then, probably one hundred feet between the dunes and the water. At low tide there would be huge tide pools to play in. The water would get so warm and we’d chase fish that had gotten trapped. I’m a Pisces and have always loved the water. I’m also an excellent swimmer. I made some new friends Sean and Harry and they introduced me to surfing. In California where I had moved from we were more into riding horses than surfing. I wanted to become a surfer and quickly realized that I had a big problem - NO SURFBOARD! My unrelenting begging finally caused my dad to cave in and he took me to the surf shop. He tells the owner of the surf shop that I have never had a board and that I needed one that would be good to learn on (not cool). I want a professional fiberglass board like my friends have. The surf shop owner produces this thing that can hardly even be called a surf board. It’s huge, it weighed a ton, and it wasn’t even fiber glass. It was a foam boogie board on steroids. No self respecting surfer would ever be caught with one of these I thought. It was a beast, the Mauri-Doyle training board, foam so it wouldn’t hurt you if it hit you. Huge so you could balance it easily. My first board was the Volvo of surfboards. Despite all my misgivings I grew to love that big ole spongy board and we spent many pleasant days together playing in the waves.
The Cut
When I was thirteen we moved from the oceanfront house to one four blocks away. It was harder to walk to the beach on the hot road with my surfboard, towel, and beach chair in hand. My arm would get tired from carrying my board. I’d hold it with my left switch to the right, jump from the hot road to the grass and finally make it to the beach. One day I took the walk down Atlanta (my street) to the beach access then over two blocks to Hamlet where there was a break. It was a normal day surfing by myself. The waves were just O.K. I was thinking of going in because the tide was getting too low causing the waves to suck up onto the sand bar. This would make them roll up in a big tube all the sudden and slam you on the bar. I wiped out in one of these and my board came back through the wave and hit me in the ankle. It didn’t really hurt very badly but I got out of the water to get a good look at it. I remember it looked really white. Then I saw that the skin was hanging and realized that I was cut pretty bad. I must have been in shock because it seemed like no big deal. I tied my tank top around my ankle and walked home. By the time I got home the shirt was soaked in blood and I felt weak. It turned out that I was cut pretty badly. My mom took me to Dr. Barrios’ little home/office where he commenced to stitching me up thirty seven stitches some inside some outside. It’s still the worst cut I’ve ever received.
The Flex
Hurricane David bears down on the North Carolina coast. Residents are told to evacuate. Surfers wax their boards and hit the waves. The day was nasty, the wind was howling. The waves were huge and choppy. On a nice day the waves come in glassy sets and peel off one way or the other. Storm swell doesn’t have sets just big and bigger. This day the waves were ten foot plus, one right after the other. I grabbed my board and my wet suit and headed to the north pier. I had to surf hurricane waves (not too smart). I was alone, I fought and fought to get out when you try to paddle out against oncoming waves you’ve got two choices duck dive under the waves or paddle over. Most the time you go under the wave trying not to get pushed back in. I did this and finally got out to where the waves were breaking. I remember a huge wave swelling up in front of me. I made a decision to go over top of it before it could break so I paddled like hell got up a burst of speed and made it over. SHEEEWWW. Finally I thought I had made it out. I sat my board for the first time. My breath was ragged, my lungs raw. Merely seconds after sitting my board I look up and guess what… another monster wave swelling in front of me. Same thing I push my board under me lunge forward paddle for my life. I remember getting to the top and thinking I was going to make it over. My hopes were dashed. I found myself holding my board freefalling backwards. It took awhile to hit the water. I got slammed. I just remember not wanting to let go of my board. I had it gripped on the sides. I was scared, out of breath, and caught in the washing machine. My lungs were convulsing for air. I felt like I was getting pushed deeper and deeper into the water despite the fact that my board should float me back to the surface. Then I felt something happen that made me think my life was about to be over. My board flexed in my hands like it was about to break. I thought if my board broke I would never make it to the surface to get the air I so badly needed. It was all I could do to keep my lungs from pulling in saltwater involuntarily. Finally after what seemed an eternity I surfaced. I was weak and beaten. I turned to the shore caught the first wave in lying on my board and went home. I was almost destroyed by Hurricane David.
Hatteras (The Best Surf Trip Ever)
I was eighteen and going through one of my irresponsible fazes. I discovered that I could receive unemployment checks and all I had to do was get a paper signed saying that I was looking for work. This gave me plenty of time to concentrate my favorite pastimes; girls, surfing, and video games. Jerry was one of my surfing buddies; he was a tall, blonde, and a little goofy. Believe it or not he was also unemployed. We hatched a plan to go on a weeklong surf trip to the Outer Banks of North Carolina. The waves there are some of the best on East Coast. It was right before thanksgiving so it was going to be cold. There were three low pressure cells moving off of the U.S. which boded well for some big waves. We packed up our tent and supplies, strapped our boards to the top of my gold Volkswagen Rabbit, and hit the road at two o’clock in the morning. There was a beautiful sunrise that morning as we arrived at the Cedar Island Ferry Terminal. It’s a nice two and a half hour ferry ride to Ocracoke Island but we were so tired from being up all night that we slept in the car through the whole thing. We were awakened by the guy behind us honking because the ferry was being unloading and we were holding up progress. We could barely see out the car windows as we drove off because they were fogged from our sleeping. On the other side Ocracoke another ferry took us to Hatteras Island. We finally made it to Frisco Woods Campgrounds and pitched our tent. We were like the only campers there and had our pick of sites so we got a good one right next to the showers.
I was eighteen and going through one of my irresponsible fazes. I discovered that I could receive unemployment checks and all I had to do was get a paper signed saying that I was looking for work. This gave me plenty of time to concentrate my favorite pastimes; girls, surfing, and video games. Jerry was one of my surfing buddies; he was a tall, blonde, and a little goofy. Believe it or not he was also unemployed. We hatched a plan to go on a weeklong surf trip to the Outer Banks of North Carolina. The waves there are some of the best on East Coast. It was right before thanksgiving so it was going to be cold. There were three low pressure cells moving off of the U.S. which boded well for some big waves. We packed up our tent and supplies, strapped our boards to the top of my gold Volkswagen Rabbit, and hit the road at two o’clock in the morning. There was a beautiful sunrise that morning as we arrived at the Cedar Island Ferry Terminal. It’s a nice two and a half hour ferry ride to Ocracoke Island but we were so tired from being up all night that we slept in the car through the whole thing. We were awakened by the guy behind us honking because the ferry was being unloading and we were holding up progress. We could barely see out the car windows as we drove off because they were fogged from our sleeping. On the other side Ocracoke another ferry took us to Hatteras Island. We finally made it to Frisco Woods Campgrounds and pitched our tent. We were like the only campers there and had our pick of sites so we got a good one right next to the showers.
After setting up our campsite we headed for the lighthouse break. The beach was so nice, the dunes big and majestic. We were lucky it was the offseason and during the week we had the spot almost all to ourselves. The waves were steady chest to head high and glassy. The rides were long and fun. One wave I took kept opening up in front of me. I got side tracked and realized at the last second that I had ridden it all the way to the shore and I was getting ready to be slammed onto the beach. I was more worried about breaking my new board, so I road it straight up the wave and grabbed the rail with my hand and held it above me as I sacrificed my body to the shore. I braced for impact knowing that the sand can be rock hard at times. The dambdest thing happened; instead of there being hard packed sand there were millions of tiny shells, when the wave came down it set me into the shells and it felt like a giant cushion. I couldn’t believe it. It was so comfortable I could have taken a nap right there.
The week went on. Each morning we’d drive twenty minutes to the lighthouse listening to the same Metallica tape (And Justice for All). It took extreme effort to don our cold, wet, and sandy wetsuits. Every day this pod of porpoises would swim by us, it was like they came by to say hi. I felt like they gave us the o.k. to share they’re spot. We’d surf all day, and then come back exhausted and famished ready to grub out at Bubbas Barbeque. After eating, we headed back to the tent to hover over a candle to try to stay warm.
The weather deteriorated, we listened to this little weather radio give us tornado, severe thunderstorm, and small craft warnings. The stakes holding the tent down came loose in the wind one night and the tent tried to wrap itself around our ears. We packed up that morning, and then headed for the lighthouse for our last day of surfing. We did our usual thing and went out to check the waves before putting on our suits. We went out to the beach with our sweat pants and hoodies on. We could barely stand being on the beach because the sand was blowing so hard. It was us and like ten other surfers looking out at the waves flabbergasted. The waves were fricken huge (fifteen foot plus). The wind was straight offshore; it held the wave faces up and wouldn’t let them break. There were just walls of water standing up for what seemed like forever. You could count the ripples on the wave faces. There were no sets just one after the other. Just as we were getting ready to leave, we noticed this girl on the beach pacing and looking out at the water. Then we saw where she was looking, and we realized there was a guy in the water. It must have been her boyfriend or something. I could barely see him between waves. Then he just disappeared completely. The girl freaked out. Moments later, a Coast guard helicopter was out there looking for him. To this day I have no idea if they ever found him. I hope he made it out alright. We decide that the waves were simply too nasty to be ridden. We tightened the straps holding our boards to the roof of the car and drove home. I can’t speak for Jerry but in my book this was the best surf trip I have ever taken.
The Jump
I’m back to work (sort of); Dante’ and I are doing some small carpentry jobs. He’s living in a little trailer in Wilmington Beach that he calls”the bungalow” I go to his house one morning for work. The weather was really bad so we decide to go surfing instead. It’s a south swell so we head for the cove at Fort Fisher. When we get there we see that the waves are big and nasty. We’re determined and decide to go out anyway. It’s cold as hell so we put on full gear gloves and all. We go down to the beach and do a running jump into the water and try to paddle out. The white water was boiling and the current was swift. We both got swept about one hundred yards down the beach and were washed up. It was like being spit out. We walked back down the beach redoubled our efforts and tried again only to receive the same results. We went back to the car parked up by the rocks. Not wanting to go home defeated we decided to try the unthinkable and jump from the rocks into the ocean. Brave surfers jump off of the rocks out passed where the waves are breaking to bypass having to paddle out through the whitewater. The problem is that this day was so big that the waves were breaking out past the rocks. To successfully carry out this stunt would require an iron nerve, patients, and perfect timing. So here we were standing on wet slippery rocks trying to pick a spot to jump into the water where there were no rocks that could ruin your board or smash you to pieces. You pick a spot, then you start timing the waves; you have to jump right after one breaks and then let the back flow pull you away from the rocks. You then have to paddle like hell and dive beneath the next wave and not let it carry you into the rocks. A good thing to do is to wait for a big set to come through then jump. I stood there for a long time; all the waves looked the same, one no better than the next. Finally I gathered my nerve waited for a wave then jumped. I pulled my feet in on my board and paddled for dear life. I made it! The pressure is on Dante’ now he has to jump or be shamed. He does it then there we were sitting out there just past where these big gnarly waves were breaking. It’s kind of sad that after all that work getting out and after only riding one wave each we were looking at the same two options if we wanted to get back out again. We packed it up and went home but we didn’t go home defeated we left victorious. We won, we made the jump.
Surfing Verses Work
Working and surfing just don’t seem to get along to well for me. At Carolina Beach the waves are only good sometimes. Those sometimes seem to frequently occur during the work week. I was probably about nineteen and working in construction for my father. I was still in the habit of calling in sick for work on days that the surf was really good. This just didn’t do too well with me working for my father because he would come by my house to see how I was doing. Well you can see how this could create problems. Calling in sick wasn’t working so I came up with another option. I would get the guy’s started working in the morning, and then I would leave the job for one reason or another and sneak off to go surfing. I think the guy’s were wise to me because it never seemed to fail that as soon as I would leave the job that they would all of the sudden need some tool that I had neglected to leave them. My dad would track me down by the big red work truck parked at the beach access. I can never forget how mad he’d get standing on the beach jumping up and down demanding that I come in and return to work. In order for me to keep a job surfing began to take the back seat.
My Most Embarrassing Wipeout
It was me, Dante’, Benny, and Josh. We were in Hatteras for the weekend. It was summer and the beach was crowded with surfers. The local surfers were extra feisty on this trip. This one guy kept threatening and chasing people away from the best spot. He was wearing a camouflage rash guard so we nicknamed him “Rambo”. Josh was a funny reggae guy with dreadlocks. He also happened to be really good at surfing. Dante’, Benny, and I were staying away from the locals avoiding controversy. I have always considered myself a soul surfer. I just enjoy sharing the water with the Porpoises or watching rain drops hit the water. I don’t like surfing around a bunch of people. Josh didn’t have this problem; he paddled right by Rambo and sat right in the middle of the whole group of locals. Dante’ and I were watching as they began to circle around him. Josh wasn’t paying them any attention. Rambo was coming up behind Josh making threatening gestures. Just as it looked like violence was about to erupt, Josh caught a wave and ripped it. Everyone just starred in awe. The kid was good, they couldn’t deny him, and they seemed confused as they reluctantly admitted him into their ranks.
The Jump
I’m back to work (sort of); Dante’ and I are doing some small carpentry jobs. He’s living in a little trailer in Wilmington Beach that he calls”the bungalow” I go to his house one morning for work. The weather was really bad so we decide to go surfing instead. It’s a south swell so we head for the cove at Fort Fisher. When we get there we see that the waves are big and nasty. We’re determined and decide to go out anyway. It’s cold as hell so we put on full gear gloves and all. We go down to the beach and do a running jump into the water and try to paddle out. The white water was boiling and the current was swift. We both got swept about one hundred yards down the beach and were washed up. It was like being spit out. We walked back down the beach redoubled our efforts and tried again only to receive the same results. We went back to the car parked up by the rocks. Not wanting to go home defeated we decided to try the unthinkable and jump from the rocks into the ocean. Brave surfers jump off of the rocks out passed where the waves are breaking to bypass having to paddle out through the whitewater. The problem is that this day was so big that the waves were breaking out past the rocks. To successfully carry out this stunt would require an iron nerve, patients, and perfect timing. So here we were standing on wet slippery rocks trying to pick a spot to jump into the water where there were no rocks that could ruin your board or smash you to pieces. You pick a spot, then you start timing the waves; you have to jump right after one breaks and then let the back flow pull you away from the rocks. You then have to paddle like hell and dive beneath the next wave and not let it carry you into the rocks. A good thing to do is to wait for a big set to come through then jump. I stood there for a long time; all the waves looked the same, one no better than the next. Finally I gathered my nerve waited for a wave then jumped. I pulled my feet in on my board and paddled for dear life. I made it! The pressure is on Dante’ now he has to jump or be shamed. He does it then there we were sitting out there just past where these big gnarly waves were breaking. It’s kind of sad that after all that work getting out and after only riding one wave each we were looking at the same two options if we wanted to get back out again. We packed it up and went home but we didn’t go home defeated we left victorious. We won, we made the jump.
Surfing Verses Work
Working and surfing just don’t seem to get along to well for me. At Carolina Beach the waves are only good sometimes. Those sometimes seem to frequently occur during the work week. I was probably about nineteen and working in construction for my father. I was still in the habit of calling in sick for work on days that the surf was really good. This just didn’t do too well with me working for my father because he would come by my house to see how I was doing. Well you can see how this could create problems. Calling in sick wasn’t working so I came up with another option. I would get the guy’s started working in the morning, and then I would leave the job for one reason or another and sneak off to go surfing. I think the guy’s were wise to me because it never seemed to fail that as soon as I would leave the job that they would all of the sudden need some tool that I had neglected to leave them. My dad would track me down by the big red work truck parked at the beach access. I can never forget how mad he’d get standing on the beach jumping up and down demanding that I come in and return to work. In order for me to keep a job surfing began to take the back seat.
My Most Embarrassing Wipeout
It was me, Dante’, Benny, and Josh. We were in Hatteras for the weekend. It was summer and the beach was crowded with surfers. The local surfers were extra feisty on this trip. This one guy kept threatening and chasing people away from the best spot. He was wearing a camouflage rash guard so we nicknamed him “Rambo”. Josh was a funny reggae guy with dreadlocks. He also happened to be really good at surfing. Dante’, Benny, and I were staying away from the locals avoiding controversy. I have always considered myself a soul surfer. I just enjoy sharing the water with the Porpoises or watching rain drops hit the water. I don’t like surfing around a bunch of people. Josh didn’t have this problem; he paddled right by Rambo and sat right in the middle of the whole group of locals. Dante’ and I were watching as they began to circle around him. Josh wasn’t paying them any attention. Rambo was coming up behind Josh making threatening gestures. Just as it looked like violence was about to erupt, Josh caught a wave and ripped it. Everyone just starred in awe. The kid was good, they couldn’t deny him, and they seemed confused as they reluctantly admitted him into their ranks.
The next day was beautiful; the waves were almost ten foot tall, glassy, and barreling. There were probably one hundred surfers occupying the waters in front of the Hatteras Lighthouse. The beach was loaded with people. There were cameras with zoom lenses on tripods here and there. There was an ambulance parked on the beach. Everyone seemed to be there watching the surfers. It was a north swell that day which meant the waves were breaking to the right. The best spot to catch waves was just off of the northern most jetty. The Army Core of Engineers had built three corrugated steel walls that went from the beach extending out into the water about fifty feet. They had done this in an effort to keep the beach in front of a national monument (the lighthouse) from washing away. Today the lighthouse has been moved out of harm’s way. They raised money for years and finally moved the whole thing about half a mile. These rusty, barnacle encrusted walls were very dangerous to surf around. Sometimes they would be partially submerged. It was a really good idea to keep track of where they were at all times. If you wanted to get to the point position on this day the best way to get there was to paddle out between the jetties. They were pretty close together. That combined with the current meant that if you didn’t paddle out quickly you could be swept right into one. I had been surfing far too the left side of the best spot for most of the day. I decided to take the point position by paddling out between the jetties.
I go to the south jetty and do a running jump into the water. I paddle like crazy diving under the oncoming waves, fighting to get out past where the waves are breaking. I started to get a little anxious as I noticed the jagged steel coming up on my left. I was about to have to give up and turn around. I was determined to get out and went for it. As I duckdived the last wave I looked behind me and saw the sharp metal right beneath me. I knew that if this wave made me lose ground that I would surely be dashed and mangled. I barely made it. I found myself out of breath and sitting point on probably thirty guys. Sitting point means you get first option on incoming waves. Surfer law says that if a person catches a wave ahead of you that you should pull out and let them have it. As soon as I sat my board I looked up and saw a nice wave coming. I went for it which was a bad decision. I should have waited to catch my breath. I coiled my board beneath me, sprang out of the water paddling. I went to stand up on my board but it fell out from beneath my feet. I freefell down the face of the wave, I was crushed beneath an avalanche of moving water. I knew I was in trouble as I reached for my leash that attached my board to my ankle. I followed my leash blindly to my board knowing that I would need my board’s buoyancy to reach the surface quickly. I found and held my board tightly; I was already desperate for oxygen. My lungs started convulsing for air. I was caught in the wash. I could feel the suction continuing to pull me and my board down. After what seemed forever my face barely broke the surface. I drew a combination of air and sea foam into my body. It hurt and I wanted to cough but I didn’t have time because the next wave pounded me back under the water. Here I go again. Weak and dying for air all I could do was hang onto my board and wait. The next thing that happened was pretty amazing. The ocean spit me out; I felt the sand under me as I was washed up onto the shore. I paid no attention to the many spectators. Happy to still be alive I dragged myself like a slug out of the shore break. I just laid there for a long time staring out at the ocean. It was defiantly my worst wipe out. My only conciliation was that as I watched other surfers began to wipe out. The wind had shifted because of an incoming storm front which had quickly manifested on the northern horizon. This had a negative effect on the waves causing them to jack up all of the sudden. Making them damn near unrideable. The day was a wash; it was time to go home.
My Dusty Board
I’ve surfed very little in the last fifteen years. I had picked up wakeboarding for awhile out of convenience. It agreed more with a full time job than surfing did. A boat throws the same size wake all of the time. Surfing made a brief comeback a few years ago when my dad found a surfboard underneath his back porch during a move. It was an old Classic Glass swallow- tailed fun board. Surfers who have seen it all remark how cool it is and some have wanted to buy it. I rode it all summer but then packed it away as work drew me inland. A couple of years ago I moved to Florida. My dad bought me this really nice Hobie surfboard. I live right on the ocean but I’ve only been out surfing a couple of times. I think I am spoiled by the great waves at Hatteras because I look at these guys out there surfing what I consider shore break. I can’t seem to bring myself to join them. My board sits collecting dust.
My son Joshua has discovered surfing and he loves it. I think he lives to surf. He doesn’t mind the shore break at all. He practically lives in the water. I’d say that it’s pretty ironic that recently I find myself frequently jumping up and down on the beach yelling for him to come in. With him looking at me saying one more over and over. He has been reading these stories and now he is all psyched up and begging me to take him on a surf trip to Hatteras. Well what can you do? It sounds like a pretty good Idea to me, SURF’S UP!
