Slappers

Lizard's Mouth
Santa Barbara, Calif.

Lazy Saturday afternoon on the hill.

SarawithouttheH Slip Slap.

Duct Tape & Torn Tips.

Pupper Daycare

Pupper Daycare

Ash-hole went to San Fran for the weekend and we watched her two puppers bringing the total number of dogs in the house to six. Yup SIX! It was crazy, but in a good way.



I feel the same way too sometimes little dude.


Outside looking in, but me or you?

Toe (or Lack Thereof)

Toe (or Lack Thereof)
Still outside of Santa Barbara

Ouch is all I can say. I stubbed my toe. It was kind of a bummer. We were having a grand ole' time walking from the Mouth over to the Melee area up at Lizard's. The sunset was perfect, the air was crisp for one last sunset session. I thought long and hard about finishing out the day with a couple easy crack climbs but as I was sorta woozy from blood lose common sense prevailed. We did however finish our hike unhindered. The drive back through the mountains in the dark was groovy but no big deal. Since then however walking has been a real "pain" in the as- errr toe...

Whoever knew the baby toe was such a gusher?


The first aid was not exactly up to par for a NOLS course, but we did what we could with what we had. "What we had" being precisely a piece of crinkled notebook paper, duct tape, a lighter, and a stick of chewing gum. Okay settle down MacGyver, I am kidding about the chewing gum. It worked out fine. You know what they say, "If you can't duc' it, #!*@ it!"


The worst part-- taking the duct tape off. This made worse of course by having no feeling left in the foot but realizing how bad it is by your roommate's expression.


**For some more really rad shots of the day (me), check out Bick's blog here, here, here
and here.**

Lizard's

Lizard's
Outside of Santa Barbara, Calif.

You may have noticed I have been shooting quite a bit of surfing and by default, surfers. This weekend the sun was shinning and the rock was seductively tantalizing. It was time to get away from the beach and hit the hills for a quick burn. We were fortunate, the predicted winter (winter? it was in the 80s?) swell didn't hit Sunday after all leaving the ocean flat and calm from Trestles to Tarantulas. With the lack of waves I was able to pry Bick away from his short board for an afternoon in the Santa Barbara mountains. It was his first climbing experience. After a few burns on a couple classic problems he readily admitted he was addicted. Nice...




Before finishing up with a sunset session at Lizard's we hit up Painted Cave (both the climbing spot and the Chumash site) and then Knapp's Castle. I never noticed the mortar work on the old chimney before. It caught my eye. I couldn't help but admire the intricate beauty-- a mix of man's hard work and nature's ravaging patience. It was amazing. I couldn't help myself. I was taken by its natural beauty and serenity so I climbed it. Barefoot.


Lizard's Mouth, the paddle out.


Dropping in and about to be barrelled, looking for an all access pass into the (sandstone) "green room."


Goofy Foot going Richter.

A Boy & His Dog

A Boy & His Dog
Loon Creek, Calif.

I had planned on heading up to Pine Mountain to photograph the snow. It had been well below freezing up there during the nights the last few days and I figured this would be one of the last weekends I could play in the snow. Nope. It was in the 80s with nary a cloud in sight. Not being all that interested in photographing mud I headed down to the beach instead. I found Bick playing with Kaya and his skim board. Sara was running Lucy around the beach. It was a lovely afternoon...

Breather.


Ride & Chase / Chase & Ride.


Ready, Set, Go.


(Wa-wa-wa-wa-Wipe Out!) After a bit of watching I almost thought it looked fun. Then I realized it really was a contact sport-- contact as in "Hello face, meet beach." I decided I have lost enough teeth this decade and wisely sat this one out. Moms woulda' been proud.

Procrastination

Procrastination

I was suppose to get some work done today. In fact I have piles and piles of crap sitting just waiting for me to motivate. So today I woke up bright and early before the sun was out and went surfing. Good thing about piles of work, they will still be there manana.

The take.*

Sun rise on the soul surfer.

Green Hills (of Earth) dreaming about a classy Channel Islands girl.

*Music by the Mother Hips; Channel Islands Girl performed live at the Soho Santa Barbara October 06, 2006.

Day 265

Day 265
Saturday February 7th

Secret Surf Spot

A major winter swell was predicted to hit the left coast early this weekend. It just happened that the bulk of that swell would hit within driving distance of the couch I was sleeping on. We checked the buoys and they were reading right around 4ish feet. Not great but not too bad either. Right at the butt crack of dawn I got up, dressed, stumbled around looking for coffee, bumped into things and generally made a mess getting ready. It was barely 5 in the AM can you blame me! The rain was holding steady in a lite drizzle. The buoys though were giving us more and more hope. Coffee & rain coat firmly in hand we headed out. As I am atrocious at directions I can't quite recall if we headed north or south. We drove through the storm for a bit, it seemed like it could have been 20 minutes but it may just as well have been 4 hours.

Without much fan fare we pulled off the desolate stretch of highway and parked in a mud puddle. We were here, but not really. We still had to hike a hardy 4+ miles over private property patrolled by shotgun totting red necks (I am still not sure if they are suppose to be protecting their virgin ranch lands or their freckled daughters chastity-- suppose it doesn't matter, a shotgun is a shotgun!). Then again it may have only been a 100 yard hike but with a bag full of camera gear, video gear, audio gear, the prospect of irritable ranchers with guns, and dueling banjos playing in my mind's eye over and over it may have just seemed like 4+ miles.

The wet muddy walk went without incident. The morning scenery was breath taking. The rain had let up a bit thankfully. I didn't feel like I was in California at all. We were surrounded by lush green hills and towering seaside cliffs. The ocean below us pounded itself against the rocky bluffs with one angry wave after another. The incoming swell had a gun-metal blueish gray tone of cold seriousness. Sets were rolling in fairly regulary. Most stayed right around just above head high. Every now and again a double over-head beast would jack up and throw itself at the shore.

Looking at the swirling boiling mass of cold undertow below me I could taste the faint sulfuric hints of fear in my dry mouth. Looking at the surfers next me I could feel the electricity of anticipation in the air. Poor crazy bastards! If they were even a little bit intimidated they never showed it. Instead they charged across the last field with a bellow and got ready to tap the source.

End of the road, suiting up in the cold.

Look one way then the next, then sprint across four lanes of traffic holding your breath the entire time. Dodging 18 wheelers and the police, wait in the median strip for an opening. Yup this is exactly why I crawled out of bed at 5AM...!

Sign? What sign?

The long walk in is actually quicker then the paddle out I've heard. I am not sure I believe it.

Piddle paddle puddle.

Timing the sets, drooling the whole time.

Almost there.

Just in time.

Vice Vickford sex-waxing it up.

Butters follows suit.

Hints of Al.

One way down.

The other way down.

Photo monkey.

Dogs of Winter.