Hiatus '10

This November's beach trip was a good one. Like last year, it lasted about a week and a half- I wanted to stay but had to make it back to Raleigh before driving up to PA for Thanksgiving.

When I first got to the Outer Banks, there had been another Nor'easter that decided to set up shop off the coast. Fortunately there wasn't any rain, but there was a lot of wind, and at one point the ocean was hurling 15-20 footers, and it wasn't clean at all. Even if it was clean, hauling my 9'2 out there would be the equivalent of making out with a revolver.

The wind was blowing 25-35 and it was a little chilly because of that, but it almost felt good for some reason. Maybe because the air smelled clean, like salt, instead of exhaust.

And just as I like it, an empty beach. The color in this picture is a perfect depiction of stormy, fall obx weather:





I wasn't complaining about the windy, overcast weather because I pretty much had to work the entire time - we're busier than hell, which is also awesome.





Britton came down for part of the time to do work from here, too, so it was oyster time. The shack down the road has the best oysters I've ever had. They're referred to as crab slough oysters, which are picked about 10 miles down the road near the Oregon Inlet. Because they come from brackish water, they're really salty, and sweet. Also, about half them have tiny little pea crabs in them. You can pick them out or eat them- apparently they're considered a delicacy. I bit into one accidentally but threw him out instead of eating him; I don't know if I can get down with that. Since I'm interested in about everything in the world, I looked them up and learned that they are the smallest species of crabs known on the planet. On top of that, it turns out that they are also a pain in the ass to the oysters, since they eat the same food the oyster does.

Since I'm a nice guy, when I find these little turds who make life harder for my delicious oysters, I don't kill them- I'm all about second chances (Mike Vick is my quarterback). I place them on the counter top and play a game called "whoever makes it to the ocean lives." None of them have made it yet, but at least they get a shot. This year, we lined a few of them up on the counter in front of one another to see if they'd fight. Sure enough, a scuffle followed.




It's funny watching them fight, since they pretty much move in slow motion. I had my money on the guy on the far left, but the guy he was fighting scored a take down early on, so that was reason enough to feed all of them to the dogs.

This was the kind of thing we had to resort to, since fishing was out of the question due to water and weather. I was a little bummed out about that. Britton and I had a few bottles of scotch ready. Considering our natural fishing prowess, experience, and ability, combined, I figure we really only had about a 3% chance of actually catching something. Everyone knows that drinking scotch while fishing would take it to somewhere between 6 and 7%. Oh well.

Jack was happier than a pig in shit, since the beaches were wide open to run.
















Jensen came down late in the week, and over the weekend some friends, Brittany and Jeremy came down as well. For the last stretch of the trip, it was just me there. The weather shaped up a bit, and every evening around 4:30, like last year, you could catch a pretty mean view from the back porch. Since there aren't many tall trees, you get a clear view of the sky, which is painted all sorts of colors by the sunset.





Since I had only a few days left and was bombarded with conference calls all day, the weather cleared up and the ocean calmed down. I spent a few days alone with the dog, and really didn't want to leave. There's something that fascinates me about the solitude of being out there alone and I can't quite figure it out.

When I was on my last few conference calls before hitting the road, everything being packed up, I had to stare helplessly at the ocean doing what it does best in the fall: 3-4 foot, clean, peeling waves. It was as if the ocean was taunting me, and I had no time to suit up and paddle out. I would've done anything to have had another few hours to catch a few of them, sit out there, maybe sing to myself. I literally left with a lump in my throat. To make matters worse, my friend Dooley called and said he was down in Rodanthe to surf for a few days. I haven't seen him in about 4 years now, but couldn't meet up because I had to hit the road.

I kept complaining to Jack that I didn't want to leave. He doesn't speak English, and I don't speak dog, but I'm pretty sure we were on the same page.

Bummer.



It's little trips like these that I live for. Leaving is always a little bittersweet, but it's almost Thanksgiving and I can't wait to get back home for a little to see the friends and fam.