I surfed Full Moon Topanga last night with Firefly Mark.
SHIT. THAT's what surfing's all about. Use the Force, Luke.
Clear skies, picturesque light pollution coming off Santa Monica in the distance, and moonlight glinting off the rolling chest-high waves.
It took me a while to get the hang of it, and it took me a while to actually get into a wave because I was nervous about the quick hollowing of the point which always kicked my ass -- even when I could SEE it. But I got a few -- nothing like Firefly got -- but my favorite ride was one where the spotlights from shore reflected off the wave hollowing out and I took off anyway. I made it and was trying to get trim, but it was too fast for my Cooperfish and my lack of ability. I got tossed like I haven't gotten tossed in a while and it was my favorite ride.
Because this is how I learn. I am a student of the Wipe-Out School of surfing. You wipe-out. You figure out what you did wrong. You change. You wipe-out again. You adjust. You do this enough and then it clicks.
On a normal chest-high DAY at Topanga, there would be fifty grumbling guys at the point and if you got worked by a wave like I got worked on that wave, there would be no chance of you EVER getting to take-off and get worked again.
I was happy to be able to wipe-out at Topanga without all the pressure. I need more of those waves.