After years of only getting to third gear, I finally got to ride my sweet smoothie in the
kind of waves hulls were meant to ride. The Augusta National of surf spots; so exclusive,
even members get the stink-eye. For two hours, I surfed the most perfect “crap” waves
ever. Every 5-10 minutes a thigh to waist high windswell wave bent into the Bight
and bee-lined-it to the perfect triangle of reef pointing into a warm offshore zephyr.
Giddyup-n-Go for about 40 yards.
Hulling for me, up to this point, was all about the rail turn. The whole trim deal seemed
lame, lazy or both. Well…I get it now. It’s all about the ankles and your big toe. That’s
it. You can play those infinite variations on the line with the slightest change of rail
angle. I just never had the canvas for that kind of brush…
On my last wave, I proned it from the peak, covered up completely until I coasted into
the channel. A Greenough-eye view all the way. The line was picked at take-off, no
pilot input required. The perfect vehicle for the perfect wave.