The inauguration of my freedom

Under a blanket of dense tule fog, I hit the road. To the bypass instead of to the office, because for one reason or another, I just didn’t want to be cooped up inside on the 20th.

There was surf, according to the local forecasts. My buddies on the coast were all thinking the same thing, around the same time, at the same place. And that’s where I was heading.

The fog was gone by the time I reached the first summit on Highway 101. Replaced by crystal clear skies and crisp, cold air. It remained that way for the rest of my journey to the Pacific.

A little over 6 feet at 16 seconds, out of the west was what the local buoy was reading before I left the house, and the sandbars at this particular beach were kind of thumpy. One soul, out in the water; he got a few, but waited a lot.

I watched, shot a few frames, and then decided I didn’t want to keep shooting the same “generic” point of view of this beach again. So I grabbed my coffee, locked up the car and hoofed it north along the Shoreline Highway. I had time to kill. Friends were still making their way up here.

The view from the spot I finally posted up at was absolutely fantastic! However, with the sun high and bright—too bright—I was shooting directly into it. Embrace the suck good sir. Such is the way it is sometimes.

Later on that afternoon I trudged back to the highway and south toward my car. Surf was still good. Folks were still out. Natural light was better. So I stopped and sat on a guardrail, about 500 feet away from that vehicle of mine, to shoot more frames.

The warmth of the sun felt incredible. Despite the “whoosh” of cars and motorcycles passing by, there was an air of quiet here. Peace. This was good for the mental health…

Because I knew once I left the sea and made it back home, the static of life in “new” America would be deafening.

I didn't want to plug back into the matrix quite yet.