Samba Cloud

It has been five years since I passed the torch of my '87 VW Vanagon. A series of circumstances (including a hit and run, a blown motor, and a feral drunk breaking in, passing out and pissing all over himself and my van) forced me to let her go. Like so many of these stories begin, "I bought mine from this old dude"... the original owner, a retired professor from UCB in '99. I lived in it the better part of that first year and on and off thereafter. We had a six year, 150k mile love affair that spanned Baja to BC. And in all that time, she never left me stranded.

Recently, due to a nagging itch, and the request of my wife (she digs van life too!!) we have started to search for and dream of life in a-Vanagon-Again. Certainly not the most efficient, economical, or reliable ride to own, but there is something undeniably addictive about the experience. Thanks to a nostalgic urge and a romantic notion, the search for another Vanagon begins and (hopefully) the journey continues.

photo by: juan b. a fellow sambanista

Full Circle Surf

Last week I made my way back to the beaches of my childhood. The place I first flew a kite, first felt glide under foot, and the place I first dreamt of being a surfer. The barrier islands of Lower Slower Delaware and OCMD are not necessarily known the world over for their quality of waves. Yet the stoke and dreams of a beachie life are as thriving and rooted here as anywhere. The summer people and boardwalk culture obscure the beauty and potential this place has to offer. But, under the surface there are the people that live and breathe the ocean life, a core of dedicated fishermen and wave sliders that are on it anytime it's good and even when it's not.

As the swell season is winding down, I was grateful for the three days of 60 deg. weather, well groomed bars and the chest to head high conditions. The water was still plenty cold, and the murky run off left me with a sore throat. But a few fresh pints of Dogfish Head and the Maryland Crab soup made it all alright.

Photos from the St. Patrick's day swell 2010 courtesy of Nick Denny.

Home Away from Home

It's been awhile since I have slept in my van,
starting to feel a little homesick.

three classics, fffound fotos

Southern Sun

easy living...

simple pleasures...

southern sun...

Serene Island

There's a place in my mind I go to check the surf. Usually in the wee hours of the morning just before the dawn while my body rests and my mind is reeling. Some call it REM. I have always dreamed of this place as an island. The physical landscape changes, but always an island. Sometimes it's the inland waterways of the pacific north west, where getting your bearings and spying a view can be a challenge. Other times it's the grassy, fog rolled hills north of the gate where whites outnumber surfers. Mostly I'm on foot, walking fire roads patiently waiting to crest the next ridge or stumbling through soggy paths along moss covered creeks hoping to find the mouth. Almost always, the feeling is one of patient anticipation. There is a calmness in my search that comes from the knowledge that the perfect set up will present it self... when the time is right.

Winter Storming

Spring may be right around the corner but the north east is still deeply embedded in winter. Last week delivered a proper winter storm with hurricane winds, heavy surf, and buckets of snow. The storm left me hydrofied but not in a surfy kinda way. Instead, my schedule and timing had me seeking submersion in the frozen realm of stellar crystals. Back to back to back powder days had me sore in a good way, topped off with a two pound burrito and some frosty IPA's.