I'm not sleeping well. The transition from one life-style to another is always demanding on my brains and gray matter. Dreams of strange faces--bulging eye balls and turned down lips--wake me up every hour, on the hour. Worries about money, jobs, family, and friends have me sweating at two in the morning, kicking my feet, and twisting till I fall back into that strange place we all go in the night.
Lately all I've wanted to do is find surf. My brains need a shower.
Check em photos of Das Gimp absolutely charging Avalon on da Earl swell.
Gimp charging--Cave watching--screaming, "noooo, don't pull in!"
Gimp pulls in to an Avalon sand slab.
Das Gimp Rips.
We ended up scoring pretty good with Earl in-spite of missing some big surf down south, and aside from picking up a staffy looking infection in my leg in Cape May, I felt great satisfaction having hunted Earl with a good friend--feasting on the marrow of his barrel bones.
Now it's time to put the safari cap back on, I'm heading south with the old man to rendezvous with some Carolina boys to hunt for Igor, an overgrown Atlantic cyclops pronounced, --eye-gore-- by Doug Deegan. Check back for updates and happy hunting to all.
BH
