Alaia?

Still awake, can't sleep, looking at free stuff on craigslist:

FREE Solid Wood Heavy Door, 36” x 80” x 1.5” (Mapunapuna)

"Some very slight water damage at bottom and slight dead termites. Get it in Mapunapuna at 680 Kakoi Street, Door H at end of parking lot by concrete wall and dumpsters. Number there is . FREE"

This is what I see:

"Help me, please come and carve me out of this square shape, please ride me at kammies on a big day, I'm heavy so I won't spin out, please brian, I'm begging you--take a chance on me"

I dunno, what to do...

A Damn Good Day

There's nothing like a cold beer. Budweiser. I'm drinkin it, and by golly, I'm stoked.

Headed up to the country today, rode some waves at sunset in the morning--fun swells--got my ears cleaned for free. But it was session number two that's got me grinning--paddled out at off the wall with Colin.

Untitled from Brian Herron on Vimeo.

Snagged a couple of rights and realized Colin had moved down to Pipe. It was pretty small, like 3-5, kinda bumpy too, the crowd was minor, so I worked my way over there. Got in the pack and did a little jig. Got into position for a set, paddled, paddled, got in the lip and thought, "oh, ah I don't think I'm going to catch this wave after all, I'll just pull back, oh wait, oh ah I'm in the lip, oh shit, oh no, oh god no..." I would describe going over the falls at pipe like this: get a hose, then get up on top of a wall, this one was about ten feet tall, make sure the ground under the wall is concrete, ok, now splash some water onto the concrete with the hose, make a puddle, ok now jump onto the puddle.

But for real today was a tough day for my family. Today marks the one year anniversary of my grandfathers passing, that is, my mothers father...

Fred Patrick Dunn

The guy was made out of steel, no... he was made out of iron, raw iron. I dedicate my big wipeout to him, I'm so very proud to be his grandson.

GNAR PITS PT. II

C.B.

Tubular pound

a little snapshot of todays swell in LBI NewJersey... thank the dredge for the new wave

C.B.

THELANDOFNORUMBEGA

Until one is committed there is hesitancy,

the chance to draw back, always ineffectiveness.

Concerning all acts of initiative and creation there is

one elementary truth, the ignorance of which kills

countless ideas and splendid plans:

That the moment one definitely commits oneself,

then Providence moves too.

All sorts of things occur to help one

that would never otherwise have occurred.

A whole stream of events issue from the decision,

raising in ones favor all manner of unforeseen incidents

and meetings and material assistance,

which no man could have dreamed would have come his way.

Whatever you can do or dream you can, begin it.

Boldness has genius, power and magic in it.

--Goethe's Faust

Long ago, great bearded men from across the ocean set out in search of a new world. They sailed in ships rigged with square sails, and they wore helmets. They drank dark, heavy drink, and they lived each day as if it were their last. Many of them lost their lives to the marching swells of the grey, north Atlantic. They died quietly, with pride and raw bravado. The ones who made it across the sea were rewarded with fresh potatoes, sweet berries, and hot moose meat. They found a rugged coast, green with tall pines, and thick mosses. They did not come in search of gold or women, nor did they come to start anew and raise families, instead...they came because of a voice.

Deep within us--within us all--there is a voice which calls out from time to time. We feel it in our chests, in our very guts. It is the voice of adventure, the call of the wild. Some of us can hear this voice, but have not the zeal to follow it; others hear only a faint murmur of the voice, for it is buried too deeply in their bones--hushed away by fear and doubt. The voice is not nice; it does not make life easy--it will never lead us to the "easy way out." The voice does not tolerate mediocrity, or a stagnant, safe way of life.

This fall, much like their old Norse ancestors, The Herron brothers began to hear a murmuring from somewhere within themselves—a swell was coming. Generated by a fast moving storm this new monster swell was slowly making its way northward across the Atlantic Ocean and as the brothers began to sense the first tiny ripples of energy sent from this grand storm, the murmuring they heard at once grew louder. Soon the murmuring was a steady call, then a holler, then a scream. "Go north," said a voice to the brothers, "go up to the rugged coast, to the home of the grey seal and the cold bull kelp. Go beyond the land of Norumbega. Go...and you will be rewarded."

This caused a great dilemma for the brothers for there was suddenly many paths laid out before them, yet only one would lead them to their true destinies. The brothers knew that if they went south they would find big warm tubular swells reaching out over soft sandy shores. They also knew that to head south would be cheap and fast, for they would not have far to go, and most importantly, they knew their way. But, there in lies the root of why they could not take that path. It would be easy.

And so the brothers chose to head north. They knew there would be many hardships this way; 20 hour drives through rain and snow, cold air temperatures, and even colder oceans—rock and reef ocean bottoms, moose, bears, wolves, seals, and even sharks, to mention a few, but they knew they must not take the easy path, they knew they would not be able to ignore that feeling in their chests. And so they put their heads down and blindly followed that ancient voice of adventure against everything but their wills.

Some shots from the road heading north. The colors of fall stood out vividly against a fresh dusting of snow dropped from the huge storm bands that we followed up the coast.

Our quiver took up the whole back of the car--everything was thrown in with no regard for organization, we just wanted it all to fit. Subsequently we stopped at the border coming back into the states for a "visit," at 2:00am, after driving for about 10 hours after surfing for about three, all red eyed both of us, the patrol on duty thought they scored. I can only imagine the looks on their faces when they pulled up the back door for a quick search.

It's pretty hard to film when the cameramen are also the surfers, so we didn't get any clips from this spot, but check that left feathering out there in the background--we called it muscles--a big, deep, lurching left breaking over scattered rock reef shelves. This is where we had our first surfing experience in the north, six feet solid, cold, no one out except for a couple of harbor seals. Adam shined.

Big left, red with runoff. This was just a random spot we could just barley see from the road, so we got out and hiked up the headland. I still remember walking up to the cliffs edge, there was a huge seal colony outside the wave, logs and debris in the lineup, and no one around. Real man stuff.

"I don't know Adam, what do you think?"

Morning time camp shot. Cold, 40 degrees F--ready for some coffee, eggs, toast, and tubes. Note the perfect A-frame coming across our front porch.

I took this from my phone from inside the tent seconds after I opened my eyes from dreamland. Adam was still sleeping. I like zipping open sets. It's kind of like opening a box of wine.

Random right.

Wearing thick burlap kine sweaters, bearded, cold, and happy, we stumbled into this little fishing town for a taste of the local beer. I had a fine cod chowder, while adam opted for the Haddock.

A few words about camp: the woods were enchanted. Winds blew in from the north, and with them came rain and cold, and eventually... the night. In the night by the fire we relaxed and listened to the roar of the big northern waters, mists floated through--grey--we drank some dark beer and talked about the swell, and going further north. Sounds came out of the dark, whistling could be heard, and I felt like we weren't really by ourselves. Commando camping can be a bit unsettling at times--this night I slept in a deep puddle--I remember thinking it would be smart to dig out the rocks under my side of the tent, kind of make it nice and flat. The impression I left filled with about three inches of water--between that and the talking trees, I didn't sleep. And of-course Adam slept like a peach. Some long lefts and a 20 hour drive home followed.

Real adventure is not easy. One does not just go out for adventure, instead, one becomes captured... stuck... on a cliff, or in the cold, at sea, or in a desert, even, in a city--adventure begins when things go wrong--only then does the mind sit back and allow the spirit to lead. I didn't want to go on this trip, it looked too gnarly. Who heads north in the late fall? There was cold rain and wind and snow. There were cities, miles of roads, and moose. I didn't want to take on those challenges, I had become too safe, too smart. Too mindful. I thank Adam for making me go.