I'm surfing in Oregon. Seaside, Ecola, Short Sands Beach. These places are usually pretty good. During the week mid-summer they're not crowded. Week-ends can get frantic.
Seaside is the easiest access. You roll right up along a parking strip overlooking the beach, the point, the surf. Between the parking strip and the surf is a beach area where people picnic off the back of their trucks, vans. Half are surfing. The other half are just out for the day and watching the surfers.
Eight miles down the road is Ecola -- Indian Beach. That's 6 miles in from the "main road" on a narrow state park road, twisting, winding. Indian Beach is great, but lots of people. Sometimes it can be a hassle to park and get your board down to the water.
Short Sands is 9 miles south from Ecola. You park in the lot along the highway and hump your gear down to the beach -- 30 minutes on foot. Nice during the week, crowded on the week-ends in the summer.
So, I'm standing around in Seaside, watching the surf. This is all new to me. I'm at the stage where I'm asking questions of the other surfers, getting to know what's going on.
Here's this babe (She is.) sitting in her car, board on the roof. She's on the cell phone. I figure, give her a ribbin' and then I get to talk with her.
So . . . "Jeez woman! Hang up the phone and get yourself out on the water!"
She smiles, "Hold on! I'm checking conditions down the coast!" She chats on the phone a bit. Her friends are at Short Sands . . . more chat. Pretty soon she turns the phone toward me, "Have a look."
Cell phone, with an image feature. Her friends have sent her a photo of the break at Short Sands, on the phone.
I'd like to say that she decided to stay at Seaside and keep me company. But that only happens in movies.