The Pass at Last

The pass

There’s something exciting about waking up not long after the sun and it already being stinking hot. The wax on your surfboard turns to butter and your car seat burns your bare legs and you sweat like a pig.
It’s not until you get to The Pass that it all comes together. The sun on the sand, the fading Northerlies and two foot of neatly lined up South swell tickling the rocky point…. Summer’s comin’!

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Sure it’s crowded, but you’d have to be a greedy bastard to think you were going to get this to yourself. There’ll be blow-ins and locals and tourists, long-board and short boards, kayaks and blow-up matts. There was a kid standing up on a boogie-board, he was shredding, twisting 360’s, throwing buckets of  spray.

On one wave you’ll see a bloke on a stumpy little five-foot board and on the next a bearded old Lord will carve high-speed lines on a nine-foot log. Anything goes at The Pass.

(Although a 6’1″ shorty with fluoro-aggression is best left North of the border.)

Peace.

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We went to Wategos for the sunset session. I borrowed Nick Z.’s big-old-log and lost my mind, sliding on endless little lines, reaching out towards the purple skyline that was draped over the mountains.

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