Because it's the whole point of the Pacific Northwest

Another banner weekend. Saturday we pointed the car West on 26, and headed away from the mountain to the ocean so I could get in my therapy session. I really miss the daily surf session in CA, when I drove past the beach on the way to work. In Portland, heading out is a bit more involved, with almost a half hour drive on either side. But a couple hours in the water keeps me smiling for a few days, and Saturday was an anomalously beautiful day- no wind, almost 70 degrees in the air, and maybe mid 50's in the water, and small but perfectly clean sets every couple minutes. Just a nice go out with friends. It was like June in Santa Cruz, except in July. And Oregon. Odd, and too wonderful to question.

We went out to the coast with some friends from down the road. He's a longtime SoCal surfer, and his daughter is almost the same age as T. The girls and the very indulgent (and slightly... is matronizing a word?) moms stayed on the beach and did the classic sun and sand activities.

I was trying to explain to K what surfing meant to me the other day. Which, really, for most surfers is probably a ridiculously common conversation. What made it surprising to me is that it came up in a discussion of religious practice. We had dinner with with another couple with a kid about T's age. (note the recurring trend? My social circle is collapsing to a group within 2 blocks who have kids. This blows. But they tend to understand why we can't get anywhere until 30 minutes after we said we would, and why we have to leave at 7:30 pm. My friends without kids! I still love you! I'll be in touch in a couple more years!) They were trying to figure out what religious frame work to raise their son in. This was funny to me, because neither of them practice any religion now. but they were raised that way, and felt that religious practice, or at least religious community, were an important part of their upbringing. So, what practices are important for me, and what do I want to pass on?

I really tried to think about this, and surfing is what I came up with. Surfing with friends is so much fun, but I've surfed for almost fifteen years now, and my poor skills and penchant for solitude means that most of my surfing has been done by myself, on the ugly breaks. What I remember from this isn't beautiful, clean, drops. I hoard the hours floating on my board, in the fog. Hours listening to the hiss of rain. The sounds of whales breathing nearby. Common dolphins rolling under my feet. Loons, cormorants, Vellella, pelicans, the sweep of the Pacific ocean, the two wave holddowns, the rafts of Macrocystis, the thought of sharks and the slow, cold, combustion of the largest food chain in the world. The important thing here is putting yourself into the system. Like most devotional acts, it's an acknowledgement and a participation in a thing beyond yourself. Paddling out is a mortification of the flesh, and an act of humility. Waiting for the waves, and noting the life around you is an act of bearing witness, paddling for the wave is hope, and the drop is joy. Mark Helprin once framed the western philosophical ideal in Mountaineering- the performance of difficult acts amidst great beauty. Surfing, and least the cold water surfing I'm familiar with, is similar, and if the act is less complex than that of the mountaineer, the beauty is greater.