Late To No Party – By Taylor Paul
Monday
I’m running around in the dark and I’m late. Grab my board from the garage and wetsuit off the dewy lawn chair. Wax. Fins. Leash. No time for coffee. I speed down King, airing off speed bumps. Left on Bay. A pickup turns in front of me at the stoplight on Mission and my low beams illuminate a longboard poking out the back. F–k. It’s 6:17 a.m. I shouldn’t have hit snooze.
I take a right on West Cliff and see south swell lines intersecting the faint glow of a pre-dawn ocean. I’m late. I pull up to the Steamer Lane parking lot. It’s closed. I flip a bitch and park along the street. Open the door. Shut the door. Open the back. My hurried breaths are like ghosts in the morning air. Suit up. Lock the door. Stash the key. Run across the grass, over the fence and along the cliff to the jump off. I look down on The Slot and can see four silhouettes paddling toward an approaching set. It’s 6:30 a.m. Sunrise is in 27 minutes. I am so, so late.
The goal was to be the first surfer in the water. In fact, that was my goal for an entire week. Because every morning, at every good wave, some brave soul pioneers the day, and why shouldn’t that be me? … More