The Not-So-Calm Before The Storm, notes from The Watt

Irene From above, 8/25

   Earlier in the afternoon the Mayor of Ocean City pulled the trigger to evacuate due to the hurricane bearing down on Delmarva.  It's an eerie feeling when you cruisin' into Ocean City, a resort town at the peak of the summer season, and everyone is beatin' it outta town.  F^#k'd up to say the least.  Every gas station packed to the gills comin' and goin'.  A little unsettling.  In town it was quiet.  Plenty of parking.  2nd season in August.  Storm on the horizon.

    The beach...disconcerting; uncrowded considering even with wind it was still a humid feeling low 80's.  Condo units looking spotted- some with their storm shutters down, others not yet concerned.  The surf itself played choppy thigh highs with occasional waist close-outs jacking up here and there.  Not so calm considering.  Like a scratched vinyl.  A lot of it due to the thunder-boomer out of the northwest that was bearing down.  Unfortunately, premature to do any pushing offshore of Miss Irene.
 
   Waves, rides, not so much.  More down than up.  Hard to find a line.  And we got there late.  Ah, the pressure of an immediate ride.  Let's hope Irene finds her ride outta here!

Get a line!  8/25

Come on Irene, notes from The Watt

Poor old Johnny Ray
Sounded sad upon the radio
He moved a million hearts in mono
Our mothers cried and sang along
And who'd blame them?
Now you're grown, so grown
Now I must say more than ever


Go, toora loora toora loo-rye-aye
And we can sing just like our fathers
                                       -Dexy's Midnight Runners
COME ON IRENE (who's Eileen?)

Waves are a comin'...Finally!

A Line In Every Trace, notes from The Watt

Find your line, 8/18

   The surf reports call it small trace swell, ankle to knee high.  That was about right.  Choppy, sloppy, blown out.  The churned water a muddy brown with sand lacing the short stocky walls of the incoming like so many veins.  Call it what you want, it was a small day.  But, not such small traces that you couldn't lock into a few lines to ride.  Ya gotta figure, when it's that small, a nice SE shoreline wind'll rustle ya'll up some stoke here and there. Even if you're finishing up in a foot of soup.  My luck was the best ride occurred just before Targetman with the lens showed up.  No matter...gimme an ice cream, I know it happened.

Trace rides

Always looking for the Humor

 

  Post surf, the Quest for the best wings continued with tonight's stop at Pickles Pub on Coastal and 8th. A sports pub with 24 beers on tap. Niiiice!  Flatscreens everywhere, at least a half dozen pool tables and giant screen at center stage (perfect for those bandless nights).  Atmosphere-wise, the best yet.

   Then there was the wings...  We chose Hot Buffalo and Baltimore (Old Bay spice) style.  Nice and meaty, these wings would have fit the bill, IF they had been cooked all the way.  Some were a little underdone, some were a LOT underdone.  Oh when we fall short! The hammer dropped, the judgement passed.

   The Quest marches on.

Dawn Patrol...Kinda, notes from The Watt

    If I had my druthers I'd surf mornings every chance I got.  'Course if were up to me I'd sleep in every chance I got.  You see the conflict of interest.  Still, a morning surf brings an almost Zen-like feeling.  No matter how clean or sloppy the swell, there is a sense of calm.  Clarity.  It's just a matter of getting up and staying up long enough to see clear enough to make the 30 mile trek to the beach.  First Saturday in a while that I didn't have to work.

Got up, grabbed a cup 'o joe offa Route 90 and was in the water by 8...ish. Sweeeeeeeeet.

Morning Zen. 8/6

   Made for Castles and 38th.  Knee to thigh highs with some bump.  Occasional waists tended to jack making for a few nose dives when I wasn't watchin'.  Water still in the 70's and the air in the 80's.  Gotta love the summer winds!  Stayed in until the whistle blew (Guards throw you out at 10...but they let ya catch that last wave in).  Post session Mickey D's Egg McMuffin closed the deal.  Feel the stoke, Brah!

Feed the Machine!

                        

J

Essence of Emily, notes from The Watt

Waist Peaks 8/4

   Hurricane season began June 1st.  Well, you'd never know it watchin' over the last couple of weeks.  Flat, man.  Very.   Sayin'.  Anywho's, this week we have finally started to see some swell.  Now, winds outta the ENE might leave some arguing as to whether or not Tropical Storm Emily had anything to do with it.  Coincidence, maybe...to us, not likely.  I was happy.  Waves.  The couple of backside sliders I rode- the peak would slap me from behind and fire me out like a shot...F'ing loved it! Pure energy.

 

Foxes of all types hit the beach

 
   While Emily breaks up today over Cuba and may not give us much more, we took yesterday's swell regardless of the the origins and paid homage accordingly.  Beer.  Wings.  More beer.

  Another tryout for Hard T and I to sit in judgement over.  This week:  The Crab Bag on 130th Street.
Big Pappy's Gator Wings.  After research (Google), I have determined that the hot sauce is J.T. Pappy's Gator Sauce.  We got medium...should have gotten the X or the XX.  Also the Old Bay wings.  As the hammer dropped we were in agreement that the Old Bays were excellent.  The Gators had a sweet, almost BBQ flavor to them.  I thought they were very good...Tomas, not so much.  They were both certainly meaty enough.  Final judgement:  a match to Mother's...the joint deserves a 2nd look for the the XX hot Gator Sauce as it is our kind of place...less touristy, more like a locals dive.  Plenty of sports on plenty of screens.  More to come as the journey moves on...