From the beach at the Breakers, the waves didn't look too good on this October afternoon, but I was stoked we had waves, so I swam out to the lineup anyway to find chest to head high sets firing consistently. A local almost cut my face with his fins in the process, as I had to pull the 1960's "duck and cover from a nuke" position as I felt the reverberation of his fins slicing the water only inches from my face. The wave after that I snapped this shot - local Brycen Vanantwerp eying the ramp in front of him to launch an air.
Cash W Lambert
Breakers, Palm Beach
Introspective Reflective: A Year Ago Today
Nostalgia is little more than the remembrance of old pleasantries, sans the acknowledgment of the inadequacies that accompanied them. But, it’s nice, nostalgia is. It’s nice to reflect on the things that we have experienced, and it’s comforting to only remember the good parts. It’s like admiring a classic car from two lanes across; you are charmed, and you don’t see the rust around the rub rail. Or, maybe, it’s like forgetting the blown-out windcrap swell we have today, and remembering the head-high barrels we got a year ago today. Go on, take a fond look back. I guarantee you won’t see the crowded line up.
As the esteemed ASP draws to a close December in Hawaii, a humbler kin, the Western Atlantic Surf Series (WASS), likewise comes to an end with the 11th Annual Jupiter Fall Classic. From Friday through Sunday, the contest, presented by Kona Brewing Company, brought together some of the top surfers from as far north as Virginia to as far south as Barbados; from young bucks to seasoned vets, girls to boys, men to women, shortboarders to longboarders, and, yes, even to SUP dudes. (You could definitely hear many a S’up with that?! during the sole heat.)
Remember that surf session, maybe it was recent, when you were in perfect position to drop into the barrel on the next wave when a huge set fired through and you suddenly found yourself caught on the inside, getting knocked you off the board, killing a great opportunity?
That’s how my day was going.
I had arrived in Jupiter with an assignment to cover Eastern Surf Association’s #2 competition for this digitally driven magazine to which you are reading. With great atmosphere, great people, and great conversation, things were going well. A moment later, the contest was called off for reasons that are too intricate to explain.
Mind over matter is what I told myself. Every time the car hit a bump on I-95, an imaginary knife pierced my stomach. In the front passenger seat sat two friends, two fellow surfers trying to decide which spot tropical storm Katia would hit best: Vero, Sebastian, or Ft. Pierce. Residing in Palm Beach, we received no love from Katia because of her swell direction; the Bahamas blocked a large portion of the swell, pushing our travel north to find waves. And, in the backseat, beside two surfboards and two cameras, sat me, anxiously chugging water. Gallstones are what the doctor told me the day before, the equivalent to giving birth for a woman, and I was headed for surgery in less than 24 hours. The doctor ordered me to take it easy and stay indoors, resting until the demons were removed. But when tropical storm Katia showed up on swell forecast websites, my desire spoke louder than my pain.
Absence makes the heart grow stronger they say, which was the case as the Atlantic turned from months of summer flat spells to an upheaval of heavy bombs and offshore winds in a matter of hours. When the trajectory of Hurricane Irene changed and swung up the coast, Floridians were stoked about the situation lining up: a category 3 storm off the coast to send in the hurricane-level swell with none of the hurricane-level damage.