Early morning surfing was on the agenda. Knowing we had our wetsuits until noon, I set the alarm California early (930am) to be out in the surf at 10am. Waves were shredded in the time allotted and after I almost cut another surfista's arm off with the fin of my board while trying to wash it, we returned our suits.

We fed our ravenous appetites at a wonderful little joint called Taco Surf off of Mission Boulevard. While I shoveled tacos down my throat like a salt water hippo out of water, I mentally prepared for my 3pm engagement: JOB INTERVIEW. All in a California day.

More on the session....still very much (completely) learning the ins and outs to a beautiful, harmonious, yet overbearingly salty sport. I have surfed a handful of times before: on the Washington coast, in Costa Rica, and in my beloved highway town of Mancora in northern Peru. To gain any kind of mastery of the sport, I will have to go no less then 3,000 more times no matter what country I might be practicing in. Where I find myself needing special attention is my judgment of what constitutes a rideable wave. Selecting which wall of water will send me on a fun confidence building ride, or which will deposit my gonads 8 feet under the ocean floor has proved to be a difficult task. Wes, my traveling partner/navigating sidekick brother leaves for Seattle drear tomorrow afternoon, wish him good traveling karma. Hasta las olas locas amigos, PAZ.