a little poem about how i moved to newport

new spring night
damp and warm
all around descending
upon me in my exhaustion--
i am finally home.

i go through the motions:
cast iron skillet,
garden ravaged
a phone call to mother
drying hands on a dish towel
a moment of pause

then another, another
before remembering
how it is i came to be in this place

some strange attraction,
a driftwood fire,
salt collecting in a jar,
smoke in my hair fading into a pillow case,
the roar of the ocean finally
loud enough to get me there

sweet dreams are made of these

the call of the sea, glaring sun, perfect wind-groomed lines, low tide sand bars showing for the first time since autumn, getting off work, a 5 minute drive to the favorite spot, friends in the lineup, the warble we've come to know and love, the perfection, the imperfection, the cold, the sound of cormorants whining in the setting sun, the smell of decaying seaweed, fresh mussles clinging to rocks, foam, mist, gravity, flight, the overcoming of inertia, perpetual motion.

the rioting of gulls, the violent greens and blacks on the cliff, how does nature get away with it?

surf report # 692

Here it is, the best surf report of the year:

"See, I'm a pioneer. And I'm also doing a public service. I'm resetting the margins, I'm re-calibrating the scale. I'm redefining the language... just what is a "wave" anyway?People talk about conditions, they paint with broad strokes. Is there a ceiling, how good can it get? Is there a zero point? Can it get any worse? I'm here to help define the construct of surfing. Is it skilled activity in a challenging environment? Is it experiential? How much is internal, how much is external?In the wind, in the rain, in the cold... symbols lose their value. What is swell, what is a wind-wave, what is fetch? My focus is on not aspirating the untreated water. We're just splitting hairs, after all. When the wind flips your board up into your frozen lips and chin, does it really matter if it's a Surftech? The aqueous environment will dictate the move. This where surfing becomes reactive, not proactive. Words like "left" and "right" lose their meaning. The surfer closest to the peak is the one buried in whitewater. Wooden hands scratch without purchase, the wind moves us sideways, the current carries us where it will. The Tao, flowing, fight not the current, re-align your chi flow. A pit drops, there is a respite, "from chaos comes order". If William S Burroughs could script your surf session, this is what it would be. How many hollow oaths will you swear? "I'll never drink again". Of course you will. Like I told the other garbage men in the water... if nothing else we have proven something to ourselves: we'll surf anything. There is no wave beyond salvation, the right hands will create art from refuse.What was I doing out there? Redefining the scope of my surfing experience.did the waves suck? sure, but having a few laughs with friends can't be beat." --C. Murk, Waldport Oregon, April 4 2010

waves of yesteryear

this blog's author on a little wave just north of cascade head. and no, these pictures are NOT from this week... not even this year. this was a january day in 2005. that was a good winter for surfing here in oregon.

more pics of this blog's author on my favorite oregon coast wave. if you know me, you know where this photo was taken. for those of you who do not know, i'm a secret ninja (as you can see by the photos) and i would have to threaten you with numchucks if you had access to my secrets.

nothing going on in the ocean right now except lots of hell, handbaskets, cats, dogs, tridents, neptunes, madness. where, oh where are our lovely spring waves?