I hear waves in the background; at first they sound like cell-phone hiss but they've got the pulse of a weakening southern hemi groundswell. It's my brother, a non-surfer, standing at the waterline with said cell-phone in hand.

I quickly run through the events of the past hour, how I checked the buoys at 5 am, but it didn't look very good. Planned on calling home to bag it, but figured he would be sleeping until 8 or so and then our planned meet-at-the-beach would occur as I was getting out. Plenty of time for me to crash out for another couple of hours and still make the call to divert the beach trip. He turned out to be more hardcore than I expected, more hardcore than me, and dragged both my sisters out at dawn for a surf-watching session while I caught Z's. Lame! He told me as much over the phone.

Swallowing my pride, and seizing the opportunity as I throw my trunks and suit and towel into the Rubbermaid container, I ask, "Well, how's it look?" Maybe I can turn this embarassing situation to my advantage; I've got my own personal surf checker. The surf hisses a little more loudly. "I'm no expert, but that one looked about up to the guy's shoulder... hello?"

I'm out the door and on the road.

The surf was occasionally fun, kinda weird direction. Some of the more hardcore guys in the water told me it was better earlier.