Highway To the Danger Zone

I was spoken to. Beckoned to the water as if by Sirens. The words...."high...surf...advisory" flashed on my Weather Channel Desktop, calling me to the sea with that mysterious force. The afternoon had turned gorgeous, at least in this piece of the world, at this moment. I had to take my lunch break at the water.

Driving out Table Bluff, dipping into then climbing out of Tsunami Hazard Zones would not normally be a concern but, after Saturday's 6.5 quake followed by news of the morning 7.0 in Haiti, I felt a bit squeamish. Funny how such things make us so aware of our mortality. As I reached the bottom of Hookton Road, at the far south end of the spit, I reconsidered the drive out to the end. It's only a couple miles out but I found myself calculating that I could get back to high ground in about three minutes if I ripped along at 60. Truthfully, the jagged potholes at the far end of the spit would probably rip the suspension from my low-lying car at that pace but, right or wrong, I decided I could save myself in a pinch.
To witness the larger waves - and size DOES matter - at the south spit, waves would have to come from the South and these were from the west. But what the surf lacked in heighth was offset by quantity. I walked the beach briefly, enjoying the pounding layers of surf, crashing on top of each other and the foam, tumbling happily up the sand. Nice fat juicy waves in the channel rose above the level of the jetty though they clung to the north side of the channel with few splashes to deter the fisherpeople on the side I walked.

No rocks. No big waves. But a winter lunch break spent on the beach with small waves is better than a lunch anywhere else.