To be sure, there's a lot we can complain about; I've done a fair share of it myself. The crowds. The boards we used to love that now no longer work for us. The kooks. The jobs that often seem to govern our lives, keeping us away from perfect mornings and evening glass. Getting old.
Yesterday I rode the new board to the point of exhaustion; an endless cycle of paddling up and over bad mush, it seemed, but there were two that were just right, chest-high lefts. The PCM rode like them had been made for just such waves, short rides but nonetheless reminders of how truly goddamn lucky we are to be able to do this thing that we love so much.