Summer time in Baja California. The fuse had been lit long ago, and led by the youth like enthusiasm of my father and friends, our journeys to the surf were many. The Baja trip was just one of such outings and as every soul that has been snared by the "curse" knows, its an addiction you never want to see end.
As with most memories looked at, just the pinnacle moments within those particular sojourns really stand out. The mind coupled with time seem to work in unison to help dissolve most other details. But our time traveling down the fossilized splinter of a spine that is the Baja peninsula, crammed deep inside our four four wheel sky blue bronco, everyday posed itself as something new and so unique.
Our goal was yes to find and surf the many point breaks that would be hopefully coming to life from both far away sources and that of a predicted busy hurricanes season ahead. But according to my father, we were after just one true experience, one wave that had the ability to stain over all other memories behind it and all memories to come. Raising his dust laden arms high above the steering wheel and peering up into and through and well beyond the containment of our bronco macho, my father passionately again cried out "By the grace of the surf Gods!"
