It's really cold out. So cold that your legs are shaking, your teeth are grinding and you have lost the ability to move your fingers. The water temp has dropped and the offshore winds are reminding you that winter has come and the days of the warm Santa Anna evening are nothing but a distant memory. Your wetsuit has holes like a L.A. S.W.A.T. vest and the rubber is cracked like a riot shield. Sitting there you wonder why you didn't take that last wave in to the warmth of the crackling fire where beers have been cracked and stories are already underway. Just as your brain begins it final stage of thermal shutdown a set begins to show itself and its as if you were stuck in the microwave and put on instant thaw. Your arms start moving at a pace that means nothing but business. Your first instinct is to look around too see who you need to be wary of ruining your ticket to glory. After a quick glance you remember that you're the last man standing and you can have any wave you want. With that thought the pressure to preform is lifted and it's just you and the ocean. Wave number 2 is the obvious choice, and although its practically dark out there is no need for sight. You have graced this endless wall of water with your presence on more then one occasion and it's like reading braille, all done by feel, all the way to the warmth of the fire.