22 . 10 . 16
Long-range groundswells born of far off hurricanes and the first rumblings of winter mix with the last gasp sunshine of summer in autumn, and the results are what we wait all year for. Crisp mornings with golden light, cold sand under feet, and small yet powerful waves held sharp by offshore winds. On the quiet beaches, dogs chase tennis balls and jackets are the new uniform; people walk across the sand, rather than lie on it. We engineer our days to draw out lunch breaks at the beach or start a little later with wet hair and work on into the evenings; we make it our business to surf when we can, because we’re in the surf business.