Early Storms

Stepping out of my truck onto the soggy sand, I grab my rain jacket and quickly pull it onto my body. The cold South wind cuts through my clothes like a knife cuts through butter. The wind carries the rain horizontally into my backside as my hands furl from the slight discomfort.

Without a soul in sight, I say to myself, "Feels like Fall is here..."

It was a gloomy day on the Mendocino coast. The sky and sea were of the same stormy grey. The only difference was that the ocean was sprinkled with whitecaps from the offshore wind. Continuing down the sandy trail, I try to avoid the puddles that obscure the pathway. It doesn't help. My efforts are in vain, and my Vans become soaked. No longer caring, I continue down the path with puddles and all.

"I need a pair of rain boots..."

Making it to the headlands edge I find the familiar log with the engraving R.I.P Frank. Perching myself upon the log I scan the shoreline for any rideable waves. Minutes go by as I stare out at the ocean. I'm hoping to see something rideable even though I already know it's not going to happen.

 Soaked and cold, I accept defeat that I won't be getting any surf today. I tell myself it will be here another day as I step back through the puddles.

"Man... it would be awesome to have rain boots..."

September Sessions

The fog crept in like a cat eager to pounce on it's prey. The last of the summer heat fought to keep the fog at bay but was slowly losing as dusk approached. Walking down the headlands trail, I spy a perfect wave breaking at the river mouth. This confirmed what I had thought I'd seen while driving along Highway 1. A combination of South swell and the right amount of sand in the bay has created the waves I've been waiting for.

Sprinting back to my truck, I eagerly start pulling on my wetsuit. Looking around I notice the amount of transients hanging out in the parking lot. Leaning on their cars, they casually talk with one another while passing around a joint. I remind myself that this is normal in NorCal during the late Summer early Fall. Grabbing my board I make my way down to the beach.

Walking across the sand, I continually see little lefts breaking across the beach. One perfect wave after another and nobody's out. The water an ominous dark color changed from the previous arctic blue hinting that Fall is just around the bend.

Sliding into a few waves I spy another surfer heading down the beach. With a sense of urgency, I paddle harder back into the lineup to enjoy a few more minutes to myself. In the distance I hear a familiar voice call out, "Wyatt!"

Turning my head I see that it's a friend that I grew up surfing with named Holly.

"Hey! How have you been?"

"I've been great! I was about to drive South but it looked like a lot of fun here."

"Yeah, there's no use in driving when there are waves closer by..."

Seeing a wave in the distance, Holly spins her board around and paddles into a wave. I follow suit and slide into another glassy wave behind hers. Kicking out next to Holly, I can't help but laugh. Amidst my laughter, I'm only able to produce a few words.

"Wow, this is amazing!!"

Holly reciprocates with a smile that seems to say, "I know."

Brew Dudes

It sounds like a miniature space shuttle about to take off. The continuous drone of the propane burner releasing gas keeps the fire alive and well. The heat escaping from beneath the pot singes my leg hairs causing me to pay attention to where I place my legs.

I still couldn't help but daydream though. The aromas escaping from the pot would bring back memories to my earlier childhood. When I was younger I would joyfully dance around my dad as he stirred the massive cauldron with his wooden paddle. Climbing on a step stool, I would peer into the pot to try and watch the experiment happening. Staring into the medley, the sweet smells of the crushed grain would waft upwards making my mouth salivate. The bitter smell of the hops would make me relax.

"Wyatt! What's the temperature at?!"

Sensing that I was in another world, I drift out of my memories. Grabbing the thermometer out of the honey colored liquid, I read the temperature.

"Umm... It says 160˚."

"Good! Keep checking the temperature. We don't want that mash temperature to go down."

Taking a break from other adventures, I'm fortunate enough to help my dad brew his next batch of beer. It's something that I've wanted to participate in since I was a little kid. Until recently I was always too young to help other than to be at the sidelines.

My dad picking up the wooden paddle stirs the contents around.

"You know, brewing beer consists of three things. Keeping things sterile. Boiling water. And waiting. It doesn't matter if you brew two gallons of beer or ten gallons of beer. It takes the same amount of time. I learned that quickly when I first started brewing."

The finely milled grain which adds the body to the beer.

Bringing me over to his makeshift desk, he explains how the recipe works. Adding ingredients at different times changes certain properties in the beer. The same ingredients can create different beer styles depending on what time the ingredients are added.

"I keep all of my beer recipes so that way I can make small changes and be consistent. Look at this last batch. The alpha acids are different then the set of hops we're going to use this time. This means we are going to have to account for the change by either adding more hops or adding them into the beer at an earlier time."

I nod my head in agreement. Bits and pieces make sense but it seems like a lot of alchemy. Going back to the thermometer I check the temperature. It seems to be the position I'm most qualified for at this point in my brewing career.

My dad has years of recipes on tiny sheets of scratch paper

Several hours later, we begin siphoning the golden liquid into a glass carboy. The top is sealed by a sterilized rag to keep unwanted bacteria out. My dad hands me a coffee cup of the siphoned liquid and tells me to try it. Taking a few sips, it has the characteristics of a flat beer. The sweet malty flavors are strong but the bitterness of the hops helps to balance the flavors.

"What do you think? Is it well balanced?"

Taking the coffee cup from me he tries a sip. Enthusiastically he says, "Yeah, this is going to be a good one."

The golden liquid

The yeast cultures waiting to be added