Two Sessions : Tuesday, at a beach break somewhere in California. The bouy readings are small, the surf sites are predicting flatness and everybody is waiting for the swell which is supposed to hit on Wednesday. The weather at the coast is still and quiet, the fog not moving in the chilly morning air. I walk to the beach through a damp meadow, hood up against the cold, breath showing in the air, and watch the ocean - it really is flat. It's only when I'm right at the cliff that I can see the waves at all. From the cliff, though, looking down, a three-wave, shoulder-high set rolls in and an easy left slides all the way to shore. The water is glassy and black under the fog. There's nobody out, and it looks fine.

Back to the car, I pull on a damp wetsuit, and jog down the trail to the beach. And to my amazement, I have two hours of solo session. There's a set every five minutes pushing the left back to shore - take the easy drop, make a quick cutback and then there's enough shoulder on the inside to get some speed up before kicking out at the shorebreak. The fog drifts in and out and the sun drizzles through for a few minutes at a time, turning the water a luminescent dark green, and the surf a glossy, shiny white.There is absolutely no sound at all except the waves hitting the shore and occasional birdcalls from far above my head.

It stays cold. My head gradually becomes a chilly, clear empty space. I can see my feet next to the board. I can watch the seagulls. Drift around. At one point I get four waves in quick succession - just surf in, paddle back out, turn the board, take the drop and do it again. The rythmn of surf, paddle, turn and go merges me into the scene - I feel myself dissolving like a sugar cube into the cold black water.

I remain alone for the entire two hours as the tide slowly comes in and mushes out the break. Eventually a rare head-high set comes in and the wave of the day takes me all the way the shore. I end up grateful, happy, bouyant, satisfied.

Wednesday, the swell arrives, and you can feel the energy pulsing up and down the coast. I call Wise. The surf report at Wise is normally a study in laid-back dude-speak. Today, Dave is, for him, wildly over the top. "It's not all-time" he cautions, "but you should probably come out and surf". Strong stuff. Almost emotional. I'm stoked.

At the beach, we have head-high waves, smooth faces, looks like some speed and, luxury of luxuries, a channel! It's fun, for once, at Ocean Beach!

And everybody knows it. Even as recently as five years ago, a day like this would have been almost solitary - a few enthusiasts at the peaks, mosty old-timers with some younger rippers on the inside. Today it's crowded. Not unmanageable, but you have to be aware of the pack, watch your drops, check your position. The vibe has some frustration in it - not surprising, really - Ocean Beach is a frustrating place to surf even when it's empty. A good karmic test, I suppose, a good check on how loose we all are. There's plenty for everybody, but to have a good time you have to master a tricky brew of stoke, aggression, patience and some decent paddling speed.

So I get a few - they're pretty fast, nice shoulders, and that channel is a wonderful thing. I don't stay out too long - there's a lot of chat, hassling for position, lots of moving around in the pack. It's a different sport today. We're all out scratching to get our fix, and we're much more intent on feeding our habit than appreciating the world around us. Nothing wrong with that, but I was lucky on Tuesday, and got a big hit of soul satisfaction, so the blast of buzz I get from the rides doesn't always seem worth outpaddling folks twenty years younger than me.

Two sessions. Not a bad way to spend Tuesday and Wednesday morning.