Paddling out at Fox Hill, I can’t help think back to the days of my youth. I remember one particular surf session when I was about 17. I smashed my nose after a bad fall, and upon surfacing, blood was oozing out. Thanks to the Mid Winter cold I didn’t feel any pain and couldn’t tell if it was broken. I asked my two friends I was with “Hey, does my nose look broken to you?” They both looked at each other, then at the sweet waves coming in. “Nah, it looks fine”. We continued to surf Fox Hill the rest of the afternoon. Later that evening when my face thawed out and I could look in the mirror, it became quite clear I had busted my nose.
15 years later Hurricane Bill was a complete different story from that day, warm water, the wind wasn’t too bad, and nice solid swell coming in. The only way it could have been any better was if it had been a weekday instead of a Sunday. Crowds of surfers lined the inside of the break with just a few on the outside point. It almost made me change my mind and head for another break I knew was going off in Maine. But it had been so long since I had surfed Fox Hill in good waves that I had to go out. I decided to paddle outside and wait for some larger sets to roll through, avoiding the crowded inside section.
I brought my waterproof point and shoot out with me, tucked into the sleeve of my wetsuit, hoping to get a few decent shots. The photos I got with it really don’t do the waves any justice. Anytime a large set bombed through, I was more concerned about my well being than getting a shot of a double overhead wave crashing onto my skull.
Around 3, I enjoyed a lunch of a melted gooey powerbar, corn nuts, a club wrap, water and red bull. I watched the combination of high tide along with the huge swell; drench unsuspecting beach goers, when huge waves crashed on the rocks. I also got to witness from shore what I had been playing in. Huge sets rolling into both Fox Hill and the near by Rye Rocks, sounding like thunder as they broke.
I ventured back out into the water around 5 as the tide started to back out. The wind disappeared along with the crowds. The surf became super glassy and hollow on the inside. Every wave I caught ended with a beautiful barrel section. This was classic Fox Hill; anyone who has ridden this wave knows what I’m talking about.
Now that I’ve reached the ripe old age of 32, I realize the importance of staying in shape. I had every intention of going back out early morning Monday to catch the remainder of the swell at Fox. When the alarm went off at 5 all my mind could think about was surf, but my body would have none of it. As my soar muscles screamed when I wandered down stairs to check the surf on the computer the choice became painfully clear. I drifted back off to sleep dreaming about some of the best surf I’ve had at Fox Hill, enjoying a soft bed, warm body beside me and air conditioning.
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