How can you tell who's a local?

Yesterday we got the first real waves we've had in weeks. Not big, only a foot or two, but enough to bring other people out that morning. I've gotten so used to being the only one out. I've also gotten used to surfing right in front of my house, literally; it never used to break well there but lately it has been, so I have had the luxury of not having to walk down to the jetty (a two minute walk).

But just as I was stretching on the beach in preparation to getting out to "my" spot another guy went straight for it and got on it before I did. Such was my sense of entitlement that I went out there anyway. We were close enough to strike up a conversation, and he did. I could tell as soon as he opened his mouth that he was not a local---that sexy Australian accent! But even without the accent, I would have known by the friendly conversation we had---where'd you grow up, why did you start surfing---a conversation I have yet to have with locals I have seen in the water year after year.

And I would have known by the way he was so encouraging, even offering helpful advice (after asking if I wanted it). Wow, if I had more of that, I might actually get somewhere! He'd seen me pearl and wanted me to know that there might be a way to save myself from wiping out if that happened, simply by pushing my body back on the board with my hands once I realized my nose was going under.

Even when I got a ride where I couldn't let go of the rails until the wave was almost over, he was so complimentary, telling me I was up when, really, I wasn't, or only marginally. And eventually I got up and got a ride where I didn't fall off and really went somewhere, which was great fun. (But he didn't see it.)

My takeoffs were, to paraphrase Barbra Streisand, like buttah. (You younguns won't get that reference, never mind.) Smooth, sweet, perfect. I couldn't even believe how good they were. Effortless. That wasn't the problem (well, except for one or two pearls), it was the standing up. But still I managed it a couple of times.

I was so encouraged I stayed out beyond the limits of my suit, even longer than the shaggy haired Australian, who waved goodbye as he was leaving.

What a contrast today was. I put the 5/3 back on, knowing it's the last day I'll wear it this season and that next time I must don the dreaded hood. Today it really was breaking better at the jetty than at "my" spot, but there were five people surfing down there already and I didn't feel like being with people, and even though I couldn't tell who they were I had a hard time imagining they'd be friendly. One person on a blue board was getting nice rides.

So I went to my spot and tried hard, but I was not getting the buttah takeoffs. Close, but no buttah. When I figured I was about halfway cold I decided to try down by the other people to see if I'd do any better.

Turned out the person on the blue board was K., my former friend now trying her best to drive me out of the neighborhood. She made the cold water more icy by pretending I didn't exist. The others were her boyfriend and people I didn't know, but who at least smiled at me as if I existed. It was better down there and on one wave I managed to struggle to my feet at the end, proving that I can sometimes balance on a board for more than two seconds. That was the best I could do before hypothermia set in.

The reality is that we spend at least five months here in the thickest suits, the 6 mils. The other suits only get a month or two wear out of the year. I'm putting away my 5/3 and it won't see water again until May.