water spot The siren’s song of storm surf

Last week, the wind hit like pharaoh’s plague, and for most of us surfing was replaced by indoor sports like eating and binge-watching reruns of the original “Hawaii Five-O,” where Waimea shore break holds every surfer’s attention.

That one pay to play wave — windblown, closed out and bone crushing — is enough to send me out the door in search of what we once called “storm surf,” another term for what is now called “junk surf.”

There was sand covering the street by the time I arrived at Oceanside Pier. The surf, which is of decent size and shape, is being ruined by 30 mph onshore winds. As I walk the creaky planks of the pier, sets of waves topping 6 feet cause the pilings to rattle and hum, playing a siren’s tune I once responded to.

It wasn’t that long ago that I made a habit of riding waves like the ones before me. Among my friends I became known for showing up just as the wind shifted