Worse. Beyond weird. A brute of a day. Cannonball torquing fly swatter gusts, big shifts, headers on both sides of the sounds, blasts off the wall, voodoo chop. On the plus side the river was flat and the volume had been turned down form sail-in-a-fire-hose strong to seasonal, but there was no wind beyond the tip of the sandbar, so it was all going to waste. Keep looking for a spot that was settled, but never found it, until I was headed back in and Nexen set up for about 20 minutes just after Richard arrived for Shawn (sp?) on kite, myself and a couple others. Some nice jumping ramps and mini-slides started to kick on the low tide. Post session chatter on the beach was about it being 'well inside the top 10 worst days EVER' and about fly-swatter-backwinded-smack-downs-like-the-old-days.
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