I'm awake 37 minutes before my alarm goes off at 4:45am. Sleep wasn't restless, but somehow I didn't seem to require much. I recalled being perched atop a once terraced hillside, overlooking a particularly breathtaking canyon hideaway nestled between horse ranches and orchards. My breath hung still and visible in the steely morning air. I tried to recall the last time I had been up this early and felt so good. Perhaps it was sleeping under a tapestry of brilliant stars burning in familiar patterns on the other side of the universe. I couldn't remember the last time, so I turned my my mind towards the days endeavors and adventures. The possibilities of perfect waves aching to be ridden and the opportunity to capture and share them infused my spirit with the drive to get up. With the visualization of wave ridding my limbs began to twitch with life. With little stiffness I rose from my layers of thermal and fleece and down. Standing up and out from my tent I could see the faint blackness of the mountains and deep navy blue of predawn sky run the length of the horizon. After being transfixed by the steam produced as I made water I found my full senses and made my way down the hill to where my host was readying our vehicle.
Simon Murdoch leans back on a clean one before darkness and frigid temperatures take hold of this little cobblestone corner of heaven.
That night I slept like a rock.
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