Steamers & Kelp Pt. 5

The parking area that provided access to the rocks was unmarked and was difficult to find if you had never been there. It was on the left side of the street and very unassuming between the rows of driveways that led to waterfront mansions. Families from New York City would spend their vacations there, leaving the homes dark and imposing for the rest of the year. The parking spaces were at the end of a short nicely paved road and as you drove down, you could see the Atlantic spread out far and wide with that deep blue color spotted by whitecaps. There was only one other car in the lot when they arrived. It was a black Geo and there was a really awful looking woman sleeping in the front seat with that hairstyle that looks wet all the time and clothes so tight for her figure that it looked as though her flesh was held together by the various seams and bands of her garments. They jointed up the rods - Pete had only brought his cheap ugly stick imitation and a some old rusted out tackle that he’d had luck with on these rocks last year. Bill had brought his more substantial surf casting rig along and his flea market tackle box that seemed bottomless and full of gear neither of them had ever seen before. They walked down the steep graveled path that wound between the big leaved beach grape trees - Pete swinging his five gallon bucket with all the gear and a six pack of heineken hidden under a layer of ice. Once clear of the trees they could see the jagged granite rocks spread out in front and on either side, the southwest seas crashing white along the whole coast, making the air thick with spray.