Then a tiny bump appeared on the horizon. I didn't even have to move, it rolled right up to me and offered up a perfect waist-high peeler. It was really small. There was barely enough push behind it for a cutback, but it rolled along that sandbar perfectly for a full fifty or more yards, and I just glided along with it. When the wave was done, the ocean was a flat mirror again. I paddled back to the same spot, and another little bump appeared, just as I got into position. Paddle, paddle, paddle. Gliiiide. This continued for about an hour. I'd nevere seen a swell like that one, and I doubt I ever will again. The one-wave sets were timed just perfectly for the time it took to paddle back out. It was like the ocean was my own personal wave pool. During that session, there wasn't another soul on the beach or in the water. A few raindrops fell, occasional distant thunder rolled over the water, just like those long slow lines. The tide came up a little bit and the swell just ended, or got buried. Either way the ocean returned to pure glass and just little ripples breaking on the sand. I paddled back in, rinsed my gear in the calm water. I hadn't eaten yet, and it was whatever-o-clock, so I pulled in to Dakine Diegos and had a burrito, watching the rain and totally at peace with that little magic session behind me. It wasn't much of anything, but the memory of that damp calm day sticks with me.