Journal

Hammock on the Outer Banks tonight

It’s summertime in the Outer Banks. Finally a couple days to rest between shows. My porch hammock is rocking just barely enough to feel. Sticky salt-air clamming my clothes reminds me that the night is thick with adventure somewhere out there. The distant sound of 1 a.m. fireworks out on the beach dunes confirms it….But my day is disappearing into a strange dream. Every place has its own strange dream, tonight this long thin sand peninsula is reaching out into the Atlantic Ocean, fishing for a dream to take me from this netted porch and into some desolate paradise wonderland. I hope I remember it. Who knows what continents in the mind have been dreamt, discovered, and lost to daylight.

I woke up from a dream. Suddenly I was back in my hammock on the porch. It had been swinging so wildly that it was circling around house. It swung way out over the yard like a Chair-O-Planes carnival ride. The rope should’ve wound itself around the whole house but instead it grew longer and spun faster until I realized—I’m still inside my dream! At that moment the rope vanished and I was flying in a hammock like a magic carpet over Duck, North Carolina.

July 12th, 2018|

The nearest far away place. Yesterday the Hideaway was in classic form. It is nearly Halloween, yet it feels like the peak of summer. Nate and I snuck off down to the Hideaway to write music and get a taste of our definition of “the good life.” The offshore/side winds made the surf reminiscent of my travels alone in Costa Rica—big hollow lefts with wide open swooping faces. The side-wind would hit the lefts and they would suddenly open up as if just for you, to make room for you in the belly of its barrel. Hot air blasts past your face, and you’re half-dry by the time you pull out.

At night we lit a beachfire under the hut and jammed on the acoustic guitar and ukulele. The stars were clearer than normal. And the moon was a crooked smile in the sky, falling into deepening gold as it set on the horizon. Out in the water, waves were breaking and glowing blue with bioluminescence. Everytime a good one broke outside, the conversation turned to “Wow….”

If everyone had access to this kind of magic, the mail wouldn’t run on time, TV channels would turn to static, and the stiff corporations would need to fill a lot of vacant positions.

“The Parable of the Mexican Fisherman” is our state motto down here at the Hideaway.

October 25th, 2017|

50-Tree Bonfire: The Story

August 18th, 2017|

Exploring the Virgin Islands Ep.3

We explore an abandoned beach house from the 1800's and jam out at the famous Soggy Dollar beach bar on Jost Van Dyke in the British Virgin Islands.
January 11th, 2017|

Sleeping in a Bamboo Forest Ep. 2

We packed our longboards and blankets and a lighter and headed down to the Hideaway, a little bamboo hut on an ignored stretch of coastline right in the middle of Southern California—Los Angeles to the north and San Diego to the south, but not a soul in sight for miles. Read More...
November 16th, 2016|