Let’s be honest. If you’re an average working adult with responsibilities, Saturday morning could very well be your only slot available to get some waves.

I know that weekend warriors are often deemed as kooks.

But, come on, not everyone has free time to chase historical swells whenever they pop and have someone shooting your idyllic waves for social media during working weekdays.

So, yes, eventually, 99.9 percent of the surfing population only has Saturday morning available to score a few gems.

And this is if you’re a lucky adult.

So, if Saturdays are many surfers’ golden chances of getting their wetsuits wet, we better make the most of it.

The problem is that we do it all at the same time, resulting in crowded lineup battles, stress, tensions, and surf localism events.

I am no different. The only thing is I don’t get physical – just slightly judgmental and annoyed in my brain.

Nevertheless, I’ve learned to come to terms with my weaknesses and flaws and managed to tone them down.

So, the concept of a perfect Saturday morning surf is like a mirage or dream; it’s almost something like a paradox.

Going With the Flow

Could there be such a thing as an ideal weekend surf session? Is that even possible?

Thankfully, sometimes magic happens. I am actually writing this on a Monday, 48 hours after it happened.

Looking back, I think the trick was also to not have any expectations at all about how it was going to roll out.

Here’s how it went. I’ll try to detail it as much as possible.

I woke up naturally, to no alarm whatsoever. After a shower, I had my orange juice and toasted bread with butter, followed by a coffee.

Once I was finished, I checked my favorite surf forecasting tool, Windguru, and then double-checked the data with a quick check at the local surf cams.

It looked like just an average day of surfing.

The good thing was the absence of wind, which, for my home and spiritual breaks, is the best thing from a wave rider’s perspective.

It’s a technical contradiction, but I do think wind is surfing’s worst enemy (even though it’s responsible for the creation and grooming of perfect waves).

So, a windless morning would mean I could finally get wet after weeks of apathy and lack of interest in putting on a wetsuit.

It was my need-not-to-surf phase.

Anyway, the board was inside my car, and I drove 12.5 miles (20 kilometers) to the surf break where I have been opting to have fun in the last few years.

It’s Spring, but the skies are not particularly summery. Light clouds intertwined by a few sunrays make the idea of paddling out only slightly appealing.

Have you ever felt you were only surfing to clock in and keep a minimum connection with something you know makes you feel good?

Well, that was more or less the case.

A Peak Just For Myself

When I got to the break, I saw a few low-tide lines arriving and breaking unridden. “Hmmm… Interesting,” I thought to myself.

Because the weather was not the best you could get in April, there were not many people by the beach, and I had plenty of parking spaces available by the boardwalk at around 10:15 am.

A few meters away, I saw a surf school with a dozen Northern European pale white skins taking the beginner foam boards off the roof of the surf van.

“I better suit up quickly before them,” my greedy brain murmured.

And so I did. And so I ran down the beach toward the peak I was most interested in. After a very quick and highly ineffective warm-up, I clicked “Start” on my surf watch and headed out.

I remember thinking I needed to be as discreet as possible to avoid attracting attention to “my” peak. Are we surfers awful?

So, I paddled out relatively slowly as continuous perfect swell lines passed by me.

First goal – achieved. I was the first to get there. But how long could heaven last?

The water wasn’t cold, the waves were there, and I had nobody around competing for the better-looking ripples.

There must be something off… Maybe a shark will eventually show up for the first time in these waters and end this unexpected moment of joy.

“I am generally not this lucky,” I pessimistically thought.

It was not epic, but a perfect chest-high surf all for myself is a feast I won’t deny these days.

I rode the first one and felt good. My out-of-shape arms had to get me out the back again, but I just relaxed and paddled at my own pace.

The effect an empty lineup with good waves has on us is unbelievable. For every wave I rode, I felt increasingly grateful.

At some point, I noticed two surfers walking by the shoreline.

When they were in front of where I was, I started paddling sideways in the direction they were walking, as if telling them that’s where they should be going.

It worked out. I had just bought credits to extend my time alone on that peak.

I kept riding waves. Some of them were 100 yards long – not bad.

“Why Don’t I Do This Every Day?”

And just as I hit the 60-minute mark, I got my longest ride and made my way in. As I reached the sand, a longboarder was preparing to paddle out.

“You should’ve been here in the last hour…” I foolishly told my brain.

After another ineffective post-surf stretch, I made my way up the beach, collecting pieces of plastic coming from God knows where in the world and putting them on top of my surfboard deck.

I was feeling so stoked and elated that I could become a volunteer and dedicate my life to helping others.

This is the power of surfing; this is what getting outdoors and living life off smartphones and computer screens feels like.

As I showered on the border between the sand and the real world, I wondered, “Why don’t I do this every day?”

“Well, Luís, you don’t do it every day because you no longer have that life,” my conscience replied.

Lesson learned: Cherish your perfect Saturday morning surf sessions.

Better be like kooks than stay dry, complaining about life and how waves are never good enough for our pedigree.

Words by Luís MP | Founder of SurferToday.com