A WEEKEND AT TRESTLES: A CLEAN FAREWELL, MON 3.28.2011 MORN

CREW: Michelle, Cheryl, Silverton
FLAKES OF THE DAY: NA
RAN INTO: NA
TIME: 0745 - 1000, 2 hrs. & 15 min.
CONDITIONS: 2-3 feet, clean, glassy, slightly over cast, cool, inconsistent.
   
    I had to piss around 0300, but I held it in until I awoke at 0546. The whole night I was freezing my balls off; I could see my breath from inside the car. I’ve learned many lessons on this trip: don’t bring too much food, make sure your tent isn’t missing anything, propane is your best friend, and make sure you have a really good sleeping bag. I was using two sleeping bags, and it wasn’t enough. Next time, I’m bringing my military-grade stuff.

    The morning was just as calm as the night. The offshore winds were faint if not there at all. Silverton was the first one out of the tent. I made him a cup of coffee. We chilled by the fire and commented on the ladies sleeping in. I was a little tired, so I didn’t mind a later start. Besides, I could tell that the surf was smaller, so I didn’t feel that there was any rush. Cheryl poked her head out of the tent by 0645. I offered her some hot cocoa; Michelle didn’t want anything. We suited up a little late, and they made the call to surf Churches. I told them that I’d meet them out there, and that I might be more north towards Middles.

    You could tell it was a Monday because there were only three people at Old Man’s and one at Churches. I like Churches, but I rarely surf there because it’s so crowded. I saw a clean peak form off of the point, so I paddled out right there. The waits didn’t seem that long, but the waves were barely three feet high. My first wave was a fun little left that had a perfect open face. I had fun trimming up and down the line and pumping all the way to shore. I got a small right that allowed me to do a couple top turns. Even though the waves were small, they definitely had more “push” than the waves at Old Mans the prior evening. I hit a lull, and since it was my last day there I decided to paddle further into Middles; Michelle felt the same. Silverton watched from the shore as Cheryl stayed at the same spot at Churches.

    Michelle and I thought we saw some peaks, but we found them to be mirages every single time. We only found the peak at Lowers; it was a long ass paddle. There were only about six guys there, but two younger guys left which opened the door for us to get in. Nothing was happening at first, but then the sets got consistent for at least a half hour. It became routine: Michelle would get one, I would get one, and then it repeated. It was about time that we had a chance to surf that spot without much opposition. Michelle, on her longboard, was getting more waves than anyone else out there. She’d stroke her way into them so early and easy. I watched her gracefully drop into the critical part of the face fully focused on her own awareness of self and nature. I was lucky to get what I could. I had to hang more on the inside, but I got the shoulder as soon as it jacked up on the shelf. I got a couple turns here and there, and it was more than I expected given the small conditions. Michelle was even nice enough to give up a wave.

    She was sitting on the outside and said, “You want this one?”

    “Hell yeah,” I replied, as I raced to beat to peeling section and caught the wave at its steepest point, giving me enough speed to take the section.

    Three more guys paddled out, and that’s when I got my reality check. I’ve never seen guys rip the shit out of waves that were so small. I mean I know it’s possible. I’ve seen my bro catch waves on small days, but these guys were pulling off floaters and gashing out the lip so hard that you could hear the buckets being thrown out. Those guys dominated. I saw Michelle wipe out on a steep drop in. I was over the new crowd. We paddled all the way back to Churches where we saw Cheryl walking towards the shore. I caught a close out and rushed to get breakfast started.

    Silverton helped me make two cans of beans, two long turkey sausages, and eggs with provolone cheese; I already had two cups of rice cooked from the night before. Within a half hour we were stuffing our faces at the picnic table. That was the biggest meal I had while I was out there; we ate everything!

    Our checkout time was at noon, so after that meal we tore down the campsite with quickness. We said our goodbyes, and I spent the rest of the day driving home and unpacking.

    Now, I sit here late at night writing this. I was a little sad today, and I realized it was “Trestles Withdrawal Syndrome.” I drove down to Porto this evening just to have a look. I caught Klaude and Dais coming out of the water in the Porto parking lot. Even though I spotted some messy, rideable shoulder, it’s just not the same.

    Klaude said, “There’s another swell coming in this weekend.”

    “From what direction?” I asked.

    “North, Northwest.”

    “What are you thinking? Did you want to stay local?”

    “You know how this place gets when it’s overhead. I wouldn’t mind checking out up north.

    We both paused as we looked at the fading orange light over the dark textured water. Klaude looked at me with a reassuring look over his face.

    He said, “Trestles, bro . . . Trestles.”