MIDDLES: THE SKUNK, THU 7.28.2011 MOR

Another overcast moring

Crew: Solo

Time: 0845 – 1245, 4 hrs.

Conditions: Overcast then sunny, hot, inconsistent, 2-3 ft., poor shape (except Lowers).

Roll Call:

     I was actually a bit desperate to find someone to roll with me. I don't know why. I guess sometimes it's nice to have company, also I think that it's always safer to have a battle-buddy. Last night I hit up everyone, but they had obligations. Well, I'm the only unemployed bum out of all of my friends, so I can't expect everyone to be free. Oh, but Dave was down to surf. I told him that I'd take a look first to see what it looked like. I was tired. Lauren even told me that I'm wearing myself out. I set my alarm for 0530. I'd get at least five hours of sleep.

High Expectations:

     I try to prepare for the possibility of crappy conditions, but with the hype of the new swell coming in, it's hard not to be excited. I'm on the road heading back to HB, and I'm hoping that the swell's arrived early. If not, it would be nice to get some peaky, fast, little waves. Dave texts me that he's ready to go. It's 0645. I call him and tell him I'll follow up with a report. As I enter the parking lot I see some surfers suiting up. It looks like a good sign, however, my staging area only has one van there. There's a little wind, but it's light, lighter than a couple days ago. Once I make my way over the sand I see my surf spot completely empty. It makes sense; the surf looks like shit. There's a little more size, but the morning swell is making the waves wall up. I look further south where the main pack is. There are a lot of people, but it doesn't look much better.

     I'm not surfing it. There's no way. I didn't wake up early and drive here for this. It's sad; it's a disappointment. I pull out my phone to check the surf report. San Onofre is 2-3 + with occasional 4 ft. I didn't plan on driving all the way down south. The drives have been kicking my ass lately, but it sounds like a worthy gamble. The thought of clean waves from a new swell creates images in my mind. I picture myself at my Middles spot with clean waves all to myself, another wave buffet. I picture peaky, glassy, waves forming in the distance, popping up and having my way with an open canvas of water. I call Dave and invite him down south with me, but he can't. The longer I sit, the more traffic is building. I need coffee for the drive.

The quest continues. . . .

The Addiction:

     On the way to the 55N I wonder if there's something wrong with me. It's a long drive, a commitment to a gamble, and gonna hurt my wallet as far as gas is concerned. I could go home. There are a lot of things I can do. I can play World of Warcraft, clean the apartment . . . check my shit list to see what else I need to do. Or . . . I can surf. How can I not surf? I justify it in so many ways:

• I don't have kids right now, so now's the time.
• School starts next month, so I need to find good surf NOW.
• I don't have to work yet, but when I do I won't have as much time to surf.
• The new swell's here; it has to be good. I've waited for this moment since coming back from Bali.
• Everyday we die a little. We're getting older. Why not surf right now, while I'm still young?
• Fuck the system, fuck everything. This is life. It's so short. Make the best of it and chase some waves.

     I pull into Starbucks, grab a venti bold and a bagel. I'm gonna need the extra carbs. One long surf session, that's the plan. I'm not gonna stay all day unless it's good, especially since I'm running late as it is. I'm going to surf as long as I can in one sitting.

Back Again:

     The coffee's strong. I only take about four sips. It's working. As I pull into San Onofre I can tell that there's no wind. The texture on the water is so smooth and glassy. Waves are breaking where there usually aren't waves. I look back and see a swarm of surfers at Old Mans. In the distance I see packs of surfers at Churches. There's no need to see anything else. New swell plus clean conditions equals motherfucking fun! I wish that I could just jump in naked, but I remember that it's cold, and I'd be paranoid about a fish nibbling on my worm or my balls getting sliced by a fin. I park and take a gander. Churches is clean. I see a couple legit three footers come through. It looks fun. To the south there are some random peaks that nobody's on. I change in a heartbeat.

     In the ocean there's something riding the waves, something small. I don't realize what it is until I see a couple guys on the sand with remote controls. Cool! They have remote control surfers, and those little contraptions are realistically riding the waves. A small crowd has formed, even the lifeguards are watching.

A closer look:

     Churches always looks good when it's clean. It's packed with longboarders. I plan to surf north of Middles, but I paddle out at the end of Churches to see if I can score there. As I warm up I watch the surf. Middles doesn't have shit. I watch the break in front of me, and the peaks are coming in too long, meaning that the peaks aren't defined. Once the shoulder forms, the section way in front starts spilling and running away. The shoulders don't have that “Trestles peel” for that signature, rippable wave that Trestles is known for. I look up north at Middles. It looks like a fuckin' lake. Ohhhhh . . . fuck my ass. I'm not giving in. It can't be that bad. I paddle out and get a left. I'm on the shoulder, I drop in, and I'm pumping. I look ahead, and the section's already running away and turning to white wash. I catch three more waves, and it's the same. I make the paddle to the cliffs just south of Lowers. There's only one other longboarder there. The waves are a little inconsistent, but they come frequent enough. It's all the same. It's a race to get down the line and a prayer that the shoulder peels slower, but the peaks are stretched out so much. On a couple waves I crank out single turns, but they're on dissolving lips, weak. I find myself inching closer and closer to Lowers. I'm just south of Lowers, and I get my first wave with shape. It's a right-hander breaking on the inside. The shoulder peels slowly, so I set up and dish out two top turns. Finally, it's that feeling, exactly what I drove down here for. As I paddle back out, there's another one coming. I turn and go. Success! That's two good waves in a row. Fuck yes, this is my spot! There's a lull that follows. Some small shapeless waves come through. I scratch out on all of them. I look at my watch. It's been twenty-two minutes since those two waves that I just caught. Fuckin' A. It was the kiss that wasn't supposed to happen.

     I'm even closer to Lowers now. Fuck it. I wait for a wave to swing double wide or shift on the outside where I am. Nothing. I count the line up and stop at twenty when I'm half way through the pack. There are at least forty motherfuckers there, all for one fucking peak. Amazing. It's impossible. There are so many people that when a wave does come my way, someone's on it. I watch the show. Four guys take off together on some of the waves. When it's time to bottom turn, a couple of them bump into each other and eat shit. On top of that, there are so many heads to weave through. I don't have the same hunger as the last time I tried Lowers. I'm turned off by the crowd; it's not the way I like to surf.

     I paddle back to the cliff, and it's even more inconsistent. It's the first time that I've worked the whole Middles area. I paddle all the way to north Churches next to two longboarders. The rides still suck. I contemplate on invading the Churches' line up, but then the cliff seems to be working now. I was just there by myself, but now there are four guys on it. I slowly make my way back trying to get rides along the way. By the time I reach the cliffs again, there are about ten people there. I paddle just north of that pack, and the spot has turned on again. The waves are a little better now, but not by much. Still, it's a tall order to get a decent turn. The sun finally comes out, the wind picks up slightly, and the waves get more consistent. The main issue is the wave quality; that Trestles shape is just not there.

I Tried:

     I look at my wave counter. I surfed four long hours and caught thirty-five waves. It sounds like a good session, but it wasn't. I feel confident in saying that thirty-three of those waves sucked. Despite the lack of stoke, I can't help but take in my surroundings on that lonely trail. It's a silent walk back. The sand burns my feet, dragonflies buzz around me, the sun bakes my back, the wind is calm, and I can only hear the breaking waves behind the brush. I look at the ocean from the path. The green bushes, white sand, and blue ocean contrast each other creating small paradise. It doesn't feel like California, but I feel like I belong here. The drive home is brutal. I debate on pulling over for a nap, but I push on through. When I hit the 105 W, my senses sharpen as the finish line nears.

     This evening I stopped by Rick's house to grab my JS board. It turned out that a repair's not necessary. He said that the air bubble isn't sucking in water. I told him, “Man, I thought I'd catch that swell early, but it wasn't there yet. HB sucked, Trestles didn't have good shape. I got fuckin' skunked.”

     “Well,” he replied. “You just have to pay your dues.”