TRESTLES: HELLO SWELL, FRI 7.29.2011 MOR

SKUNKED AGAIN!

Crew: Khang

Ran into: Uncle Miles from Parks Beach.

Time: 0845-1200, 3 hrs. & 15 min.

Conditions: Onshore wind, 3-4 ft., inconsistent, decent shape, overcast to sunny, and warm.

Roll Call:

     I wasn't as tired as I thought I'd be from the surf. I planned on going back to HB in hopes that the new swell would produce some good waves. I asked around to see who could go. Khang was the only one who was down. He offered to pick up some coffee and help out with gas. What a nice guy. The plan was to meet up at 0600 and hit the road.

HB, do your thing:

     Khang shows up with Starbucks coffee in hand. We're only a couple minutes past six but still on schedule. Surfline upgraded the El Porto conditions with a fair 2-3 foot rating, but their morning forecast doesn't sound too promising. HB has to be the best bet. Yesterday I got skunked, so I can't get skunked two days in a row.

     It's nice to have a buddy in the car with me. The drive goes by fast as we bullshit the whole way there. Everything's in place. We plan on eating some good Vietnamese food for lunch after the surf, and we're excited for some fast, peaky waves. Khang notices the flags as soon as we pull up. They aren't just blowing, they are flapping so hard that they look like battle streamers on a navy vessel. I say, “Yeah, but HB can still be okay with wind. There's a chance that there's some shape.” We pass some guys changing into their wetsuits, but my parking area is desolate again like yesterday.

     “It's pretty overcast here,” says Khang. It's another gloomy morning, but this marine layer looks pretty thick all the way out to sea and inland. The overcast and the wind are a dreary combo. I'm optimistic. I still haven't seen the water, and I'm thinking that anything is possible. We get close to the shore and notice the swell. It looks 4-5 feet, but there is no shape. The waves wall up. There are a couple shoulders, but they are marginal. Two guys paddle out. The second they hit the water, the current starts dragging them north. We watch them paddle, step off in shallow water, and then get worked by the white wash. They never make it out. “That one looks fun,” says Khang. He motions towards a left that's at the end of a wall. I watch this wave, but I'm over it. Once again, it's not the image I had in my mind. No one is here for a good reason.

     On the way back to the car, we run into an old timer, probably an HB vet. We shoot the shit about the winds and conditions. “I'm going to check out Bolsa and see if the wind's any better,” he says.

     Khang raises his head from his iPhone and replies, “Nah, Bolsa has the same winds right now.” It appears that everything in the immediate area has wind on it. It's another disappointment, but I'm getting used to it. We sit in the car, check the surf report, and discuss our options. Going back to El Porto isn't one of them; there's no surf there.

And Another One:

     God damn, I never planned on doing this much driving this week, but HB looks like shit, I know Porto's not looking good, and I want some good surf. This will be day number two with crappy waves. Today, getting skunked is not an option. We're on our way to Trestles. The drive is fast again. We see the flags on the campers blowing as well, but those cobblestones have to be making the shape better. Old Mans and Churches is more crowded than yesterday. However, we see solid three foot sets peeling away right in front of us. The overcast and wind add an ominous tone to the waves, but the shape is all that matters. The rights are holding. We watch a guy get four hacks on a ride. We walk towards Middles to do more recon, but the consistency of waves makes us turn back around to suit up. “You want to paddle out over here or walk up there,” I ask. I point towards Middles where it's less crowded.

     “Yeah, but, it doesn't really look that great over there,” he says. I usually skip Churches to see what Middles is doing, and then I make my way back if Middles sucks. But on this morning I'm open to getting out of my routine. I've been making some bad calls lately, so I think it's good to go along with someone else's energy. We paddle at south Churches were we saw the guy get four hits. We scratch out on two waves that break towards the inside, and then the spot shuts down. We paddle to the next peak over, and the lull has started. Nothing. We paddle to the main peak where Khang decides to stay. I don't want to compete with the longboarders, so I head to the south end of Middles in hopes for a random peak to stray my way. Finally, I draw blood on my first left. The peaks are long, but not as much as yesterday. The wave is fast but good for some fun pumping and top to bottom trims. My second left is similar. Khang paddles to me and says, “Fuck man, every time I was in position I had to back out of the wave. One this one right, the guy behind me asked me to kick out. He said, 'Please, kick out.'”

     “Fuck, no shit? Well, at least he said 'please,'” I reply. As Khang arrives, a bump forms in the distance. I paddle out to catch it before it breaks. As I turn and go, I realize that I'm right at the peak. The slopy, forgiving Trestles wave allows me to take my time as I pop up. I drop in, set up for my bottom turn, and hit the lip once. On my second bottom turn, a couple longboarders from Churches back out. I get one more before my ride ends. It instills new life in me, especially after the recent skunks. It just might be a good day.

To the battle position!:

     “You were catching waves until I came,” Khang says. We joke about how the waves turned off with his arrival. The lull is long again, and we're already into the second hour.

I say, “Hey, lets go further north.” We paddle in front of the battle position just outside of a small crowd that's been there the whole morning. We don't get anything there, so we paddle further north just past the cliff. It doesn't take long before a wave comes my way. There's a guy on my right, but he doesn't know that I want to go left. As I pop up I yell, “Left!” I'm not sure if he hears me, but I'm going down the line for a decent ride. Lowers is working as usual. Khang and I watch surfers tear the shit out of that wave, but we're happy as well because the cliff begins to turn on. I catch one of my best lefts since being home. I drop in at the peak again, the section isn't running away, and the shoulder is wide open for me to do my worst. Unfortunately, my front side abilities aren't that great yet, but I gather speed and practice carving the lip. It's not working. I shift my feet to practice a cutback, and half way through the arc I spring out of the turn. I feel my tail slide down with power as I redirect my board. It feels . . . like magic, amazing. I don't know how to describe it, but it's a very new feeling that I've only felt a few times. I ride it until the wave's barely a foot high. I kick out over the the small lump that used to be a wave. Khang sees me and shakes his fist with a smile on his face. I hold both palms open with my arms out on each side. I'm stoked.

     My next wave is a right-hander that I catch at the peak again. I swear, this wave is so forgiving. The lip feels as if it's keeping me up there, but the drop is so naturally delayed that it's normal, and yet it's a four foot day?! Some of the waves are so good they are breaking like Lowers. The shoulder's a little steep, and I shoot up the wave for a hack. The wave's shape forces me back into the pocket with speed, and I go back up the face for a second hit as the lip is starting to curl. It's a late turn, so my nose purls because I'm practically vertical when I reenter. I spin around and get whiplashed as my back smacks the water. I resurface, I'm all right.

     I paddle back to Khang. I'm so fucking happy at this point. The session has been officially “made.” Those two waves already made the drive worth it. “Fuck, I need to catch one,” says Khang.

     Reminiscent of the young Aussie, Dillon, that I met in Bali, I reply, “The next wave's yours!” Well, Khang doesn't really need my help, as he catches a wave that forms slightly north of our position. It's about three feet, but there's a little shoulder on it. He returns. “How was that one?”

     “It was okay,” he says. A set wave forms on the outside, and he catches this one going right. From behind, the shoulder is holding again. I scratch out on the next couple. He comes back to tell the tale. It was a good one.

     Just then, an old timer paddles by us, gets my attention, and says to me, “Hey, thanks for that wave earlier!”

     “Ohhh . . .” I'm awkward. What is he talking about?

     “You said, 'Left!' I didn't know which way you were going, I thought you were going right!”

     “Oh, did you go right on that one?”

     “Yeah.”

     “Good, good!” I reply. Man, it always lifts my spirit to experience a friendly exchange in the water like that, all due to good surf etiquette. Nice. I now turn to Khang and say, “Man, now you've turned on and I've turned off.” With Khang's luck comes my dismay. We sit at this spot for the remainder of the session. Khang chooses to sit in front of the BP while I remain at the cliff. I catch more rides, but none are as good as those two earlier ones. I turn to see if I can spot Khang, but he's returning from the inside. I don't know if he's scoring or not, but he's definitely catching waves. At the third hour I find myself scratching out and mistiming the waves. The Book of Randy says to take a break after surfing for two hours. What happens is that you get hungry, tired, and you start making mistakes. Also, surfing tired leads to bad habits. I signal Khang who's sitting at a different peak amongst other surfers. I point to the shore and show my index finger. One more and I'm going in. My last wave isn't spectacular. The section runs away and I fall after forcing a top turn. It counts.

     Standing on the shore I feel my stomach tightening. I need to put some food in there. We walk back, side by side, praising this morning's score. He says that he got a lot of waves; we both got our fill in. Clean shoulders are still rolling through as we leave to grab some food. Right before we pull out we see a familiar face watching the surf. It's an older guy wearing water shades; we've seen him at 26^th. “We need to say hi,” says Khang. We go out and say wassup. His name is Miles, but Klaude refers to him as Uncle Miles. When we get back the tide is lower, and the wind is stronger. We eat our sandwiches as we contemplate the next move. The window of good surf is closed. Surfers leave the Churches' lineup until there are only a half dozen at the main peak. The drive back home is easy with a co pilot. We say our goodbyes and save our energy for tomorrow. Today we gambled, gambled and won.