STAYCATION SESSIONS--TRESTLES: FRI 8.13.2011 DAY

Crew: Solo
Conditions: 2-4 ft., choppy, strong onshore wind, sunny, inconsistent.


    High tide passed at around 1100, so I take a short nap to surf later when the tide drops a little. It’s a little before 1300 before I wake up. Gregory Isaac plays as I watch the surf, trying not to squint from the light. It’s bright out there, looks hot, but there aren’t any good waves. The peaks are kind of long and racy. It’s obvious that the window for excellent surf was during the morning, and now it just looks like a typical, blownout afternoon. None-the-less, my car’s warm and protecting me from the wind. The reggae music captures the moment. I nod my head in rhythm with the roots style bass, and I start to apply my sunblock. An older guy is done surfing next to me. “What you playin’?” he asks.

    “Gregory Isaacs.”

    The guy gives me a lesson on how Jimmy Cliff was the first to bring reggae to America. “Have you ever seen the movie The Harder They Come?”

    I’ve heard of it, and I have a feeling that it’s one of those classic movies that I’m missing out on. “No,” I reply.



Only One Thing Missing:


    I’m feeling so good right now. I just had a decent nap and a nice piece of chocolate. There’s nothing that can stop me from having a bad day at this point. I start making the walk past Churches into Middles. For the first time I feel Al’s absence. It was awesome spending some time with him and his family. Surfing was all we talked about in Iraq, and we actually set time aside to make it happen. It’s just too bad that the surf wasn’t great the whole time here. Well, battle buddy or not, there isn’t a cloud in the sky, the sun’s blazing down on my back, the sand and dirt trail is almost hot enough to cause discomfort, and the wind is blowing in my face. Churches has a couple waves, and Middles seems empty until Lowers, but there’s no rush. Uppers, I’m thinking. It was good this morning, it should be worth the walk now. The high angle of the mid day sun gives everything hard light. I stop and face the trestle. Green bushes sway in the wind; tiny, yellow, flowers sway along with them; even the dirt on the hills seem to have life to them. I take in this foreground with the palm trees and vegetation in the background to make it all one. Still the wind blows, the trail is empty, and I try to take in this moment for myself. People are off on the sand, so I continue my trek in case I’m weirding them out.

    There’s a Black guy walking with a small group of people towards me. He looks like the guy that hosted the Billabong XXL Global Big Wave Awards 2011. I’ve seen some pros over the last couple weeks. It could be, could not be, whatever.

    Lowers is working of course, but I want a wave to myself. I walk all the way to Uppers, but the wind has taken away the random peaks. It’s crowded too, and everyone’s sitting where it’s the most consistent. By now the walk isn’t as peaceful as it was earlier. Uppers is about a twenty minute walk, and the sun is cutting right into me. I’m thirsty. I stop south of Lowers again, but no spare sets are breaking. There are two other surfers at Middles, so I paddle out just north of them. Just a couple rideable waves with some shoulders on them, that’s all I want.

    The lull’s ridiculous. Waiting for a lower tide doesn’t seem to matter with the wind. The peaks are long. Once the wave starts breaking, the whole section becomes one long lip that crumbles away. I get a few pumps maybe but no turns. The two other guys leave, and it’s just me. I’m searching for that mellow session to end the trip right, and I’m not in the mood for competing on my last day. I let the current take me further south. At the BP I catch a couple little lefts and rights that go a distance. I even get a couple small carves. Later, the current takes me to the north peak at Churches. Here I score a couple waves, but I scratch out on a lot too. The small pack that I’m surfing with becomes more crowded. For some reason, the surf gets consistent with long clean up sets. I’m tired, and my mellow mood lets the waves get the best of me. I’m washed around a little. It wouldn’t be so bad if there was a nice peeling shoulder, but they are close outs. I drift further south, and the main peak that I was at has surfers coming down the line claiming the waves. My body feels tired, with each stroke my shoulders feel like they’re on the verge of tearing something. I have been surfing a lot, and I’ve been forcing this mid day session.

    Back at the whip, I’m unsatisfied. As much as I wanted this trip to be a nonstop wave buffet, it hasn’t. I’ve packed light. I take a hot shower and hit the freeway. In San Clemente I go to Coffee Bean and Jack in the Box to refuel for the drive. Surprisingly, most of the traffic is going southbound, while I only hit traffic through HB. Once I get home, I’m a zombie. Lauren comes home from work, she’s tired as hell too. Looking for fulfillment through surfing, ironic perhaps? Paddling out doesn’t guarantee waves, so on trips like this one I feel even emptier. I’ve surfed the last four days to find myself unfulfilled, and the hunger to feel that sensation and bottle it up in one short moment eludes me. How can I rest?