STAYCATION SESSIONS--TRESTLES: THU 8.11.2011 DAY

Crew: Al
Conditions: 3-4 ft., onshore wind, inconsistent, sunny.

Days of the Skunk:


    I wake up periodically through the night from a tapping noise. It’s coming from my car’s roof. It’s my surfboard leash. The wind’s blowing it. My alarm wakes me at 0530. I turn to look at the RV parked at the neighboring campsite. The cloth trim over its windows are flapping in the wind.

    Shivering, I step outside and put on my sweater. It’s dark and the wind is strong. I walk to the bathrooms to brush my teeth and sit in front of the fire pit until first light. The water’s choppy. I look at Old Mans and Churches, and the waves look blown out. Since I begin to nod off, I go back to the wagon for a little more sleep.

    An hour later, Al’s tapping on my window. “Dude, it looks like shit,” he says. He suggests that we just go back to sleep, but it’s day three of the trip, and I’m tired of crappy conditions.

    “Let’s check it out further south,” I say. Francesca stays behind, we load the car, and we get on the 5 South to join the morning traffic. We first check out South Oceanside. It’s terrible. The wind is just as strong, and there aren’t any peaks at all. Fuck. We jump back in the ride and head further south. Blacks it is. It’s my first time driving there, but I find it without incident. I park where Francis and I did, but the wind’s not dead like the last morning I surfed here. Even though the wind is a little lighter, it’s there. We walk out to take a look, and the peaks are crumbly and small. Triple skunked. “This is your first time here, right?” I ask.

    “Yup.”

    “Well . . . this is Blacks!” I snap a photo, and we’re on our way back to camp. Was it a waste? If you don’t check it out, you won’t know. You’ll have to rely on a surf report that’s sometimes unreliable or someone that might exaggerate mediocre conditions. Regardless, we’re doing the drive of shame.

    Back at camp, we pick up Francesca and head to Pipes Café in San Clemente. It’s my first time there, and I wish I had found the place sooner. Their “Big Breakfast” is about seven bucks, but they give you a shit load of food. Innersections plays on the wall mounted TV. Eating is the best part of the morning thus far.

    Back at the camp, Al and I are stuffed with food. The overcast finally burns off, the wind lightens up a little, and we keep our eyes on the surf as our food goes down. Even though I need more time to digest, Al makes the call to paddle out. We walk towards the BP and see a set roll through. The shape’s not as good as Lowers, but we’ll gladly take it over dealing with the crowd. We paddle out and catch some waves. It’s a little smaller at Middles, maybe 2-3 ft. We get a couple turns here and there, but the lulls keep getting longer. “You wanna go over there don’t you?” Al says.

    I can’t stop looking at those perfect rights at Lowers. “Maybe just on the side,” I reply. I work my way towards the show, and Al trails behind. I get a spare wave right away. Al passes me up and goes straight into the crowd. I watch him working the inside line and actually catching waves amongst the competition. I wait, catch another wave, but the scavenger technique isn’t working good this afternoon; not much is breaking my way. I have no choice but to go closer to the crowd. I catch nothing. Almost an hour goes by. Al throws me the signal for the “last one.” When I make my way back south, away from everyone, a spare wave actually breaks and takes me all the way to shore. Al’s a little stoked. He tells me that he got snaked a couple times but that he managed to get some rides. Me? I’m a bit frustrated. I vent on being “over“ the crowds. The stoke that I had last night has evaporated and turned into this.

    There’s a ton of food left in our cooler. Back at the site, we kill off as many sandwiches as we can. We’re full again.