SKUNKATION, WED 28SEPT2011 MOR

LOC: Middles Trestles & Churches
Crew: Solo
Time: 0815-1030, 2 hrs. & 15 min
Conditions: Overcast, glassy, high tide, inconsistent, 1-2 ft occasional 3.


Intro:

    I think we all hit that point when we are so stressed out that we need to get away. Or sometimes we are so busy that, against our own will, we have to stay out of the water. Whether it be from work, family obligations, time constraints, school, or whatever, we are stuck with mindsurfing all day. For me, it’s been one of those months. I’ve been bombarded with “work” obligations, school, homework, and uncle duty. As soon as this Wednesday rolled around, I knew that I was taking a solo trip to get some clarity and get recentered. This was supposed to be the “surf to exhaustion” trip, the “wave buffet of all wave buffets” trip, the “cranking turns on waves all day affair” trip. Trestles . . . Surfline gave it the gold rating for Wednesday. It seemed simple enough. 3-4 ft and G-O-L-D GOLD! Guaranteed, my friend, guaranteed. . . .
    The plan was to load up, surf all day, sleep in my wagon, wake up smelling like ass, surf again Thursday morning, and then go to school with blood shot eyes and crusty, saltwater hair. Let’s just see how the situation unfolds. . . .


“I would write on the lintels of the doorpost, Whim.”

Ralph Waldo Emerson, Self Reliance



    It’s Tuesday night, and I’ve just returned home from school. Looking at my homework for Wednesday, I realize that I have a lot of reading assignments, but that’s all they are, just reading. I can do that anywhere so long as I make the time for it. Klaude told me yesterday that there’s swell all week. I go to surfline.com to see if it’s true, and what do I see? South OC has the GOLD RATING, 3-4 ft. I check what the local forecast is. It looks good, but it’s not gold. Memories start flashing in my mind. The last DRC camping trip at Trestles, the one when it pissed on us all night. That Friday before everyone showed up, that was one of the best sessions that I’ve ever had at Trestles. I was at Middles by myself on a Friday morning. It was about four feet, clean, sunny, glassy, super consistent, and uncrowded. The only reason I got out of the water was to check-in and start unloading the gear, but that was one of the best sessions of my life. Perfect, endless, soft, peaky, long waves. Easy three turn waves if you didn’t screw up and fall. And tomorrow is supposed to be “gold.” On a whim, I say, “Fuck it.” I start getting my shit together. When Lauren comes home I tell her that I’m going to Trestles in the morning and spending the night in my wagon. She supports my war on terror. My packing list is easy. Since the surf’s gonna be good I pack my 6’1” DMS thruster. Most importantly, I pack my 5’8” Lost thruster. It will be my first time riding it. I’ve been saving it for such a joyous occasion. Instead of taking it out in crappy surf, I’ve been purposely waiting for a day like tomorrow to ride it in good, clean, and consistent surf so I could feel its full
potential. I pack three military rations, a sleeping bag, a pillow, and my gear is staged for the next morning.

    I’m so excited that I can’t sleep. Finally, I dose off around 0100. At 0530 I’m done loading up the car. I’m in front of the TV watching some Innersections before I kiss Lauren goodbye and head out the door. It’s a dark morning on the 405 S. I’m swerving a little bit because I’m tired, so I take a hit from my coffee mug and crank up the stereo. It’s a good feeling. In my mind I’m paraphrasing a quote from Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai (1999). The actual quote is this: In the words of the ancients, one should make his decision within the space of seven breaths. In the spirit of the moment, I feel that the decision to go is a significant one. Even though I’ve made several day trips like this in the past, it’s been so long that it all feels new again; I’ve missed this. For a while there, I made the drive to Trestles so much that it was kind of getting old. But now, this old routine is more than welcomed. I’m hitting the road all by myself. Just me, my music, my gear, driving and waiting for the sun behind the horizon.

    Well, the sun rises, but I never see the bastard. I reach San Onofre in good time, but it’s so foggy that there’s moisture on my windshield. It’s not a patchy overcast; the sky is gray for as far as the eye can see. When I pull up to Churches, I only see about six guys out, and some small two foot waves roll through. Probably just a lull, I’m thinking. I look clear across at Old Mans. The ocean looks like a god damn lake. I mean, literally, the glassy water with the gray sky just makes everything away from the shore look like one gray screen. I’m still optimistic, and I try not to let the site of surfers going home demotivate me. One guy stops and gives a blank gaze back at the water.

    I ask, “How was it?”

    “Small.”

    “Really?” I’m not convinced.

    “Yeah, there’s a combo swell, but it’s not hitting here. Better to go to the beach breaks. I bet they’re getting’ it!”

    At hearing this, I think about Porto. Something in my gut is telling me that it’s going off over there, but I’m already here, and I have to make the best of my situation. I start suiting up as I watch the water. A couple peaks form way south of Churches because of the high tide. The shape is there. I turn my glance away and start locking things up. Armed with my new 5’8”, I start making my walk up the beach. Churches is a really consistent break, but the surfers are just bobbing in place, waiting for waves. A woman on a longboard even sits on the inside over shallow water waiting. When the set comes, it’s small. Think positive, think positive. I’m hoping that my favorite spot at Middles is working, the Cliffs and the BP. When I arrive, there’s a small group of surfers there, and the water looks just as stagnant. There’s only one other shortboarder in the group. Remaining optimistic, I tell myself that things can change. How many times have we all experienced those kinds of situations, those “all of a sudden” stories, when the waves just turn on out of no where.

    The water’s a little cold; it feels like the fall. I look at Lowers. It’s still consistent as usual but smaller. Another bad sign is that it’s empty for Lowers. The first wave comes through. The peak’s long, so by the time I pop up the section’s gone. The second wave is just as bad. Now I’m sitting back in the line up with the others. We look bored, like guys at the mall perched outside of a women‘s clothing store. It shouldn’t be like this. Boredom turns into frustration and then to anger. I accept the situation. I’m fuckin’ skunked.

    After my first hour, I finally get a wave that holds shape. I hit the lip before the section closes. I’m surprised that I pulled that off on the 5’8”. I crack my first smile of the morning. After a couple more insignificant rides, the spot shuts completely off. I paddle in and paddle back out at Churches. There’s no need to elaborate on this part of the session. I get a couple long rides, but they are just over two feet, gutless. I get two turns on one that I’m grateful for. If anything, it’s a sub average day at Churches. On a good note, it is fun to be on a different board, it’s just not the best conditions to feel its potential. It feels loose, fast, and more responsive; I can’t quite control it. After the second hour I decide to paddle in and start my reading assignments. It’s one of the emptiest days that I’ve seen at this spot. The forecast is off. So far for great expectations.