A BARNEY IN BAJA: DAY 1 FRI 07OCT2011 EVE

Another journey:

            From the very first wave that I caught at the jetty at El Porto, I never thought that I would’ve taken surfing this far. No, I’m not talking about paddling into death slabs, getting ridiculously barreled, or even catching double overhead waves. But when I caught that tiny one-footer, I knew that I loved the sensation of being on a wave. Gradually, my stocks in surfing went up while everything else suffered. The gym, bar hopping, clubbing, going out, and wearing shoes all took a back seat while surfing rode shotgun. Not even talking about the travels, I’ve made a multitude of new friends because of surfing. I see my surfing friends more than my family or childhood friends. A day that begins with surfing for me is a day well spent. And as far as traveling I’ve taken the “bucket list” trip to Bali, and now, finally . . . I’m taking a trip south of the border to get Baja under my belt. It may not be ranked high among other locations in the world, but as a SoCal surfer, I’d be a fool not to explore the paradise in our backyard. Let the games begin.

Leading up to the trip:

            I met J AKA Jonathan G. surfing 45^th around this time last year. He actually snaked me . . . twice. I was pissed. He apologized and still gave off an aura of good energy. Feeling bad at the cold look that I returned, we started talking. From there, I always bumped into him at Porto. He’s the one that took me to Trestles for my first time. Since then, I’ve invited him to every DRC camping trip. Since this past summer, he’s been taking trips to Baja with his surf group, Santa Monica Surfers. I kept bugging him to take me along. He extended the invite back in early September. The dates were set.

The Trip:

            Everything’s been packed from the night before: two wetsuits, a towel, two pairs of underwear, my books from school, toiletries, one extra change of clothes, and one surfboard. I wish I could take my whole quiver, but J’s little car is gonna be filled to the rim with four people, so all the boards are going on the roof. On the way to J’s house, I drive along Vista Del Mar. Going down Grand Ave. I already see waves. The left is working at Hammerlands, and I can see the breaks working in front of the smoke stacks. As I drive through Manhattan Beach, I still see waves in between all the homes. It’s an awesome day for surf in the South Bay, big, clean, and consistent. I shoot the text out to let my people know that the surf is good, but instead of staying here I’m heading to Baja. 

            I climb the stairs to J’s apartment, and he’s scrambling getting his gear ready. 

            “Can you look up the address for the place we’re going?” he asks as he finishes packing.

            The spot is somewhat of a secret. There is no address online. It says to call the owner to reserve the house, and the address is attained through him verbally. We head downstairs, and his friend Alan is returning from grabbing coffee around the corner. I learn that our fourth passenger flaked out. We go through the intros and start loading our boards. Alan has surfboard straps made out of steel cables that lock. J and I are amazed. I opt to take the first leg of the trip and drive us all the way to the Cristianitos exit to grab breakfast at Café Del Sol. I’ve never been here before. It’s a Mexican café. I order the machaca for $5.75. The portions are huge for the price.

Buying Mexican food before entering Mexico. Personally, I wanted pancakes, but this was GOOOD!

          

             We stop at Camp Pendleton to do the grocery shopping. Apparently, our three-man group is tasked with providing dinner for the next three nights. My two mates are excited, pulling food off the shelf and chucking things into the cart. I don’t give much input; I don’t care. I’m not a picky eater. Besides, I don’t know the other guys that we are meeting. I figure they can make the call for what to cook. 

            We stop at Encinitas to meet Jay, Kevin, and Paul who make up the second carload. Again, more introductions. Jay says he needs to buy a headmount for his GoPro, so we stop at a shopping center before crossing the boarder.

            My long time friend Dan used to drag me to Mexico with him all the time for lobster. The last trip like this we took was in 2005. Since then, there’s nothing but bad news coming out of Mexico. Everything on the media is about drug cartel violence. Yet, here we are. Jonathan assures me that where we’re going is safe. Entering the boarder is fast, but Jay’s car gets pulled over for a random inspection. 

            Everything looks the same as the last time I crossed: same road, same shitty fence on the border, and same rundown buildings. Jay’s car catches up to us, and we’re back in convoy formation. Along the coast, we see different breaks. It’s a little past noon, so the wind’s up. As much as I want to say that I see consistent, peeling, hollow, head high surf, I don’t. I wait until we get to our location to really see what our surf break is doing. 

            Once we get to the community it takes fifteen minutes before the guard lets us in. We can either be frustrated or be grateful that their security is this strict. There’s been talk about tourists being too scared to come to Mexico, and this vacation community is a testament to it. As we pull up to our house, we realize that only a couple other families are here.

Mansion over the sea:

From left to right: Jay, Alan, Jonathan, and Kevin

           I’ve never done a surf trip like this before. I’ve camped, slept in my car, and stayed in a funky motel in Bali, but this . . . this is over the top. It’s a two story house on a cliff which has an oceanside view. There are three bedrooms downstairs, a giant living room upstairs, a huge balcony, kitchen, outdoor shower, big screen TV, internet, and much more. From our balcony we watch the surf. Unfortunately it’s windy, afternoon surf, but there are some peaks, and one SUP makes up the “crowd.”  After we settle in, we suit up.

            Jay’s wearing surf booties with his 4/3 wetsuit. The thickest one I have is 3.5/2.5. They tell me that the water’s freezing here. I risk it and put on the 3/2. We watch the surf from the balcony. The wind is making the water choppy. There’s some size. Rogue sets break toward the outside. It looks like a long paddle out, consistent, but we are overly stoked just to be here. Overall, it’s rideable. There’s a steep stairwell that leads down to the sand. Paul and Alan stay on top to film us on some waves. 

            So we’re in Baja. I’ve been amped about this trip for some time. We have to paddle out. I’m filled with nervous energy as I am with all new spots, also because it is kind of big. Some of the plus sets are close to six feet, but they are big, fat, and mooshy, so it’s a gradual six feet. I try to keep the energy right, so I let Jay lead the way since he seems like the ripper of the group. I’m right behind him. Jonathan and Kevin fall a little behind. Once in the lineup, there seem to be huge waves coming our way, but every time we try to paddle into them, they break late. This goes on for almost forty-five minutes, huge waves that don’t break until they close on the inside. The suspense is killing me at this point. I just want to catch anything, even a wipeout to mellow me out. Jonathan draws first blood and disappears behind the wave into the whitewater. I finally get into a closeout, and it’s enough to get the jitters out of me. 

            We hoot each other on waves the whole session, most of the time scratching out. I see Jay get some spray on a couple backside hacks going left. The shape is weird. I get into more waves that double up and form steep drops on the inside—really odd. One left is a long ride. I negotiate the sections, catch the reform, and pump down the line as far as I can. 

            Paul and Alan finally join us, but it takes a while for them to paddle out. Alan has a rough time and makes it last. The sun is setting. I catch my best right-hander. I get one top turn, pump, cutback, redirect back down the line, and then kick out of the wave. It feels really good. I paddle back out to Jay. Everyone else is on the sand. 

            Jay says, “I’m gonna catch one more in.”

            “I’m staying until the sun goes down.”

            Just then, another right-hander comes. It has less shape, but I kiss the lip before it closes. I turn around, and the set produces walls of whitewash. I’m tired. I break my word and catch the whitewash in. Jay follows shortly. All of us are on the sand now working our way back up the stairs. It’s been three hours.

Winding Down:

            The outdoor shower is a luxury. How nice it is to just shower off right here before entering. We walk into the house dripping wet; who cares. Wetsuits and towels hang everywhere. Boards are scattered and leaned up all over the house. Then it’s time to cook fajitas. After dinner, we all sit around the TV and watch the footage from today’s session. At first, I’m a little skeptical, but it’s actually pretty cool to watch ourselves surf. We “oooh” and “aaah” at every little thing. The wipeouts are hilarious, and scratching out on waves still brings frustration even though we’re no longer in the moment. 

View of the ocean from the kitchen

Everyone turns in early while Jonathan and I stay up to do our homework. By 2200 I’m fading. I take a shower and lay myself down on the guest bed. It’s so plush, and the pillows are so huge and fluffy. It’s not our first full day in Baja, but it’s a nice warm up for the rest of the surf to come. I just hope that we score tomorrow.