FLAKES OF THE DAY: None
RAN INTO: No one
TIME: 0815 - 1115, 3 hrs.
CONDITIONS: Balls nipping cold, milk chocolate water, unpredictable, somewhat disorganized, random clean peaks anywhere from chest to head high, and strong offshore winds that weakened towards noon.
I hadn’t surfed in over a week, eight days to be exact. There was the rain last weekend that put a damper on things, and it rained again this weekend. I struggled with my identity again. How was I to call myself a surfer when I wasn’t surfing? It’s like being a NASCAR driver without a car. I was losing myself; I have been losing myself. Unfortunately, the reality of school has dominated my life, coupled with the weather, I haven’t been in the water at all. J and I made an attempt on Friday, but it was blown out, small, and crumbly. I needed Sunday. The drive down south was not an option. It was supposed to culminate a whole week of dreaming of surf, watching surf porn, monitoring the opening of the ASP 2011 World Tour, and reading all my surf mags with the pondering of my own progression in mind.
I assembled a ghastly crew: Klaude AKA The Japanese Wishbone and Christina AKA The Rail Grabbing Wrangler. Together, we would represent the DRC. Together, we would voyage on a quest for waves. Outside of our local element, we went on an expedition for waves with shape, open faces, and rides that would give us a story to tell, if not for anyone else, then for us in our own memories.
0455, I ate some yogurt, took a vitamin, drank some OJ, and made a cup of coffee for the road. I packed some snacks. I learned from my staycation that there’s no need to take the whole damn kitchen with me. I took only what I needed, and I planned on devouring everything I packed.
At 0545 Klaude and Chris showed up in the bang bus. I was a little skeptical about that day’s journey. I only took a carload of three because I wasn’t too comfortable about using the roof racks. We put Chris’s board on top with some Da Kine surfboard straps that my brother gave me. Klaude brought two of his fishes, and I only brought my 6’1 DMS to ensure everyone had enough room. The sun was already turning the eastern horizon to a light blue as we left. I remember how Shan and I left a little late when we went to Del Mar, and we were kind of leaving around the same time. I stressed the importance of leaving while the sky is dark during a surf trip. There is just something about seeing the night turn to dawn that invokes the feeling of purpose, traveling somewhere for something special, and increasing the anticipation and hopes for the day’s adventure. Even better, to share that experience with close friends is like putting a notch in the timeline, a notch where we can say, “Remember? We went here, there, we did that … that one fine day, all of us.” Even more significant than the surf, is the company you share that surf with.
We were surprised to get the phone call from Rick. He and Dave were about fifteen minutes ahead of us on the 405 South. We watched the sun rise and marked its arrival. Some say that “the drive is half the fun,” and our surf bantering lived up to that. I felt the experience get a little foreshadowed when Rick called and told us the surf looked disorganized, and the water was really brown. I didn’t tell everyone else what I was feeling, but Rick said that he and Dave were gonna check out another spot, and when Rick is not happy with Del Mar then there must be something seriously wrong with the surf. A moment of silence followed. I had hoped to score. The dream of perfect rideable waves that I had all week began to wane.
I gave my companions a verbal tour as I drove them through unfamiliar territory. Forty degrees, that’s what the thermometer read. We compared our “cold surf session” stories. I knew that my mine was on Christmas day with J, but a session at forty degrees would be close. The water was undeniably brown; our eyes fixed on it as we drove up. We walked out to have a look, and the sight was enough to be optimistic about. Sure, the water was brown, the offshore wind chill had us shaking in our sweaters, and the desolate beach break would make any surfer question at paddling out. However, in between the disorganization, there were some random clean peaks sprouting up in a couple different areas. It definitely wasn’t perfect, but it had to be better than El Porto and what the South Bay was doing. It was 0745, and we went back to the car to stall until 0810 when we were on the sand warming up. The beauty of it all, there were no meters, no crowd, no time constraint, and no need to rush; there was just us.
Christina commented on the consistency. She was right. It was consistent, but I thought it was clean enough that she’d be able to make the paddle out. I watched Klaude bend over, doggy style, doing his yoga stretches. I took my first ritualistic wetsuit piss of the morning, then … we were off!
I tried to time my paddle out between the sets. I initially walked up to knee deep water while Klaude and Chris walked past. I saw a set coming, so I backed up and waited a little while longer. When I finally paddled out I was surprised that the water didn’t feel as cold as the air; it was actually bearable. The water was really dark, though. Once my board or my hands got under the surface I couldn’t see them any more. It was not the day for an accidental Del Mar Martini.
All three of us got to the line up, paddled, and waited. My shoulder muscles felt as if they were on fire; those paddling muscles haven’t been used in a while. Wave after wave came, but we were out of position, or the high tide just made them too fat to paddle into. It was a frustrating start. “I need to catch the first wave,” said Klaude.
“I was thinking the same thing,” I replied.
We paddled around trying to pick different spots where we saw signs of a peak. I got the first wave, but it was just for the sake of catching something because there wasn’t any shape to it; I went straight. We went from being a team to switching to our own agendas. I was hungry for a real wave, Klaude was at fever-pitch for his first, and Chris was scratching out, too. Klaude had commented that Chris almost got one; I assumed she popped up too early. Chris got separated from us, and I saw her on the inside battling her way back to the line; it didn’t look good. Klaude and I focused on the horizon looking for any bump, and out of nowhere I got one of my potential waves of the day. In the past I’ve said something along the lines of, “Good waves punch differently,” or basically that after riding shitty ass waves, good waves can really kick your ass. Since the shape is good, they seem more dynamic and faster. For us “dump riders,” good waves aren’t a condition we are used to. The wave, it was a right, and I surprisingly had good timing on my pop up. I saw the section begin to feather out in front of me. I bottom turned half way up the face and tried to hack the lip to generate some spray. It wasn’t that strong of a hack, but I wanted to push out some water for Klaude to see. I did a couple pumps, set up for a deeper bottom turn, and got a clean hack off of the lip. As I looked towards the inside I saw Christina cheering me on. I put a hand up and let out a “woohoo!” as my ride ended. I asked Chris if she was okay, but I couldn’t hear anything over the white water. I paddled back to Klaude to celebrate my ride.
I should say that I “tried” to paddle back to Klaude. This is the part of the story where I got my ass kicked. I don’t know what happened or how the water changed, but it took me forever to get back to the line. I have tons of experience with the “ground hog day effect” but not when the waves are good. Dumpy waves kicking your ass are not the same as head high, clean shoulders kicking your ass. Against my brother’s advice, I even ditched my board a couple times. I kept seeing Klaude sitting in the line up. His body never changed scale. He was so tiny in the distance. I felt like I had a mile to go through the impact zone before I finally got to him. When I reached the line I saw that he was way on the outside.
Klaude said he didn’t see my wave, I wanted another, but it was a frustrating wait after that. We drifted south and saw that Chris had got out of the water, but we saw Rick and Dave warming up on the sand. My memory is a little sketch after that because I don’t remember any significant rides. I did see Klaude catch one. I thought it was a good ride, but he later told me that it wasn’t much. There were really good waves out there. We either weren’t in the right position, or … honestly … we weren’t skilled enough to catch them. I remember trying to paddle into a perfect left, right on the critical part of the peak where the lip was curling. I didn’t commit and tried to pop up too early; I missed it.
Klaude paddled in for a break, and I was out there with Rick and Dave. Of course, Rick was tearing it up which only confirmed that my complaints were surfer related and had nothing to do with the conditions. Once again, experience prevailed. Dave, too, he was getting some nice ones. I suppose if I had a fatter board, it would’ve been easier, but … I’m sticking to my plan to get comfortable on a shortboard.
It wasn’t until Klaude paddled back out that I finally got a wave worth remembering. I saw him on the inside for a while. He’s still recovering from his shoulder injury, so he’s going through the motions of getting back to his pre-injury surf shape. I’m not sure if this wave was better than the one Chris saw, but for me it was significant. I paddled into a left. The section was long, but holding, and it had a little shoulder at the end. I didn’t do any front side turns, but I trimmed down the line. It was about head high, and I saw that my wave was connecting with a right handed shoulder coming right for me. My instinct was to kick out, but I decided to try and rebound off of the incoming wave into the opposite direction. It wasn’t pretty, but I saw the crumbling foam as I climbed the face of the wave in front of me, then I turned 180 and started going right. I looked at Klaude and gave him a gesture with both of my arms apart as I stepped off the rail. Well, Klaude said he didn’t see that one either. Oh well. It’s always nice to have someone validate a stoked moment, but it’s hard to see everything that happens in the water.
I got a couple more rides that were insignificant. Dave and Rick continued to rip while Klaude and I had front row seats to open shoulders without us on them. Dave and Rick left while Klaude and I floundered around trying to end the session right. It was 1115, and I caught a close out to shore. That was the right call, almost all my muscles were beginning to cramp up: forearms, triceps, hip flexors, etc. Klaude paddled in shortly after, and we took a hot man shower together in the bathroom.
We were faced with the decision for sushi or to eat our snacks on the beach. We opted to check out San Onofre and eat over there. Rick and Dave followed suit with a six pack. The waves there looked softer, cleaner, and easer, and we discussed the possibility of doing our next trip there. I can’t say that the trip met all of our expectations, but I got a couple good rides ingrained in my mind, and those are worth a lot. There will be more trips to come. I expect Klaude’s conditioning to improve over time, and Chris’s consistency to speed her progression. Me, I’m just waiting for a free day in my schedule to get back out there. A line from Riding Giants: “Once you get bitten by the surf bug, you can never go back.”
