TWENTY DICKS TO ONE CHICK: THU 3.31.2011 EVE
CREW: Shan & J
FLAKES OF THE DAY: None
RAN INTO: No one
TIME: 1730 - 1930, 2 hrs.
CONDITIONS: Mid tide, glassy, ridiculously crowded, walls, a few shoulders with ten guys on each rideable wave, three to four feet, head high on plus sets, bigger waves closed out.
I supposed to be doing homework over my spring break, but it’s so hard when the weather’s so nice. Lauren and I had lunch at the beach today. The sun, the heat, the glassy water, and the surfers out there just made me want to get some for myself. Even though the shape wasn’t quite there, I was optimistic that things could change later.
I tried to fight the need to surf and failed. Shan, J, and Rick told me that they were going to pull an evening session. By 1630 I was heading out the door with my gear, and at 1650 I was parked and lotioning up.
There was more wind on the land than there was at the beach. The air temp was seventy five degrees. It was just as beautiful as the day before, but the surf didn’t look like it was giving too many shoulders.
Shan and J passed me while I was parked. I told them that I’d be by the 45th St. tower. J was the first to show. He was meeting up with one of his friends in the water. I didn’t see Shan, but I couldn’t wait any longer. I paddled up to J and met his friend. I decided to leave them two alone and work my way south. As I paddled through the water it looked like someone dumped their lawnmower bag into the ocean. There was a long stretch of broken twigs, wood chips, and branches past the line up. I paddled past wrappers; I noticed a broken plastic cup a foot under water.
I caught a glance from a stand-up paddle boarder and said, “That’s the advantage of being on one of
those things. You don’t have to paddle through this shit!”
“Yeah, it’s nice to see what’s down there,” he said.
I was in front of the bathrooms and miraculously caught a left, but the shape was pretty funky. No turns, I just trimmed and tried to stay on the face. When I got back to the line up I saw Shan. We drifted a little further south. The whole time we were surrounded and right in the middle of the throng of afternoon deviants. We scratched and failed. I tried to paddle into a wave which turned into a wall. It took my board, and then I followed behind the wave. I somehow got a right, which I was able to force one ugly top turn before it bogged out. Every time I saw a wave that looked good, there were already a gang of people going for it. I would try to paddle in at the shoulder, but there was always someone else that had the right of way.
There was no etiquette out there. I saw so many guys get dropped in on. A SUP yelled out to a surfer trying to drop in, “I GOT IT, I GOT IT, I GOT IT!” The Brazilian Rastaman was surfing, and someone even dropped in on him too. He had to boost off of the lip and out the back to avoid a collision.
The Rasta guy and his crew dominated that peak at the sandwich shack. I tried to get in but didn’t have a chance. A freak set popped up, and out of frustration I paddled for the first wave. It was a head high right and was building into a wall. I thought I had a chance to get a shoulder out of it. WRONG. I got pitched in front of the whole crowd. Yes, I know it was in front of the whole crowd because everyone else was paddling for their lives trying to beat the set, and I was the only dumb ass paddling into it. Well, DRC dump rider style I guess. I was in the impact zone for the next wave. I knew I was in the worst place to try to duck dive it, but I tried. The wave had so much power that it flipped me upside down while I was underwater. I had a BMS sandwich: board-me-sand. I was pinned with my back to the sand with the board on top of me. The water pounding down from the wave kept applying nonstop pressure on the board. I couldn’t help but think, this can’t be good. Eventually I was able to muscle the board off of me. Embarrassed, I paddled back to the line up. Shan and I eventually caught up with each other.
Shan looked cheerfully exhausted as he said, “Dude, did you see me get that wave?”
“No,” I said. “Was it good?”
“Dude, it opened up and started throwing out over my head. I was like ‘Oh shit!’ Then I got barreled. It was awesome.”
“Wow, nah, man, I didn’t see that. I’m gonna start calling you the barrel master.”
The Rasta guy stopped to chit chat with Shan. Shan told me that he always surfs where he is because that’s where the waves are. Shan also commented on how good today was. I hated that I was so pessimistic, but I wasn’t stoked at all about anything. I told Shan that I had it with that spot and that I was going back towards J.
I floundered around on the way back north, but I still couldn’t get a wave without someone already on it. I guess I’m just a pussy that’s not aggressive enough. I tried to be aggressive, but there was always another guy that beat me to the inside spot.
I found J. He introduced me to his friends Ben and K. J said that it was a longer wait, but they were getting some waves. I got a little frustrated for the endless wait, so I went by the tanks. I probably should’ve just stuck to my old habits and stayed there because there were less people, and some waves would come through. K paddled by me and ended up taking the prime positions away. Fuck, I thought. The quest for finding a wave turned into finding the last wave of the day; I never got it. I caught an inside close out. It was getting dark.
I was over it. In my mind I cursed this place. I couldn’t believe how much I bought into Porto so much in the past. I’ve spoiled myself too much perhaps; I spoiled myself surfing those cobble stone bottoms that produce consistent, well shaped shoulders. I’m a whiner now, picky. My days of suiting up for overcrowded close outs are over. Yes, part of it is due to my lack of ability, but despite the lack of it, I still pull better sessions down south. I feel like I’ve wasted the last two days when I could’ve been doing other stuff. From now on, I save myself for the drive down south. I think I’m changing the name of my blog. I’m disconnecting from El Porto.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
THE DEFINITION OF AN EVENING SESSION: WED 3.30.2011 EVE
CREW: Cheryl, Shan, J
FLAKES OF THE DAY: None
RAN INTO: No one
TIME: 1715 - 1945, 2 hrs. & 30 min.
CONDITIONS: mid tide, barely any wind, glassy, smooth, minimum texture, crowded, beautiful sunset, consistent, hard paddle on inside, occasional open shoulders, 2-4 feet.
I missed yesterday’s evening sessions. Dais and Klaude both hit me up, but I felt that I needed to handle some other things that I’ve neglected over the weekend. I stayed up until past 0300 this morning finishing up the blogs from Trestles, so I ended up flaking on J this morning from lack of rest. I was supposed to meet him at Porto at first light; instead he called me to give me the report while I was still butt naked in bed.
After a frustrating afternoon of failing to complete my errands, I decided that I had to surf; I just had to get in the water. I sent out the mass text to see who was dusk patrolling. Rick, Dais, and Klaude had obligations, but Cheryl, Shan, and J said that they’d roll.
I timed my arrival perfectly and snagged free parking on the hill just before 1700. As I was putting on some sunblock, J knocked on my car window and was parked a couple cars back. The tide looked low, the sets looked lined, and a few disorganized corners popped up. However, I did see one fairly clean three foot shoulder roll through from the tanks all the way to 45th. That’s when I knew that staying dry wasn’t an option. But best of all was the atmosphere: the sky was blue with some faint traces of clouds, the sun was shining bright, white light reflected on the water, and it was sixty eight degrees out. I figured that if we surfed until sunset that the conditions had to improve by then. I sent out the last text to give the report, and I told Cheryl that it might be a good day for her longboard.
J and I paddled out right in front of 45th. He went first while I took my time warming up.
I caught up with him really fast, and I couldn’t help but think, Oh yeah . . . Bali training, baby. I’m in shape!
Well, that was until the first wave that I had to duck dive came, then the other, then the other, and then another fuckin’ wave. Holy shit, did I really think that Porto would let me get away that easy? Like a bastard child sneaking in the back door, I got caught with the light on, and Mother Porto was letting me have it. It’s not that the surf was that big, but the inside was so damn consistent, and the low tide didn’t help much either. I felt like I wasn’t even moving. So far for being in Bali shape. I don’t know how, but eventually I made it out to the line, and I think that J even beat me there.
It was crowded out. The low tide into the first hour provided shitty surf. There were random corners, and guys with fatter boards were able to paddle in early. After the first hour the increase in tide made things a little better. Bionic J was using his bionic arm again to paddle into waves. What I noticed about J is that he doesn’t do that many turns, but he can pump his board, and he’s really fast going down the line. The end result is he always ends up getting long ass rides because he’s keeping up with the running sections. He got more waves than I, and all I could do was watch him from behind, the top half of his body, ahead of the shoulder, and going all the way to shore.
I saw Shan and Cheryl paddling out together. They were both struggling on the inside, too. I told Shan that we missed him over the weekend, but he said that he surfed up north instead. We actually secured a little spot in the water amongst the crowd. By the time they arrived, the conditions got much better. I caught my wave of the day, too bad I was blinded by water for most of the ride. I got a right that let me do a nice top turn, I pumped further down the line, and then I kicked out over the lip to end it. Right after my ride, J got another long right, and then Shan got a long left. We were all scoring, which was funny because there were a lot of guys out there that seemed really good, and we were getting more waves than them.
Cheryl said, “I’m beginning to think that I should have brought my other board.”
That was my fault, but I tried to tell her to take advantage of the length, and catch the waves early. She and Shan shared a wave, and then she later told me that she got a clean ride.
When I first got to the line up I was telling them how much I missed Trestles, but Cheryl said that it felt good to be home. Her comment didn’t resonate with me until the conditions got really beautiful. Out of nowhere, Cheryl spotted a dolphin floating by the water. We thought it was dead, but then it took a breath from its blowhole, and the rest of his homies joined him. Seagulls swooped by us in dive bomber formation. The setting sun changed the clouds in the sky to a pinkish, orangey, yellow color; those same colors reflected on the water. The ocean was unbelievably glassy. J commented that the water was so smooth that the waves appeared to have no depth to them. I’ve pulled so many evening sessions like this one, but it’s been so long that I almost forgot how beautiful it is just to be out there in the water. Seeing the Santa Monica Mountains silhouetted in front of the pink sky brought back all the feeling of what made that place “home” for me. I guess Cheryl was right. The sky lost its illumination, and Cheryl and Shan left together.
I took a look at J. He said, “I’m staying until its dark.”
“I’m with you,” I replied.
We were waiting for that last wave. What was a crowded line up was now only four. J got his last good right, and then there were only three. I didn’t find a good wave to end it, but I caught a close out back to shallow water. The water was now deeper than it was earlier. It’s funny how a couple hours can make a huge difference.
I’m still suffering from Trestles Withdrawal Syndrome (TWS), but Porto was good to us this evening. The waves aren’t perfect like down south, but Porto still has good training value. The inside was a little brutal which called for a faster paddle, and the unorganized shoulders only forced us to adapt at a faster rate. My home is at Porto, but my mind is in Trestles. I guess I’ll just have to surf them both.
FLAKES OF THE DAY: None
RAN INTO: No one
TIME: 1715 - 1945, 2 hrs. & 30 min.
CONDITIONS: mid tide, barely any wind, glassy, smooth, minimum texture, crowded, beautiful sunset, consistent, hard paddle on inside, occasional open shoulders, 2-4 feet.
I missed yesterday’s evening sessions. Dais and Klaude both hit me up, but I felt that I needed to handle some other things that I’ve neglected over the weekend. I stayed up until past 0300 this morning finishing up the blogs from Trestles, so I ended up flaking on J this morning from lack of rest. I was supposed to meet him at Porto at first light; instead he called me to give me the report while I was still butt naked in bed.
After a frustrating afternoon of failing to complete my errands, I decided that I had to surf; I just had to get in the water. I sent out the mass text to see who was dusk patrolling. Rick, Dais, and Klaude had obligations, but Cheryl, Shan, and J said that they’d roll.
I timed my arrival perfectly and snagged free parking on the hill just before 1700. As I was putting on some sunblock, J knocked on my car window and was parked a couple cars back. The tide looked low, the sets looked lined, and a few disorganized corners popped up. However, I did see one fairly clean three foot shoulder roll through from the tanks all the way to 45th. That’s when I knew that staying dry wasn’t an option. But best of all was the atmosphere: the sky was blue with some faint traces of clouds, the sun was shining bright, white light reflected on the water, and it was sixty eight degrees out. I figured that if we surfed until sunset that the conditions had to improve by then. I sent out the last text to give the report, and I told Cheryl that it might be a good day for her longboard.
J and I paddled out right in front of 45th. He went first while I took my time warming up.
I caught up with him really fast, and I couldn’t help but think, Oh yeah . . . Bali training, baby. I’m in shape!
Well, that was until the first wave that I had to duck dive came, then the other, then the other, and then another fuckin’ wave. Holy shit, did I really think that Porto would let me get away that easy? Like a bastard child sneaking in the back door, I got caught with the light on, and Mother Porto was letting me have it. It’s not that the surf was that big, but the inside was so damn consistent, and the low tide didn’t help much either. I felt like I wasn’t even moving. So far for being in Bali shape. I don’t know how, but eventually I made it out to the line, and I think that J even beat me there.
It was crowded out. The low tide into the first hour provided shitty surf. There were random corners, and guys with fatter boards were able to paddle in early. After the first hour the increase in tide made things a little better. Bionic J was using his bionic arm again to paddle into waves. What I noticed about J is that he doesn’t do that many turns, but he can pump his board, and he’s really fast going down the line. The end result is he always ends up getting long ass rides because he’s keeping up with the running sections. He got more waves than I, and all I could do was watch him from behind, the top half of his body, ahead of the shoulder, and going all the way to shore.
I saw Shan and Cheryl paddling out together. They were both struggling on the inside, too. I told Shan that we missed him over the weekend, but he said that he surfed up north instead. We actually secured a little spot in the water amongst the crowd. By the time they arrived, the conditions got much better. I caught my wave of the day, too bad I was blinded by water for most of the ride. I got a right that let me do a nice top turn, I pumped further down the line, and then I kicked out over the lip to end it. Right after my ride, J got another long right, and then Shan got a long left. We were all scoring, which was funny because there were a lot of guys out there that seemed really good, and we were getting more waves than them.
Cheryl said, “I’m beginning to think that I should have brought my other board.”
That was my fault, but I tried to tell her to take advantage of the length, and catch the waves early. She and Shan shared a wave, and then she later told me that she got a clean ride.
When I first got to the line up I was telling them how much I missed Trestles, but Cheryl said that it felt good to be home. Her comment didn’t resonate with me until the conditions got really beautiful. Out of nowhere, Cheryl spotted a dolphin floating by the water. We thought it was dead, but then it took a breath from its blowhole, and the rest of his homies joined him. Seagulls swooped by us in dive bomber formation. The setting sun changed the clouds in the sky to a pinkish, orangey, yellow color; those same colors reflected on the water. The ocean was unbelievably glassy. J commented that the water was so smooth that the waves appeared to have no depth to them. I’ve pulled so many evening sessions like this one, but it’s been so long that I almost forgot how beautiful it is just to be out there in the water. Seeing the Santa Monica Mountains silhouetted in front of the pink sky brought back all the feeling of what made that place “home” for me. I guess Cheryl was right. The sky lost its illumination, and Cheryl and Shan left together.
I took a look at J. He said, “I’m staying until its dark.”
“I’m with you,” I replied.
We were waiting for that last wave. What was a crowded line up was now only four. J got his last good right, and then there were only three. I didn’t find a good wave to end it, but I caught a close out back to shallow water. The water was now deeper than it was earlier. It’s funny how a couple hours can make a huge difference.
I’m still suffering from Trestles Withdrawal Syndrome (TWS), but Porto was good to us this evening. The waves aren’t perfect like down south, but Porto still has good training value. The inside was a little brutal which called for a faster paddle, and the unorganized shoulders only forced us to adapt at a faster rate. My home is at Porto, but my mind is in Trestles. I guess I’ll just have to surf them both.
A WEEKEND AT TRESTLES: A CLEAN FAREWELL, MON 3.28.2011 MORN
CREW: Michelle, Cheryl, Silverton
FLAKES OF THE DAY: NA
RAN INTO: NA
TIME: 0745 - 1000, 2 hrs. & 15 min.
CONDITIONS: 2-3 feet, clean, glassy, slightly over cast, cool, inconsistent.
I had to piss around 0300, but I held it in until I awoke at 0546. The whole night I was freezing my balls off; I could see my breath from inside the car. I’ve learned many lessons on this trip: don’t bring too much food, make sure your tent isn’t missing anything, propane is your best friend, and make sure you have a really good sleeping bag. I was using two sleeping bags, and it wasn’t enough. Next time, I’m bringing my military-grade stuff.
The morning was just as calm as the night. The offshore winds were faint if not there at all. Silverton was the first one out of the tent. I made him a cup of coffee. We chilled by the fire and commented on the ladies sleeping in. I was a little tired, so I didn’t mind a later start. Besides, I could tell that the surf was smaller, so I didn’t feel that there was any rush. Cheryl poked her head out of the tent by 0645. I offered her some hot cocoa; Michelle didn’t want anything. We suited up a little late, and they made the call to surf Churches. I told them that I’d meet them out there, and that I might be more north towards Middles.
You could tell it was a Monday because there were only three people at Old Man’s and one at Churches. I like Churches, but I rarely surf there because it’s so crowded. I saw a clean peak form off of the point, so I paddled out right there. The waits didn’t seem that long, but the waves were barely three feet high. My first wave was a fun little left that had a perfect open face. I had fun trimming up and down the line and pumping all the way to shore. I got a small right that allowed me to do a couple top turns. Even though the waves were small, they definitely had more “push” than the waves at Old Mans the prior evening. I hit a lull, and since it was my last day there I decided to paddle further into Middles; Michelle felt the same. Silverton watched from the shore as Cheryl stayed at the same spot at Churches.
Michelle and I thought we saw some peaks, but we found them to be mirages every single time. We only found the peak at Lowers; it was a long ass paddle. There were only about six guys there, but two younger guys left which opened the door for us to get in. Nothing was happening at first, but then the sets got consistent for at least a half hour. It became routine: Michelle would get one, I would get one, and then it repeated. It was about time that we had a chance to surf that spot without much opposition. Michelle, on her longboard, was getting more waves than anyone else out there. She’d stroke her way into them so early and easy. I watched her gracefully drop into the critical part of the face fully focused on her own awareness of self and nature. I was lucky to get what I could. I had to hang more on the inside, but I got the shoulder as soon as it jacked up on the shelf. I got a couple turns here and there, and it was more than I expected given the small conditions. Michelle was even nice enough to give up a wave.
She was sitting on the outside and said, “You want this one?”
“Hell yeah,” I replied, as I raced to beat to peeling section and caught the wave at its steepest point, giving me enough speed to take the section.
Three more guys paddled out, and that’s when I got my reality check. I’ve never seen guys rip the shit out of waves that were so small. I mean I know it’s possible. I’ve seen my bro catch waves on small days, but these guys were pulling off floaters and gashing out the lip so hard that you could hear the buckets being thrown out. Those guys dominated. I saw Michelle wipe out on a steep drop in. I was over the new crowd. We paddled all the way back to Churches where we saw Cheryl walking towards the shore. I caught a close out and rushed to get breakfast started.
Silverton helped me make two cans of beans, two long turkey sausages, and eggs with provolone cheese; I already had two cups of rice cooked from the night before. Within a half hour we were stuffing our faces at the picnic table. That was the biggest meal I had while I was out there; we ate everything!
Our checkout time was at noon, so after that meal we tore down the campsite with quickness. We said our goodbyes, and I spent the rest of the day driving home and unpacking.
Now, I sit here late at night writing this. I was a little sad today, and I realized it was “Trestles Withdrawal Syndrome.” I drove down to Porto this evening just to have a look. I caught Klaude and Dais coming out of the water in the Porto parking lot. Even though I spotted some messy, rideable shoulder, it’s just not the same.
Klaude said, “There’s another swell coming in this weekend.”
“From what direction?” I asked.
“North, Northwest.”
“What are you thinking? Did you want to stay local?”
“You know how this place gets when it’s overhead. I wouldn’t mind checking out up north.
We both paused as we looked at the fading orange light over the dark textured water. Klaude looked at me with a reassuring look over his face.
He said, “Trestles, bro . . . Trestles.”
FLAKES OF THE DAY: NA
RAN INTO: NA
TIME: 0745 - 1000, 2 hrs. & 15 min.
CONDITIONS: 2-3 feet, clean, glassy, slightly over cast, cool, inconsistent.
I had to piss around 0300, but I held it in until I awoke at 0546. The whole night I was freezing my balls off; I could see my breath from inside the car. I’ve learned many lessons on this trip: don’t bring too much food, make sure your tent isn’t missing anything, propane is your best friend, and make sure you have a really good sleeping bag. I was using two sleeping bags, and it wasn’t enough. Next time, I’m bringing my military-grade stuff.
The morning was just as calm as the night. The offshore winds were faint if not there at all. Silverton was the first one out of the tent. I made him a cup of coffee. We chilled by the fire and commented on the ladies sleeping in. I was a little tired, so I didn’t mind a later start. Besides, I could tell that the surf was smaller, so I didn’t feel that there was any rush. Cheryl poked her head out of the tent by 0645. I offered her some hot cocoa; Michelle didn’t want anything. We suited up a little late, and they made the call to surf Churches. I told them that I’d meet them out there, and that I might be more north towards Middles.
You could tell it was a Monday because there were only three people at Old Man’s and one at Churches. I like Churches, but I rarely surf there because it’s so crowded. I saw a clean peak form off of the point, so I paddled out right there. The waits didn’t seem that long, but the waves were barely three feet high. My first wave was a fun little left that had a perfect open face. I had fun trimming up and down the line and pumping all the way to shore. I got a small right that allowed me to do a couple top turns. Even though the waves were small, they definitely had more “push” than the waves at Old Mans the prior evening. I hit a lull, and since it was my last day there I decided to paddle further into Middles; Michelle felt the same. Silverton watched from the shore as Cheryl stayed at the same spot at Churches.
Michelle and I thought we saw some peaks, but we found them to be mirages every single time. We only found the peak at Lowers; it was a long ass paddle. There were only about six guys there, but two younger guys left which opened the door for us to get in. Nothing was happening at first, but then the sets got consistent for at least a half hour. It became routine: Michelle would get one, I would get one, and then it repeated. It was about time that we had a chance to surf that spot without much opposition. Michelle, on her longboard, was getting more waves than anyone else out there. She’d stroke her way into them so early and easy. I watched her gracefully drop into the critical part of the face fully focused on her own awareness of self and nature. I was lucky to get what I could. I had to hang more on the inside, but I got the shoulder as soon as it jacked up on the shelf. I got a couple turns here and there, and it was more than I expected given the small conditions. Michelle was even nice enough to give up a wave.
She was sitting on the outside and said, “You want this one?”
“Hell yeah,” I replied, as I raced to beat to peeling section and caught the wave at its steepest point, giving me enough speed to take the section.
Three more guys paddled out, and that’s when I got my reality check. I’ve never seen guys rip the shit out of waves that were so small. I mean I know it’s possible. I’ve seen my bro catch waves on small days, but these guys were pulling off floaters and gashing out the lip so hard that you could hear the buckets being thrown out. Those guys dominated. I saw Michelle wipe out on a steep drop in. I was over the new crowd. We paddled all the way back to Churches where we saw Cheryl walking towards the shore. I caught a close out and rushed to get breakfast started.
Silverton helped me make two cans of beans, two long turkey sausages, and eggs with provolone cheese; I already had two cups of rice cooked from the night before. Within a half hour we were stuffing our faces at the picnic table. That was the biggest meal I had while I was out there; we ate everything!
Our checkout time was at noon, so after that meal we tore down the campsite with quickness. We said our goodbyes, and I spent the rest of the day driving home and unpacking.
Now, I sit here late at night writing this. I was a little sad today, and I realized it was “Trestles Withdrawal Syndrome.” I drove down to Porto this evening just to have a look. I caught Klaude and Dais coming out of the water in the Porto parking lot. Even though I spotted some messy, rideable shoulder, it’s just not the same.
Klaude said, “There’s another swell coming in this weekend.”
“From what direction?” I asked.
“North, Northwest.”
“What are you thinking? Did you want to stay local?”
“You know how this place gets when it’s overhead. I wouldn’t mind checking out up north.
We both paused as we looked at the fading orange light over the dark textured water. Klaude looked at me with a reassuring look over his face.
He said, “Trestles, bro . . . Trestles.”
A WEEKEND AT TRESTLES: A LONGBOARDER‘S HEAVEN, SUN 3.27.2011 EVE
CREW: Michelle, Cheryl, Silverton, Sebastian, Dan, and Tim
FLAKES OF THE DAY: NA
RAN INTO: NA
TIME: Guestimating from 1630-1900, 2 hrs. 30 min.
CONDITIONS: Offshore winds, soft, chest high, consistent, a little choppy, and sunny.
Most of the DRC left one by one, and it was just the girls and I. They napped in the tent while I failed at suppressing my snack attack on the picnic table. I gave them the choice of where we would surf, and they were pretty adamant at trying out Old Mans for their first times; it would be my first time, too. Even thought the spot looked packed and the swell looked like it was decreasing, I didn’t mind the thought of catching some lefts for a change. We prepd for round two and made our walk south. I’ve never seen that part of the beach. We walked a bit further and paddled out at what was officially San Onofre Beach. Michelle eyed a lone peak that broke outside and to the south of the whole crowd. I made my way there while they hung out amongst the patches of surfers. The early evening conditions were almost summer-like. All the clouds were gone by then, the sun turned the blue water to a light tinted green, and everything looked delightfully warm.
I sat and waited for that peak that Michelle saw while they were getting some long two foot rides. Finally, the outside set came, and I paddled for it, making a very late drop. The wave bogged out once it got to the inside. Michelle paddled up and said, “That wave that you got was clutch!” Yeah, there were a couple fun rides out there, but the truth was that I definitely needed a bigger board to really enjoy that break. Cheryl and Michelle came prepared by bringing their longboards just in case. Michelle shared the peak with me until she darted further south to a more consistent spot. Cheryl joined me and had problems with the hat she was wearing. It was actually a little comical to see her paddle out with that thing on. It looked liked a hat made for planting tulips in a garden. I assisted by stashing the hat in the top of her wetsuit, which gave her a hunchback like appearance.
We joined Michelle at her newly found peak. Surprisingly, it was really consistent. Wave after wave broke from the outside. The wave would peel far away, and all we had to do was chase down the shoulder to paddle into it. It was just so small and mooshy. Michelle milked the most out of those waves, but I had to work hard and generate whatever momentum I could. Some of the rides were still fun and good for a couple top turns, but for the most part I was trimming on a burgery shoulder.
I paddled back towards Old Mans to see if I could snag a left, but by the time I got there the water was already clearing up, and everyone was leaving. The surf turned choppy, and I caught a close out to shore.
When I got back to the site I saw my friend Dan’s car was parked there. I dried up and saw my friends Sebastian, Dan, and Tim in the distance. With them was Cheryl’s boyfriend Silverton walking with the girls. My buddies stayed to smoke a cigar and left. The rest of the night was spent eating chili and making some smores over the camp fire. Silverton offered a kind gestured and carefully made me some smores with the precision of an iron chef. It was the calmest night of the whole trip; there was practically no wind. However, I slept in my car since the girls were there, and I had the worst sleep ever in my wagon. I didn’t anticipate that the car windows would make everything inside so cold over night.
It was still fun to have that easy session. By that evening my body was worn, and it welcomed not having to work as hard. For any of my friends that are just starting to surf, that will be their spot.
FLAKES OF THE DAY: NA
RAN INTO: NA
TIME: Guestimating from 1630-1900, 2 hrs. 30 min.
CONDITIONS: Offshore winds, soft, chest high, consistent, a little choppy, and sunny.
Most of the DRC left one by one, and it was just the girls and I. They napped in the tent while I failed at suppressing my snack attack on the picnic table. I gave them the choice of where we would surf, and they were pretty adamant at trying out Old Mans for their first times; it would be my first time, too. Even thought the spot looked packed and the swell looked like it was decreasing, I didn’t mind the thought of catching some lefts for a change. We prepd for round two and made our walk south. I’ve never seen that part of the beach. We walked a bit further and paddled out at what was officially San Onofre Beach. Michelle eyed a lone peak that broke outside and to the south of the whole crowd. I made my way there while they hung out amongst the patches of surfers. The early evening conditions were almost summer-like. All the clouds were gone by then, the sun turned the blue water to a light tinted green, and everything looked delightfully warm.
I sat and waited for that peak that Michelle saw while they were getting some long two foot rides. Finally, the outside set came, and I paddled for it, making a very late drop. The wave bogged out once it got to the inside. Michelle paddled up and said, “That wave that you got was clutch!” Yeah, there were a couple fun rides out there, but the truth was that I definitely needed a bigger board to really enjoy that break. Cheryl and Michelle came prepared by bringing their longboards just in case. Michelle shared the peak with me until she darted further south to a more consistent spot. Cheryl joined me and had problems with the hat she was wearing. It was actually a little comical to see her paddle out with that thing on. It looked liked a hat made for planting tulips in a garden. I assisted by stashing the hat in the top of her wetsuit, which gave her a hunchback like appearance.
We joined Michelle at her newly found peak. Surprisingly, it was really consistent. Wave after wave broke from the outside. The wave would peel far away, and all we had to do was chase down the shoulder to paddle into it. It was just so small and mooshy. Michelle milked the most out of those waves, but I had to work hard and generate whatever momentum I could. Some of the rides were still fun and good for a couple top turns, but for the most part I was trimming on a burgery shoulder.
I paddled back towards Old Mans to see if I could snag a left, but by the time I got there the water was already clearing up, and everyone was leaving. The surf turned choppy, and I caught a close out to shore.
When I got back to the site I saw my friend Dan’s car was parked there. I dried up and saw my friends Sebastian, Dan, and Tim in the distance. With them was Cheryl’s boyfriend Silverton walking with the girls. My buddies stayed to smoke a cigar and left. The rest of the night was spent eating chili and making some smores over the camp fire. Silverton offered a kind gestured and carefully made me some smores with the precision of an iron chef. It was the calmest night of the whole trip; there was practically no wind. However, I slept in my car since the girls were there, and I had the worst sleep ever in my wagon. I didn’t anticipate that the car windows would make everything inside so cold over night.
It was still fun to have that easy session. By that evening my body was worn, and it welcomed not having to work as hard. For any of my friends that are just starting to surf, that will be their spot.
A WEEKEND AT TRESTLES: BUT IT COULDN’T RAIN ON OUR STOKE, SUN 3.27.2011 MORN
CREW: Klaude, Dais, J, Michelle, Cheryl, Boris
FLAKES OF THE DAY: Shan
RAN INTO: NA
TIME: Guestimating from 0730-1030, 3 hrs.
CONDITIONS: Light onshore winds, chest to shoulder high, inconsistent, cool, overcast, and a little bit of texture on the water.
After yesterday’s session, Al took off, and it was just me, Boris, Dais, and J at the camp. Well, just like how the weather was shitty on Friday, Saturday night would put us to the test.
Onshore winds blew throughout the whole night. Tiny dissipating sprinkles fell out of the darkness. I couldn’t see the stars which was a bad sign. Boris saved us with all the food that he brought. He grilled up some bacon, pork, and steaks. He also prepared some pasta and potato salads at home. J grilled some hot dogs over the fire. The whole weekend was filled with a combo of different eats, and Boris’s barbecue was the best. Someone brought some magic chocolates which made the fellas act pretty funny. First, they went off to feed an injured bird that they found on the sand.
I saw them congregating under the lantern light, and all I heard was Boris say, “Yah, we can cut the beef into pieces.”
J said, “Someone grab the hot dog buns!”
After their failed attempts at force feeding the bird hot dogs and steaks, Dais and J wanted cookies and milk. I went in the tent to pour some cups for them, then those three clowns told me that they were taking an excursion to go on an ice cream hunt. When they returned they had tall tales of the vending machine eating their dollar, and the Dipping Dots machine that they found. From my POV it was all hilarious.
Dais slept in his car while the rest of us shared the tent. When I woke up, the rain had stopped, but everything from the sand to the tables was wet. Same routine, I got the fire and the hot water started.
I got the first text from Klaude at 0603; he was on the way. Minutes later I got the text from Michelle and Cheryl. The morning conditions looked clean, and I wanted to get out there before the wind picked up. We commented on the overcast and the overnight rain. We all talked about how the worst of the weather had passed, but it started raining again, and all four of us were by the fire huddled underneath the beach umbrella. At 0645 I got the text from Cheryl that they were just leaving Santa Monica. I called them and said we’d already be in the water by the time they got here. Since Klaude was only a short ways away, we decided to wait for him. By the time he showed up it was raining pretty steadily. We all dawned our drenched wetsuits, waxed our sticks, and headed out.
As we reached the beginning of the trail the rain actually stopped. It was Klaude, J, Dais, and myself. No one was frothier than Klaude. He wasn’t just there to surf; he was there to redeem himself. I let them make the call of where to surf since their time was limited, and I had the whole weekend. We walked short of Uppers again to only see that the surf there was mediocre. It was back to the BP. J had borrowed Boris’s thruster, and Klaude took out his repaired thruster, which I named “The Rising Sun” because of the artwork on it. The surf was noticeably smaller than the previous morning, and I didn’t expect much. The lulls seemed to take forever, but when the sets came, they were generous and had well shaped waves. Unfortunately, since we had a late start, there was already some texture in the water. I paddled further out, just south of the main Lowers peak. I got a couple waves there but worked my way back to the BP with the rest of the group. Boris led Michelle and Cheryl to us. I saw Cheryl scratch out on some waves. We tried to cheer her on to get her into some, but I’m not sure if she actually got any. Michelle was representing for the females. It’s refreshing to see a chick in the line up, charging, and going for everything that comes; she probably caught more waves than I. Stand out surfer of the day was J. Bionic J with his bionic paddling arm. I thought he got overzealous when he took Boris’s thruster out, but that guy was still paddling into a lot of waves on that tiny potato chip. If there was a hint that the smaller board hindered his ability, none of us could tell. There was so much going on that I can’t recall everyone’s waves, but I know for a fact that Klaude caught waves all throughout the session. I saw Dais nail a late take off and drop in with a drop-knee stance.
We surfed until the sun came back out, another whopping three hours. By the end of the morning session I was ice cold, shivering in my wetsuit. I was beginning to make mistakes, falling on my landings, and not pulling off any more turns. I even walked the nose and tried to turn in a circle before falling.
Klaude said, “Matt’s out here longboarding!”
I do recall one wave that I got. I think Cheryl and Klaude might have been paddling in the inside as I top turned off of the lip before the wave closed out. That seemed a little technical to pull off, but maybe it didn’t look as good.
Our group was the largest that it was for the whole surf trip; six of us walked back to camp, separated in little groups, and all sharing our conquests of the day.
Shan and Rick called and said they couldn’t make it. Oh well. Michelle brought a lot of homemade chili and a homemade apple pie. Thank goodness I had some rice on deck. I grilled up Boris’s left overs and help set up the feast. Unfortunately, Boris had to get back home, but we thanked him for his tremendous contributions.
The day completely changed. It was sunny, hot, and there were only small patches of sun in the sky. Everyone was full, snacking, conversing, chilling on the sand, and just watching the ocean. Lauren even came by to hang out for a little while on her way home. It was the most relaxing atmosphere short of being on a tropical island. Some of us took naps, Klaude got into his yoga stretches then walked on the beach collecting sea shells. I don’t know what else to say. The day was made for us.
FLAKES OF THE DAY: Shan
RAN INTO: NA
TIME: Guestimating from 0730-1030, 3 hrs.
CONDITIONS: Light onshore winds, chest to shoulder high, inconsistent, cool, overcast, and a little bit of texture on the water.
After yesterday’s session, Al took off, and it was just me, Boris, Dais, and J at the camp. Well, just like how the weather was shitty on Friday, Saturday night would put us to the test.
 |
| The German chef, Boris the Blade |
Onshore winds blew throughout the whole night. Tiny dissipating sprinkles fell out of the darkness. I couldn’t see the stars which was a bad sign. Boris saved us with all the food that he brought. He grilled up some bacon, pork, and steaks. He also prepared some pasta and potato salads at home. J grilled some hot dogs over the fire. The whole weekend was filled with a combo of different eats, and Boris’s barbecue was the best. Someone brought some magic chocolates which made the fellas act pretty funny. First, they went off to feed an injured bird that they found on the sand.
I saw them congregating under the lantern light, and all I heard was Boris say, “Yah, we can cut the beef into pieces.”
J said, “Someone grab the hot dog buns!”
After their failed attempts at force feeding the bird hot dogs and steaks, Dais and J wanted cookies and milk. I went in the tent to pour some cups for them, then those three clowns told me that they were taking an excursion to go on an ice cream hunt. When they returned they had tall tales of the vending machine eating their dollar, and the Dipping Dots machine that they found. From my POV it was all hilarious.
Dais slept in his car while the rest of us shared the tent. When I woke up, the rain had stopped, but everything from the sand to the tables was wet. Same routine, I got the fire and the hot water started.
I got the first text from Klaude at 0603; he was on the way. Minutes later I got the text from Michelle and Cheryl. The morning conditions looked clean, and I wanted to get out there before the wind picked up. We commented on the overcast and the overnight rain. We all talked about how the worst of the weather had passed, but it started raining again, and all four of us were by the fire huddled underneath the beach umbrella. At 0645 I got the text from Cheryl that they were just leaving Santa Monica. I called them and said we’d already be in the water by the time they got here. Since Klaude was only a short ways away, we decided to wait for him. By the time he showed up it was raining pretty steadily. We all dawned our drenched wetsuits, waxed our sticks, and headed out.
As we reached the beginning of the trail the rain actually stopped. It was Klaude, J, Dais, and myself. No one was frothier than Klaude. He wasn’t just there to surf; he was there to redeem himself. I let them make the call of where to surf since their time was limited, and I had the whole weekend. We walked short of Uppers again to only see that the surf there was mediocre. It was back to the BP. J had borrowed Boris’s thruster, and Klaude took out his repaired thruster, which I named “The Rising Sun” because of the artwork on it. The surf was noticeably smaller than the previous morning, and I didn’t expect much. The lulls seemed to take forever, but when the sets came, they were generous and had well shaped waves. Unfortunately, since we had a late start, there was already some texture in the water. I paddled further out, just south of the main Lowers peak. I got a couple waves there but worked my way back to the BP with the rest of the group. Boris led Michelle and Cheryl to us. I saw Cheryl scratch out on some waves. We tried to cheer her on to get her into some, but I’m not sure if she actually got any. Michelle was representing for the females. It’s refreshing to see a chick in the line up, charging, and going for everything that comes; she probably caught more waves than I. Stand out surfer of the day was J. Bionic J with his bionic paddling arm. I thought he got overzealous when he took Boris’s thruster out, but that guy was still paddling into a lot of waves on that tiny potato chip. If there was a hint that the smaller board hindered his ability, none of us could tell. There was so much going on that I can’t recall everyone’s waves, but I know for a fact that Klaude caught waves all throughout the session. I saw Dais nail a late take off and drop in with a drop-knee stance.
We surfed until the sun came back out, another whopping three hours. By the end of the morning session I was ice cold, shivering in my wetsuit. I was beginning to make mistakes, falling on my landings, and not pulling off any more turns. I even walked the nose and tried to turn in a circle before falling.
Klaude said, “Matt’s out here longboarding!”
I do recall one wave that I got. I think Cheryl and Klaude might have been paddling in the inside as I top turned off of the lip before the wave closed out. That seemed a little technical to pull off, but maybe it didn’t look as good.
Our group was the largest that it was for the whole surf trip; six of us walked back to camp, separated in little groups, and all sharing our conquests of the day.
Shan and Rick called and said they couldn’t make it. Oh well. Michelle brought a lot of homemade chili and a homemade apple pie. Thank goodness I had some rice on deck. I grilled up Boris’s left overs and help set up the feast. Unfortunately, Boris had to get back home, but we thanked him for his tremendous contributions.
The day completely changed. It was sunny, hot, and there were only small patches of sun in the sky. Everyone was full, snacking, conversing, chilling on the sand, and just watching the ocean. Lauren even came by to hang out for a little while on her way home. It was the most relaxing atmosphere short of being on a tropical island. Some of us took naps, Klaude got into his yoga stretches then walked on the beach collecting sea shells. I don’t know what else to say. The day was made for us.
A WEEKEND AT TRESTLES: A REUNION OVERDUE, SAT 3.26.2011 EVE
CREW: DAIS, J, BORIS, AL JIMENEZ
FLAKES OF THE DAY: Jonathan
RAN INTO: NA
TIME: Can’t recall, guestimating from 1530-1830, 3 hrs.
CONDITIONS: Light onshore winds, a little smaller than the morning, occasional head high sets, sunny, and just a little bit of texture on the water
Jonathan called and said that he couldn’t make it. Oh well. I wasn‘t even done with my Spam, eggs, and rice when I saw Boris pull up in his car. Wow, I thought. The only person the whole weekend that found the place on his own accord without getting lost. Fuckin’ A, that’s German efficiency for you! I was delighted to see him, gave him the grand tour, and then my phone rang again. J showed up, a minute later Dais showed up, and within ten more minutes Al showed up.
 |
| The whole time in Iraq all we talked about was surf. |
Al . . . for him to be there meant a great deal to me. We bumped heads a lot while we were roommates in Iraq, but I’ve truly missed the guy, and it was only the fourth or fifth time that I had seen him since the deployment ended.
 |
| It felt just like the surf movies: perfect strangers brought together by surf. |
I went through the introductions and introduced everyone to each other. It was barely 1430, and I suggested that we wait until about 1630 to paddle out, but the thirst overcame everyone, as there was a mutiny. My decision was overruled, and we headed back to Trestles at about 1500.
Dais, like Klaude, wanted to check out Uppers. I told him that it wasn’t happening up there today, and that even Klaude would attest to that if he were there. Al noticed the peaks peeling away in front of the BP. We paddled out at exactly the same spot again.
Even though the morning had the best surf for the whole weekend, this evening session was the most fun. We weren’t men anymore; we were like children, joyous as ever. No, fuck joyous; we were GAY, four gaylords on their surfboards unbelievably stoked to get wet. The positive energy was overwhelming. Dais had summed it up to me later that day. I can’t recall his exact quote but he said that they were all strangers with only the common connection through me, and that they still got along and had a good time. I was happy to have my boys out there in the water all together like that; they never even met each other up until that day, but it was like they knew each other for years.
The surf wasn’t as clean as the morning due to the on shore winds, the consistency wasn’t there, but the waits were worth it. Surf was averaging about chest to shoulder high with the occasional head high set.
Al rips, and I wanted him to see my improvement. I saw him catch some rights and launch some buckets out the back. I got overly excited and fell on a couple at first, but he saw me successfully pull off some late shoulder high, plus, take offs.
J was killing it. In fact, I think Al only had a higher head count by a couple of waves, but those two guys were the stand-out surfers from our group, as they rarely scratched out on anything.
Dais was to our south and farthest away from me. I saw him catch a couple waves from behind, but I didn’t have the luxury of being close enough to see his rides. Either way, I know he got his fare share, too. And in the end, everyone was happy.
We had to have surfed at least three hours. My shoulder muscles were depleted, and my upper back ached from overuse. Al and J tried to squeeze into the Lowers line up Like Klaude did in the morning, but the congestion was just too much. Al caught a wave from the main peak but fell after he stuck the landing; he was tired. We all were.
Boris followed us out there to take pics, and he had footed it back to camp long before we got out. One by one we made our way back to the shore, awkwardly stumbling over the cobblestones on the inside. The walk back to camp was filled with laughs and stories that began with, “I saw you on that one wave--”. The emotions were pure. We were all brought together by surf. Money couldn’t buy the happiness and elation that I felt after that sesh, walking back towards camp with my buddies: boards in hand, tired, worn, stoked, and grinning.
A WEEKEND AT TRESTLES: PERFECT CONSISTENT HEAD HIGH RIGHTS, SAT 3.26.2011 MORN
CREW: Klaude and Deathwish Dave
FLAKES OF THE DAY: NA
RAN INTO: NA
TIME: Can’t recall, guestimating from 0700-1000, 3 hrs.
CONDITIONS: Light offshore winds, shoulder to head high on plus sets, consistent, cool, sunny, and clean.
It was rather lonesome at the campsite. I ate two Cup-O-Noodles soups by the camp fire as I read my book. Actually, I ate while I tried to feed my dying fire. Lesson learned, don’t go cheap when making a fire; throw in at least six logs for a good tepee.
Klaude and Dave called and told me they were lost. What a relief it was to see them. They showed up around midnight. We bullshitted by the fire but turned-in rather quickly to get some much needed rest, especially for them. They brought a huge box of Duraflame logs, fruit, and beef Jerky.
Their alarm was set for 0600, but I woke up at 0545. It was a poor night of rest. The ground was hard, and it was cold as hell. Dave didn’t even bring a sleeping bag and thought he’d brave the conditions. I gave him my extra bag just in case, and I heard him unzipping it at about three in the morning.
I boiled some water for coffee and coco, and I got the early morning bonfire started as well. They trickled out of the tent to join me in the moonlight. That was one of the best parts of the trip: waking up in the predawn darkness, hot coffee in your hands, and warming up next to the campfire. We felt for the wind, looked out at the water, watched the sky grow bright, and take note of all the morning surfers making their way towards Trestles. Not much later, we prepd ourselves and our gear, and we headed towards Middles.
We watched the right handers break at Churches and continued our march. We stopped at Middles, short of a rock formation that was built up like a battle position or BP. Klaude wanted to keep heading towards Uppers, but I suggested that the BP was the spot. It was less crowded, there were peaks, and Dave would have a good chance at catching some waves without much competition.
The water wasn’t as cold as expected. We paddled out with the sun peaking over the mountains. I was the first to hit the water. The paddle out seemed long, and shoulder high right handers rolled past me as I worked to get to the line. When I got there and turned around I didn’t see Dave or Klaude. I thought that they still might be on the shore, but I wasn’t sure. After Friday’s debacle I hoped for good surf. Without much warning, I found out that my expectations would be exceeded. My first wave of the day still stands out in my mind compared to all the rides I got that morning. In the distance there was a bump in the surface which turned into a perfect peak, which ended up turning into a perfect head high right. I paddled into it and caught it just where the shoulder was peeling. I swooped in with hair blowing speed as I set up for my bottom turn. I hate to admit this, but at that moment I was thinking to myself, I hope Klaude is watching this right now. My top turn wasn’t as aggressive as I would’ve liked because the wave was bigger and faster than what I’ve ridden for a while. I didn’t want to over do it and eat shit early. I didn’t fall at all. I managed three good turns off of the top before my ride ended. When I got to the line up I saw Klaude about thirty yards away making his way towards me; I couldn’t see Dave. I asked Klaude if he saw that wave, but there wasn’t much elaboration on it after that.
Pretty soon other surfers started paddling out to our spot. There were a bunch of grommies to our north. I initially thought that they would be ripping and taking all the waves. One kid had the inside position but scratched out on a right hander; I had backed off to let him have it, and it went to waste. Once we saw that, we figured that they were no better than us, so we paddled into the main line up to take some food off of their plates.
My details are a bit blurry on what all my rides were like. I don’t know if it’s just because those waves were so juicy and perfect, or because I actually had a fairly high wave count for myself. All I know is that I got a lot, some of the bigger sets, too. I even went for a huge left, a bomb. I got pitched over the lip and ate shit right in front of Klaude. I touched the cobble stone bottom as I got sucked under and even got my lung capacity tested. When I surfaced I saw Klaude paddling towards me; our eyebrows were raised with facial expressions that just said, “Damn.”
We saw Dave half way out to sea sitting on his longboard. He was out of position to get anything. Later he paddled towards us. When I was on the inside after one of my rides, I saw Dave trying to paddle into a shoulder high wave, but he scratched out. When a freak set came through, I saw Dave on the inside off of his board before the bombardment started. Pretty soon after that he was back on the shore.
I felt bad for Klaude. He had asked me, before we left camp, which board he should take. I recommended his fish because he only had the morning to surf, and surfing on a familiar board seemed like the right decision to get more waves. Klaude said he felt undergunned. He had a frustrating time and just wasn’t in the right spots, or someone else was already on the wave that he was in position for.
We went back to shore to check on Dave. Dave decided to go back to camp, and Klaude led the way to choose the next surf spot. Klaude wanted the same experience that he got the last time he was there; he wanted to go back to Uppers and duplicate his first Trestles session. Well, once we got there we saw that the swell direction wasn’t producing good surf. We ended up paddling out north of Lowers, but the peaks weren’t clean. No one was out there, and we found out why. Both of us didn’t really catch anything. We then approached Lowers from the north and mixed in with the crowd, but that peak was just being mobbed by everyone. We both didn’t get anything from that peak. Klaude, out of frustration, put himself right in the lion’s den in the middle of everyone. I saw him almost catch two waves; he was just one or two strokes away but scratched out. We decided to call the session, and just as we did, I caught a shoulder high left all the way to shore.
For the whole camping trip, that Saturday morning produced the best surf that I’ve ever seen at Trestles. I know it wasn’t Klaude’s day, but the last time we surfed together I was the one that had the shitty session while he and Dais were smiling ear to ear. They left and I kau kaud on some spam, eggs, and rice. They both left, and Dave had to head back up north. I was glad that I got to see Dave. Even though he doesn’t surf all the time, he still showed love to come through and check out the campsite; that shows a lot about his character. Klaude had to go to work with his thirst unquenched, but even worse, he had to leave without eating some of Maui’s finest delicacies. When they left, I was all alone with my plate lunch, eating on the sand, and watching the ocean.
FLAKES OF THE DAY: NA
RAN INTO: NA
TIME: Can’t recall, guestimating from 0700-1000, 3 hrs.
CONDITIONS: Light offshore winds, shoulder to head high on plus sets, consistent, cool, sunny, and clean.
It was rather lonesome at the campsite. I ate two Cup-O-Noodles soups by the camp fire as I read my book. Actually, I ate while I tried to feed my dying fire. Lesson learned, don’t go cheap when making a fire; throw in at least six logs for a good tepee.
 |
| Klaude's a Swinger. |
Klaude and Dave called and told me they were lost. What a relief it was to see them. They showed up around midnight. We bullshitted by the fire but turned-in rather quickly to get some much needed rest, especially for them. They brought a huge box of Duraflame logs, fruit, and beef Jerky.
Their alarm was set for 0600, but I woke up at 0545. It was a poor night of rest. The ground was hard, and it was cold as hell. Dave didn’t even bring a sleeping bag and thought he’d brave the conditions. I gave him my extra bag just in case, and I heard him unzipping it at about three in the morning.
I boiled some water for coffee and coco, and I got the early morning bonfire started as well. They trickled out of the tent to join me in the moonlight. That was one of the best parts of the trip: waking up in the predawn darkness, hot coffee in your hands, and warming up next to the campfire. We felt for the wind, looked out at the water, watched the sky grow bright, and take note of all the morning surfers making their way towards Trestles. Not much later, we prepd ourselves and our gear, and we headed towards Middles.
We watched the right handers break at Churches and continued our march. We stopped at Middles, short of a rock formation that was built up like a battle position or BP. Klaude wanted to keep heading towards Uppers, but I suggested that the BP was the spot. It was less crowded, there were peaks, and Dave would have a good chance at catching some waves without much competition.
The water wasn’t as cold as expected. We paddled out with the sun peaking over the mountains. I was the first to hit the water. The paddle out seemed long, and shoulder high right handers rolled past me as I worked to get to the line. When I got there and turned around I didn’t see Dave or Klaude. I thought that they still might be on the shore, but I wasn’t sure. After Friday’s debacle I hoped for good surf. Without much warning, I found out that my expectations would be exceeded. My first wave of the day still stands out in my mind compared to all the rides I got that morning. In the distance there was a bump in the surface which turned into a perfect peak, which ended up turning into a perfect head high right. I paddled into it and caught it just where the shoulder was peeling. I swooped in with hair blowing speed as I set up for my bottom turn. I hate to admit this, but at that moment I was thinking to myself, I hope Klaude is watching this right now. My top turn wasn’t as aggressive as I would’ve liked because the wave was bigger and faster than what I’ve ridden for a while. I didn’t want to over do it and eat shit early. I didn’t fall at all. I managed three good turns off of the top before my ride ended. When I got to the line up I saw Klaude about thirty yards away making his way towards me; I couldn’t see Dave. I asked Klaude if he saw that wave, but there wasn’t much elaboration on it after that.
Pretty soon other surfers started paddling out to our spot. There were a bunch of grommies to our north. I initially thought that they would be ripping and taking all the waves. One kid had the inside position but scratched out on a right hander; I had backed off to let him have it, and it went to waste. Once we saw that, we figured that they were no better than us, so we paddled into the main line up to take some food off of their plates.
My details are a bit blurry on what all my rides were like. I don’t know if it’s just because those waves were so juicy and perfect, or because I actually had a fairly high wave count for myself. All I know is that I got a lot, some of the bigger sets, too. I even went for a huge left, a bomb. I got pitched over the lip and ate shit right in front of Klaude. I touched the cobble stone bottom as I got sucked under and even got my lung capacity tested. When I surfaced I saw Klaude paddling towards me; our eyebrows were raised with facial expressions that just said, “Damn.”
We saw Dave half way out to sea sitting on his longboard. He was out of position to get anything. Later he paddled towards us. When I was on the inside after one of my rides, I saw Dave trying to paddle into a shoulder high wave, but he scratched out. When a freak set came through, I saw Dave on the inside off of his board before the bombardment started. Pretty soon after that he was back on the shore.
I felt bad for Klaude. He had asked me, before we left camp, which board he should take. I recommended his fish because he only had the morning to surf, and surfing on a familiar board seemed like the right decision to get more waves. Klaude said he felt undergunned. He had a frustrating time and just wasn’t in the right spots, or someone else was already on the wave that he was in position for.
We went back to shore to check on Dave. Dave decided to go back to camp, and Klaude led the way to choose the next surf spot. Klaude wanted the same experience that he got the last time he was there; he wanted to go back to Uppers and duplicate his first Trestles session. Well, once we got there we saw that the swell direction wasn’t producing good surf. We ended up paddling out north of Lowers, but the peaks weren’t clean. No one was out there, and we found out why. Both of us didn’t really catch anything. We then approached Lowers from the north and mixed in with the crowd, but that peak was just being mobbed by everyone. We both didn’t get anything from that peak. Klaude, out of frustration, put himself right in the lion’s den in the middle of everyone. I saw him almost catch two waves; he was just one or two strokes away but scratched out. We decided to call the session, and just as we did, I caught a shoulder high left all the way to shore.
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| Without propane it would've been a PB&J kind of trip. |
For the whole camping trip, that Saturday morning produced the best surf that I’ve ever seen at Trestles. I know it wasn’t Klaude’s day, but the last time we surfed together I was the one that had the shitty session while he and Dais were smiling ear to ear. They left and I kau kaud on some spam, eggs, and rice. They both left, and Dave had to head back up north. I was glad that I got to see Dave. Even though he doesn’t surf all the time, he still showed love to come through and check out the campsite; that shows a lot about his character. Klaude had to go to work with his thirst unquenched, but even worse, he had to leave without eating some of Maui’s finest delicacies. When they left, I was all alone with my plate lunch, eating on the sand, and watching the ocean.
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| Bringing the rice cooker was definitely the best decision I made. |
A WEEKEND AT TRESTLES: PADDLING INTO ORANGE, FRI 3.25.2011 EVE
CREW: Solo
FLAKES OF THE DAY: NA
RAN INTO: NA
TIME: 1900 - 1930, 30 min.
CONDITIONS: Lighter onshore winds but still prevalent, high tide, swampy, backwashed, warm water, inconsistent, but serene.
What a fiasco after this morning’s session. When I checked-in to the camping office, they were cool as hell. They gave me all the details I needed to know, then I headed to my spot. Just as I was hoping, it was right there on the sand in front of the beach. The only bad thing is that the waves don’t break there. It’s not necessarily a bad thing, but wouldn’t it be nice to have good waves in front of where you sleep?
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| Waves in front of the campsite. Not so good. |
The tent . . . what a fucking pain in the ass that was. I pulled it out, set it on the ground, and I couldn’t find the tent stakes; there were none. Son of a bitch, I thought. No offense to my friend Dan that let me borrow the tent. I was trying to save some money. I have a K-mart one-man tent that I bought years ago, but I didn’t want to use that fucking thing. There was only one way to deal with this: I had to go on post to get another tent.
I went to the base shopping mart and bought a propane stove, and a bunch of other shit. Thankfully, I found some tent stakes on sale, so that solved the tent problem. After that I went to the grocery store. I bought Spam, eggs, sausage, and more stuff that I’m not even sure that I’ll be able to eat by the time the trip is over. In fact, I will probably be force feeding anyone that arrives in hopes to get rid of it all.
I also called the firewood delivery service, but they said that their truck was broken down. At least they said they’d keep me updated if they could deliver some fire wood or not.
I got back to the site to set up the tent. VICTORY. Motherfuckin’ victory, except . . . where are the poles for the rain tarp? Where are the chords to fasten the rain tarp? There‘s pictures of them in the set-up manual. No, no victory here. FUCKING FAIL AGAIN! I was pissed. The people in the sites next to me saw me struggling to set up the tent, and now I was going to have to take it down again? I resorted to the fact that I would have to go back to the base to finally buy another fucking tent. After a couple minutes of being pissed off, the option of keeping the tent with the loose rain tarp resonated with me; I‘d just sleep in the car if it rained.
Firewood. I called them again, and I got a voice mail that said they were out of wood, so I still had to go back to base anyway.
I couldn’t relax. I kept on going inside and outside of the tent, and then back inside again. I couldn’t keep my eyes off of the ocean. I wanted to paddle back out, but the onshore wind was just howling strong. The water looked uninviting. Yes, there were waves; some of them were breaking way on the outside. The rides looked a little racy, but there was a little shape. It looked kind of like Porto on a blown out day, except the peaks had faces to work with. I kept watching surfers coming and going, paddling in and paddling out, but I was waiting for that right moment for the wind to die down; it didn’t.
I drove to the base accepting my decision not to paddle out, but then I started philosophizing about it. If you don’t paddle out, then you can stay home, stay on the sand, watch the waves from the warmth of your car/tent, etc. The problem with that is, you’ll know what you’ll get out of that: dryness, not even suiting up, and no chance of catching anything. At least if you try to paddle out, regardless of the 50/50 chance of getting a good ride or not, at least you try, and if you try then anything is possible, and you might get that one good wave to make it all worth it. I couldn’t help but think that maybe I was being too picky, but did I have a right to be that picky? I thought I did. Every other session at Trestles was close to perfect conditions, today it rained, the water was stormy, excuses, etc., etc.
On my drive back to camp I saw that the sun was setting. I wanted to get back in time to take a picture, but it was gone. I looked at the American flag flying over my neighbor’s trailer; the wind had died considerably. I looked out and saw a couple shoulders worth going for. If I could just get a couple of those, I thought. The desire to just get wet and paddle around in the latent day was too tempting to pass up. I changed and paddled out at 1900. Surprisingly, the water wasn’t that cold. I made my way to the inconsistent line up and waited for anything with a face or shoulder. No one was out any more. The horizon was a fading orange, and some dissipating clouds left faint trails in the form of a V. The sound of the waves crashing, the dark blue and black triangular shapes that dominated the water, the orange reflections from what was left in the waning light, my snuggly camp site waiting for my return, the distance that I had from the familiar and the stressing, they all gave me a feeling of serenity and a peace of mind that I haven’t had in a while. I caught one close out back to shore, and that was perfectly fine.
In the showers there was a surfer that just got out. He said, “Hey, have fun, didja?”
I replied, “Meh, it was all right. A little too much wind.”
“Awwww, mate, but you can always find something baaad to say. . . . There were waves, weren’t there?”
Fuck . . . he was right. “There were waves,” he said. Yes, there were. I guess that’s all that really mattered, and I missed it. Too picky? I don’t know. You can’t win them all, all the time. I expect tomorrow to be my day. I hope that it doesn’t rain and that the stormy conditions will be over.
Sitting here now in the darkness with a cup of hot chocolate, outdoors, with the sound of the ocean behind me . . . I am happy.
A WEEKEND AT TRESTLES: AGAINST ALL ODDS, FRI 3.25.2011 MOR
INTRO:
On Tuesday, Klaude text me and said that he was surfing Trestles on Saturday even if he had to sleep in the bang-bus on Cristianitos. I knew for sure that I’d be going there on Friday. I thought to myself about how I could make the plan work? I thought about surfing all day Friday at Trestles, coming home, then venturing out with Klaude again, but that would be too much driving. Then, I got a wild hair up my ass . . . I decided to just get a camping spot for the whole weekend. It would work out perfectly because Lauren was going to San Diego with her friends anyway. I set up a webpage and made an event out of it. It was an open invite for everyone.
Well, the only bad thing was there was rain in the forecast, and there was a fifty percent chance that the whole weekend would be ruined by stormy conditions, but it was a chance I was willing to take. To me it was worth the risk, but only time would tell if the decision would be genius or buffoonery.
I stayed up late getting all my shit together. It was the first time that I’ve ever set up a camping expedition by myself. The more I thought about it, the more stuff I wanted to bring. I almost bought a whole new set of outdoor pots and pans. Last night Lauren gave me a funny look as she watched me in the kitchen. “Really, you’re going to take the rice cooker?” she said.
“Hell yeah! Spam, eggs, and rice on the beach! Oh my gawd, sounds so delicious!” I said.
She nodded in disapproval as I stood there with the one pound Diamond G bag in my hand.
Last night was pouring rain, and this morning was no different. I got a late start and hit the road by 0630, and by the time I hit HB it was “stop and go” traffic. Sheets of rain pounced on my car sporadically throughout the whole drive. I figured that there was no rush to paddle out because of the conditions, so I took the long drive through Dana Point and San Clemente to see the ocean and find somewhere to eat. The surf looked stormy with not one surfer out.
I ordered a plate of machaca with eggs and cheese at Love Burger (I’ll give them a good review on Yelp) and headed to San Onofre right after. I’ve never seen the surf so consistent at Old Man’s. Yes, it sure was stormy, on shore, rainy, but there were head high lefts that still held their shape. Not perfect, far from perfect, but they were rideable.
Now, the sun is out with the overcast finally burning away. It’s 1007. I regret eating such a heavy meal now. I’m gonna watch it for a little bit and figure out where to surf. As of right now, there are three long boarders at Old Man’s; it’s warming up.
A WEEKEND AT TRESTLES:
AGAINST ALL ODDS, FRI 3.25.2011 MOR
CREW: Solo
FLAKES OF THE DAY: NA
RAN INTO: NA
TIME: 1035 - 1200, 1 hr. & 25 min.
CONDITIONS: Sunny with patches of gray skies, side shore to onshore wind, extremely low tide, slight south current, five feet, inconsistent, long lulls, mostly rights, a couple lefts, lot of chop and texture because of storm, waves still had open faces.
I just learned that the tide is still going up. Low tide was at 0942, and high tide will be at 1658 . . . It fooled me. Once the sun came out and I saw three surfers at Old Man’s, I decided it was time to change. As I parked at Churches I saw that no one was there. I literally had first dibs on that whole spot. Because of that, I was reluctant to walk to Middles or Lowers. I did see some fun looking rights rolling through, and I justified myself by saying, “I only go to Middles to get away from the crowd.” Since there was no crowd at Churches, I thought it more convenient to just paddle out right in front of my parking spot. I thought that it was low tide because a lot of the rocks were exposed. I saw a longboarder and his shortboarder girlfriend paddling out just to my south; they wisely picked a channel with less rocks. Not me. I was stubborn and walked to chest deep water, braving the uneven and slippery footing while looking like an orangutan on ecstasy.
I couldn’t find the line up. The longboarder was close by, but then he paddled so far on the outside that I figured either he or I was completely off. My local knowledge of the spot still isn’t quite there yet. The water, despite after the storm, was just like any other winter day. There weren’t any funky debris floating around, and the water looked lime green under the high sun. The longboarder paddled early into a right that was about five feet, and he caught it all the way to the shallow area--a long ass ride. I backed out of the first right that came. It looked like it was going to close, but it actually rolled past me, and I could see that the shoulder was holding shape from behind. I should’ve gone. An outside set came. It was a random left. Even though the tide was low, since the wave was breaking so far outside, it was actually burgery. The slope of the wave was almost too gradual, but I paddled myself into it. It was probably a four footer, and it was a clean shoulder in the midst of the morning funk. I trimmed top to bottom, desperately trying to dig my tail into the lip for a mean gouge, but I still couldn’t whip my tail around. Something just happens when I’m front side, like I’m stuck on the board. I’d like to think that the waves mooshiness didn’t help with my speed, so that could’ve been another factor. I even tried shifting my footing, putting as much weight, and pushing on the back to no avail. Regardless, it was a really fun left. Actually, it was one of the longest lefts that I’ve had in a while.
I’ll keep the rest of my report short. For about the next hour I wiped out on two waves, was out of position for the plus sized sets, and frustratingly waited in between the long lulls. I only got one wave. The last forty five minutes was me and this other guy that showed up after the couple left. We were both going through the same shit. The wind picked up a little bit more turning from sideshore to onshore. There was more disorganization and inconsistency in the water. Maybe it wasn’t the tide to blame as much as it was the wind. I figured that I missed the morning window because of the storm, and what was left was a race against the wind.
Well, one good wave for the morning . . . what can I say? The walk back to the sand was excruciating. My toes were numb, and I kept stumbling and falling because of those damn rocks. The cold and pain combined made me feel like if I had lost a toe I wouldn’t have noticed!
Well, it’s time to check in. I got a good handful of people that are actually stoked about coming out here, and that makes me happy. I’m gonna set up camp.
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