WINDSWELL OF UNORGANIZED CONFUSION, THU 6.02.2011 EVE

Nice. . . . Special appearance by "Nick the Pick.

Crew: Klaude, Nicky, Shan
Time: 1915-2015, 1 hr.
Conditions: 4 feet, onshore and completely blown out, strong southern current, choppy, unorganized, sunny, and cold.

    After the morning session, I thought that taking a sunset patrol was in order. Shan and Klaude kept contacting me and saying that they wanted to go. I was deep in Westchester at the time and saw that the wind wasn't that strong, but the El Porto cams looked like it was blown out. Klaude said, “Well, if I drive there I'm gonna have to paddle out.” He called me back a couple minutes later and said, “All right, I'm heading over there.” I text Shan and told him that we were going.

    As I got closer to the beach I noticed the wind getting stronger. When I pulled into the lot, I saw the consistent whitewater being blown on the inside. The wind caused some of the waves to jack up for a potential ride, but it was kind of sketchy. About a half dozen surfers started to paddle out for the evening session. I was pretty pessimistic.

    Klaude pulled up with a passenger. It was Nicky AKA Nick the Pick. I hadn't seen him for a while. When I saw him I knew that we had to paddle out. His appearance was a special occasion, and with me going to Bali soon I wouldn't be surfing with him for a while. Shan pulled up, and we started to change. We put an hour in the meter at about 1910. The water was cold like the morning. We paddled just north of the shitters and north of the small crowd. I was surprised that I was able to make it out. The inside was so consistent that I expected to be stuck duckdiving the whole time, but I found a channel in the mess. When I got to the line, I turned around and saw that I had drifted all the way by the sandwich shack. The other three were paddling into the pack of other surfers.
   
    The waves were a bit unpredictable. Some waves jacked up but didn't break, only to have a big wave behind them that was already breaking. The surface was choppy and bumpy which made it a little difficult to paddle. I caught a couple waves that only gave short rides. Though peaky with a steep drop, they would bog out into nothing on the bottom turn. The conditions were so random that there were some open shoulders at times. I saw Shan get two long rides, and I saw the shoulder holding from behind as he let out his trademark “woo-hoo” and went all the way to shore. I also saw Nicky catch a couple waves too. Klaude seemed to be in the impact zone a lot. I later found out that he went for a lot of close outs.

    I caught one left that had a shoulder. I bottom turned and started my cutback on the lip. I crouched down low and had my arms out for balance. I  pulled off a grinding arc back into the bottom of the wave. Or . . . it just felt like that, but in reality I looked like a kook. It's just so hard to tell. I have no idea if I actually pulled this off, but it felt good. The wave bogged out at the bottom of the turn.

    I had my best wipeout this month, but I don't know if “best” is the right word. I went for a big close out right in front of Shan as he was paddling back. I basically wiped out in between two closing sections, in which I had the middle face. My upper torso got wrapped in my leash for a bit, and then something weird happened. I usually resurface right away, but the struggle I had with my leash actually kept me under a while. I had to put a lot of effort in getting back to the surface. I expected to take another on the head. When I resurfaced Shan was right there. He said, “Man, I was wondering where you were. You were down there for a while.” A little freaked out, I paddled back to the line up.

    I looked at my watch and gave the signal to catch the last wave. Just then, a random wall with a right hand shoulder formed right next to me. I made the drop and noticed a perfect smooth face that opened up. I bottom turned then hit the lip putting as much force on the tail as possible. I've recently found that leaning forward on the turn (as if falling) helps to keep momentum for reentry. I heard the spray of water which sounded like dry-wall being spackled on the side of a house. I tried another top turn but fell. When I resurfaced, The fellas were stoked for the wave that I got, and they said that I got some legit spray. Despite the shitty conditions, that feeling on that turn made my whole session.

    When we got to shore it was past 2015, and the Manhattan Beach parking enforcement was driving back and forth with their lights flashing. Worried we would get tickets, Klaude and I ran back to our cars. The parking enforcement lady was very rude and told Klaude, “You just HAD to go for that last wave, didn't you?!” Apparently, we were supposed to be out of the lot at exactly 2000, and she was writing parking tickets. Nope, no time for goodbyes. All of us jumped in our cars, soaked wetsuit and all, and drove out. I pulled into one of the small El Porto streets and double parked so I could change. On the way home, I saw Klaude and Nicky at the 45th St. Chevron. I parked and said my goodbyes to them.

    I recently went through a phase where I couldn't paddle out if it looked like shit, especially after surfing down south so much. But as of late, I've had a lot of fun and have been surprised when the conditions look like crap. It just comes to show, you never know until you're out there. Once again, one wave can make your session. The dollar menu was worth it on this occasion. It was enough to hold me over and give me something to think about until next time, but next time might be in Bali.
   

LEFTS & RIGHTS AT 26TH, THU 6.02.2011 MOR

LEFTS & RIGHTS AT 26TH, THU 6.02.2011 MOR

Crew: Solo
Time: 0900-1000, 1 hr.
Conditions: 3 feet, peaky, strong north current, consistent, on shore wind, sunny, balls freezing water, and big mutant dolphins.

    After surfing the whole Memorial Day weekend, I had a shit load of blogs to catch up on. Too bad I didn't have any electrical connections while camping. If I did, I would have done my blogs there. The end result was me staying up until 0200 Thursday morning, tired, and fighting to remember details that I lost over time and sleepiness. I meant to wake up earlier, but 0800 was the best that I could do. The post effects of the camping weekend took a serious toll, as I've still been pretty tired the days that followed.

    Even though my whole morning was almost shot in the ass, the sun was bright, and the wind was still non existent. I headed to Porto to take a look. I was happy to find a couple peaks that were working. They didn't look that great, but the right-hander in front of the tanks seemed to be working, and I even saw surfers in front of 45th. The waves seemed a little close together, especially on the inside, so I decided to have a look at Parks. Either way, I would rather park for free than pay a quarter for every ten minutes (fuckin' meters).

    I couldn't really tell what 26th was doing from on top of the hill. All I could tell was that there was some lifeguard recruit training going on, the main crowd was to the north, and a small group of surfers were to the south. When I was all suited up and locked up my car, I noticed that the onshore winds started to pick up.

    It was hard to tell how good it was from the sand. The second I touched the water I couldn't believe how cold it was. It's June, and the water is still balls freezing. WTF? I braced the cold and finally woke up upon my first duckdive. On the way out I saw two good waves with decent peaks form right in front of me. The first wave had a surfer going left and the next had a guy going right. When I sat at the take off zone I was able to take full account of everything. The waves weren't perfectly consistent, but the lulls weren't that long. With every set came three or four decent three foot peaks. They weren't perfect because the rides were a little short since the distance from shore wasn't very far. Also, the wind already put some texture on them, but the conditions were great for a local surf session.

    Whenever I surf local right after surfing Trestles I notice that I don't surf the same. The clear difference is due to the wave, and it's almost unfair to compare. But if you're a good surfer, then you can surf in any conditions, and that's what I need to strive for. 

    The peaks gave both lefts and rights. I sat where the lefts would pop up. I haven't surfed consistent lefts in a long time, and I almost hate to admit how much my forehand sucks. I feel like I can't do any good turns going left. Actually, I feel like I'm thinking too much when I'm going left which probably takes away from the experience. I tried to tell myself to just surf, have fun, feel the wave, and everything else should come naturally.
   
    The lifeguard training ended, and the 26th St. locals took over the main peak again. I spent a good deal of the session fighting the current. Some huge mutant dolphines were swimming through the line up and jumping out of the water. They were on a direct path towards me. I cringed and nervously waited their arrival, but then they jumped out and scared the shit out of the surfer in front of me. Right on.

    I got a right that I got three turns on. No, not clean turns, but fun. The wind got stronger and kept knocking down the waves. However, the swell kept the peaks coming, just more choppy and bumpy now. My last wave was a right, and it felt like I got a such a good top turn off of the lip that I almost turned the board completely around. Of course, I probably didn't. It just felt this way, but it felt good even though it probably didn't look like it.

    The inside was a little consistent and it was a little work to get to the outside. After that wave I saw that it was 1000. I needed to meet my friend for breakfast, so I had to leave anyway.

     I wish I made it earlier. I could imagine how nice it was without the wind. Those peaks had to be clean.

CHURCHES--COMPLETELY BEACHED PT.2: MON 5.30.2011 Noon

CREW: Rick
TIME: 1300-1430, 1 hr. and 30 min.
CONDITIONS: light onshore winds, warm, sunny, 3 - 5 feet, inconsistent, extremely crowded.

    I really should have sat this session out. By the time we ate and broke down camp, I was officially D-U-N, done. Loading up the car was already a bitch in the hot sun, but I didn’t want to let Rick down. He barely gets to go camping as much as he’d like, and he was as stoked as I was the very first day that I arrived, so I couldn’t let him surf alone.

     By now the weather was almost perfect. Everyone that chickened out after Sunday’s storm was now in for their redemption that Monday. Longboarders crowded the line up. I didn’t argue or make a suggestion to paddle anywhere else. Rick wanted Churches, and he got it. We paddled out into the main pack. I sat on the shoulder and didn’t get shit while Rick inserted himself into the thick of things once again. I paddled until I was north of everyone. My spot was less consistent, but there were random rogue sets that broke in the five foot range on the outside. I was able to get a couple of them, but the sections kept running away every time I top turned--probably a sign that I was tired. I really wasn’t pulling off any good turns for the afternoon. Rick and I got separated. After an hour and a half I took a wave towards the inside. I turned around and saw a longboarder in an Oakley wetsuit coming down the line headed straight for me. I was in his way, a deer in the headlights. It seemed like there was nothing I could do to get out of his way. He had to ditch his board. I felt embarrassed; I needed to get out already. As I reached the shore I saw Rick speeding down the line on a right, dodging and weaving his way through longboarders trying to get out of his way. “Fuckin’ guy,” I said to myself. At least he was having a field day; I was glad for that.

    We parted ways. I was so goddam tired that I pulled over in San Juan Capistrano for an hour long nap. I drove to my friend Dan’s house to drop off his camping gear. It took me at least an hour to unload all my shit into my apartment. I was beyond exhausted, and my poor feet were torn to shreds. I immediately resumed getting things together for Bali. So tired. What a great weekend, but maybe that fourth day wasn’t necessary, at least not without Lauren.

CHURCHES--COMPLETELY BEACHED PT.1: MON 5.30.2011 MORN

CREW: Rick
TIME: 0700-0900, 2 hours.
CONDITIONS: light onshore winds, balls freezing pools of water, 3 feet with occasional 4, crowded, sunny.

    First off, the night that Rick arrived was pretty interesting. He recommended that we do some exploring up the beach towards San Onofre. I really wasn’t up for it. I was already wearing thin from the weekend, and I was ready to turn-in to my fartsack. Also, the pain from the cuts on my foot began to take their toll. Friday was when I cut my heel, Saturday I sliced the top of my foot with my fin, and on Sunday I cut the bottom of my foot in two places. It hurt to walk, but I didn’t let Rick know. I eventually gave in, and we strolled down the beach, randomly stopping at abandoned campfires that were still smoldering with heat.

    Once we got to the state beach, he showed me the hodad surf shacks along the shore line. It was the first time I saw them, and they were really cool. We ventured all the way towards the end and saw a pack of coyotes scavenging for food near the water’s edge. I was glad that I took the walk. Rick was my former platoon sergeant, and he’s always treated me like kin, so I appreciated the experience.

    My alarm went off at 0515, and this guy was already up making coffee. My sleeping bag was damp from the air’s moisture. We watched Churche’s perfect peaks roll through before anyone got out there. Rick suggested that we surf there, but I already had my mind set on Middles or South Lowers. He packed his backpack and was willing to check out my spot. It’s too bad that Middles didn’t look that good. We went back to Churches. By now the crowd began to arrive, so we paddled out north of the main pack. The water temp took a serious change, as the water was biting cold. I felt the energy sucked right out of me. As I paddled out, I could feel the muscles in my back and shoulders begin to ache in protest. It was time that they got some rest, and I was paddling out again for the fourth morning in a row. Rick lectured me about ditching my thruster for a fish. I wanted to show him that I had gotten better, but I didn’t know if I was up for the challenge. Rick got a couple waves before I even reached the line up--bad sign. My first wave was probably the wave of the morning. I got the rogue wave that luckily peaked in my area. It was only four feet but peaky. I caught it late and took the wave almost all the way to shore. I got three nice turns in, dishing some spray on the first two. When I returned Rick said, “Nice, Matt. I see you getting a little bit of spray now.” It wasn’t the validation that I hoped for, but I didn’t have much “umph” left in me.

    Rick surfed the rest of the session in the main pack while I remained north away from everyone else. All I can remember was that it was a tiring session. I saw Rick on the shore eating some hard boiled eggs. I caught my last wave, cut the bottom of my big toe on a rock, and we went back to camp.

TRESTLES--THE 180: SUN 5.29.2011 EVE

Move out!

CREW: Klaude, Khang, Christina, Dais, Francis, Nicole (cam duty)

TIME: 1500-1700?, 2 hours.
CONDITIONS: Onshore wind, consistent, strong southern current, long paddle out, 5 feet, occasional 6.

    Klaude cooked a wide array of dishes and served them in five course fashion. Thanks to the food that Shan left us, we had fish and shrimp on deck as well. Everyone turned in for the night which left Klaude and I by the campfire until 2330. We talked about our surfing, our goals, Bali, and just put out our surf theories and how much we hoped to improve. We brushed our teeth and fell fast asleep.

    I was awoken by the roaring wind. By roaring I mean violent, angry, tent-pole bending, WIND! I thought to myself, Wow, is it time to get up already? I was thinking that it was around 0500. I looked at my watch and it was 0015 . . . I was asleep for barely forty-five minutes. I took a peak outside and checked on our supplies to see if they were still in place. All still looked well, but the wind . . . I prayed that it would die in order to keep the surf clean for us, but things obviously looked dismal. 0200, I woke up at the sound of things flying off of the picnic table. What the hell!? I turned and watched Klaude slightly shift in his sleeping bag and drift back into a coma, completely oblivious to nature’s vicious rendition. I went outside the tent, gathered the supplies that were on the ground, and put the stuff on the table in the back of my wagon. I hurried back inside the tent, crawled back into my sleeping bag, and watched the tent struggle to stand upright as air rushed in everywhere possible. 0345, the sound of sheeting rain beats the tent all around and wakes me. Good God, I thought. We’re really in for it now! I ran back outside to check the rain tarp. Klaude’s side came undone, so I tied it to the portable picnic table to keep it secure. Unfortunately on my side, the tarp stake would not stay in the soft and wet sand, so my side had a little gap where the rain got in. Wet as I was, I figured that I might as well go back inside. I moved my electronics out of harms way and sacrificed the rest. A minute later I heard Khoa get out of his tent. In the middle of the rain their tarp completely blew off.

    0515, I’m awakened by Christina walking around our soaked chairs in front of the fire pit. Klaude wakes up right after. We are all out of firewood. I only prepared for two nights because I didn’t think we’d be freezing our asses off on Sunday morning. Christina’s tent that she shared with Francis and Nicole didn’t even have a rain tarp. Well . . . they had one, but they elected not to use it. Christina got completely drenched. Klaude and I gave her our tent which was only drenched on my side, where she fell asleep for most of the morning.

    It was pretty brutal. As everyone else woke up, we huddled by the propane fire behind the tent, as it was our only protection from the wind. The rain stopped, but now we had to deal with the damp, the cold, and the overcast. I tried my best to lift spirits my making coffee with hot chocolate and marshmallows. We eve had tortillas, eggs, and sausage going. We had to check-out by noon and move into our new spot by 1300.

The new site.

    Khoa, Sean, Karen, and Eloisa took off early, and the rest of us waited for our next campsite to be available. By the time we moved camp the weather changed, the wind died down a little, and the sun came out. I was happy with our new campsite and our perfect view of Churches’s right hand waves. I was still unpacking while the boys were already suited up and ready to paddle out. The energy was good, and we all wanted to make up for the morning’s lost session.

    Battle Positions looked good, but as we looked more towards Lowers, we noticed that there were sets breaking far out on the outside. We agreed that one of those waves could go for a long ride, so we paddled out just south of Lowers. Nicole chilled on the sand with her high speed camera. Klaude and Christina paddled out first, while Francis and I were a couple steps behind them. Dais and Khang decided to rest a little longer while we paddled out. Francis beat me to the line up and drew first blood, but I was too preoccupied with my own predicament to get to the line. It seemed like I reached it, but then I kept seeing that outside peak breaking, and it seemed like I had so much further to go. I finally made it all the way to the outside. I turned around and saw Klaude about half way to the Bud Light surf tents. I looked on land and saw that the current was already taking me south. I had no choice but to paddle; we all had no choice but to paddle. Despite the chaos, I couldn’t have asked for better conditions to work on my paddling. The whole session was spent fighting the current, with only small intervals of rest in between. On top of that, the sets from the shore were actually bigger once we got out. The outside was really consistent, and waves were breaking at five feet, easy, with occasional six footers. We didn’t realize what we got ourselves into. With the shore a far distance away, we were in for a little test.

Francis times his paddle out.

    That morning’s weather scared everyone away, for there were only three other guys out besides our crew. I’ve always said that Trestles is a gradual wave, meaning that it’s not as dumpy as Porto or fast and pitchy as HB, so despite the swell size, I felt the waves were still easy to paddle into.

I hate to say this, but this wave felt much bigger than it looks right here. My, how the mind works. . . .

My first wave was a right that had a fast and steep drop. I pumped my board and changed direction with the connecting section. It turned into a left where I was able to stall on the drop in, then I caught air as I went back up and body flopped over the wave. It looked more like I was violently tossed, but I could tell the wave had power by the force that I was thrown out of it. Khang said that he saw my wave as he was paddling out. Each wave caught was followed by a furious paddle back. Francis caught a wave all the way to shore, and I probably didn’t see him for almost ten minutes.

    One of my next waves was a left, another steep drop. Klaude was paddling out on the shoulder as I dropped in. I got in a couple deep trims as I had my arms outstretched towards him. I can’t go over every wave that I caught, but I was just feeling it for that session. I thought about my brother’s advice to try to catch as many big waves as possible, and that afternoon was perfectly set up for that. My timing felt “on,” and I kept catching waves. The drops initially felt critical, but the shape would hold and allow some time instead of pitching over. The result was a fast, board skipping, descent that produced a lot of speed. On one right I got two top turns. Klaude said that he saw me get some spray, but the funny thing was that all I wanted to do was not eat shit, and the turns came secondary. The two hour session felt like three hours. Christina never made it out, for the current took her all the way to the surf contest. I think Dais and Khang left first, then Francis, and then I waited last for Klaude.

We went back to the campsite and cooked an early dinner. Reptile Rick showed up and paddled out. I was stoked. I think everyone felt challenged with that last session. Sure, it wasn’t those fun and peaky 3-4 footers that we usually get, but the swell size was definitely a welcomed changed, especially from the funky conditions during the weekend.

    Everyone left, and it was just Rick and I. I would only realize how tired and worn out I was the next morning.

TRESTLES--BAD TIMING: SAT 5.28.2011 EVE

CREW: Klaude, Khang, Khoa, Christina, Francis, Nicole, Dais
TIME: 1530-1730?, 2 hours.
CONDITIONS: Lighter onshore wind, inconsistent, burgery, sunny, 3 feet.

    After the morning session, we barbecued Shan’s famous duck butter chicken. I ate a lot, to the point that I knew I wouldn’t be fully digested until the evening session. For some of us, the evening was too far away. The summer-like conditions got the better of the group, as most of the guys decided to paddle out for a mid day session. Khang led the way and paddled out on Klaude’s newly bought nine foot longboard . . . in boardshorts! We all watched from the campsite as we cheered him on and got some good laughs at watching him paddle about on that monstrosity. The surfing bug bit Francis, and next thing you know he was in the water, too. Dais and Khoa followed suit. Klaude took a nap using a firelog as a pillow, Christina took a nap in the sun, and Shan decided to paddle out before he had to take off early. Those guys surfed for at least an hour, but by 1445 we were all ready to do it again.

    We paddled out at Battle Positions again, and the conditions looked much better. I anticipated a redeeming session, as Trestles evening sessions can be very rewarding. To make up for the morning, I caught a decent right where I was able to crank a nice top turn off of the lip. When I paddled back, Dais cupped his hand and tossed some water in recognition that I got a little spray. Klaude said that it looked pretty good, as I had to take their word for it since I can’t see what’s going on behind me anyway.

    Highlight of the day: A perfect little right hander came. It wasn’t perfectly clean because of the wind, there was a little texture on it, but the shape was still nice. Dais was on my right towards the inside of the wave. I told him to go for it.

    Dais said, “Right or left?”

    “Right . . . turn now . . . PADDLE HARD!”

    I watched Dais in hopes that this one wouldn’t pass him by. It looked like a late pop up, but I saw his head moving down the line as I cheered him on. Of course, having a wave for yourself is what it’s all about, but you can still feel equally stoked from letting a friend have a wave, especially when you guide him into the whole thing. Dais’s stoke became my stoke. He paddled back and thanked me.

    Francis was killing it and was the stand out surfer among all of us. I’m not sure what he was doing. I thought he was attempting to bust airs, but Klaude said he was trying to blow the fins out. None the less, after he paddled into his waves and disappeared, there was the quiet pause, then his surfboard would come flying off of the lip. I saw this from the front too, as he pulled off a clean snap. I was having a good sesh but not that good.

    The waves actually got more consistent, but the shape got more and more uglier. It was a weird exchange. It must’ve been the rising tide. The lulls got longer and the waves mooshier. After two hours there was no need to stay in any longer. I made the suggestion to head back to camp and cook in the daylight instead of the dark like Lauren and I did the night before.

Chris is probably only the third person that I've met that actually knows the proper way to start a campfire.

    So the second session was a little bit better than the morning. At least to me it was. After all, we had the following morning to look forward to . . . or did we?

TRESTLES--GONE WITH THE WIND: SAT 5.28.2011 MOR

Shan, the first surfer on site. This was before the winds picked up.

CREW: Shan, Klaude, Khang, Khoa, Christina, Francis, Nicole, Dais
TIME: 0800-1000?, 2 hours.
CONDITIONS: Onshore wind, choppy, inconsistent, overcast, 3 feet.

    Saturday morning began with much anticipation. Shan, surprisingly, was already minutes away when I first woke up. At 0545 I could see the morning sky illuminating my tent from the outside. Lauren still lay fast asleep while I got the coffee going. Shan told me that there was a line of cars waiting for the state park to open. As soon as he was inside, we exchanged greetings and took a look outside. The morning looked promising, as clean, scattered peaks were visible all across Old Man’s. Even the surf in front of our site looked border-line surfable. I kept pumping up my session the day before and selling Trestles to him. We took our time getting ready while we waited for the rest of our visitors.

    Klaude hit me up and told me he was just minutes away. He also made me aware that we acquired two more guests, which was a big surprise to me. If you know me, you know I hate surprises, as I’m pretty much a control freak, especially if the gathering is a creation of my own.

    Just as we were about to paddle out, Khang, Dais, Christina, and Klaude showed up. They said that Francis was right behind them. Then Khoa, Karen, Sean, and Eloisa arrived. We did the introductions, Shan and I were itching to get in the water, so we told them that we’d see them out there. Unfortunately, with everyone else’s arrival also came the arrival of the onshore winds. The winds would set off the chain of events for the next day to come. I was in denial and had foolish hopes that the conditions would get better. Shan was optimistic and said that the wind could change when it got sunny.

    It was Shan’s first time surfing San Onofre, and he still agreed that it looked better than Porto. We made it just north of the Bud Light Lime Series and paddled out. Shan was stoked to be out there, but I was in severe disappointed at the thought of how good it was the day before. Shan got the first peeling left that rolled through. Even though it was getting windy and choppy, there were still some waves with a little shape. A long boarder came in from the north and stole the next left that I had been waiting for. Shan got a nice handful of rides, but I was pretty frustrated. I got a couple insignificant waves and noticed the rest of the crew showing up. I motioned Shan out of the water, and then we joined everyone else (minus Francis and Nicole). Khang made the call to paddle out in front of the Battle Position. From the shore everything looked good. I saw a set coming in despite the wind, and it looked promising. Shan went back to his same spot, and everyone else paddled straight out.

    The conditions continued to worsen. Honestly, everyone else seemed stoked except for me. It was so hard for me to have a good time. Even though I didn’t have control over the weather, I had invited everyone over for good surf, and I was pissed that the conditions turned to shit. Watching my buddies paddle for mediocre waves during a surf weekend that was supposed to be fun really took the life out of me.

    I paddled south of Lowers in hopes to get something. The crowd was much thicker. The more I paddled the more people I found myself in the middle of. I had to sit all the way on the outside to get some for myself. This time I pulled the asshole move by inserting myself in the line up and trying to take waves early. It was just that kind of morning. I ended up paddling back by everyone else. I saw Christina catch a couple waves, which to me was a good sign that at least some of us were having fun.

    The conditions got more inconsistent, and we all left in pairs like people sneaking out of a failed party. Lauren waited for me on the shore, and I walked back feeling all grumpy.

    At the campsite the sky finally cleared, it got hot, and the sun was blazing. Francis and Nicole said that they surfed somewhere else. There was still wind, but at least the site had the feeling of summer. I hoped for the evening session to clean up. I had no idea what was really in store for us.

TRESTLES--SUNSET AT CHURCHES: FRI 5.27.2011 EVE

I made her pose like this.

CREW: Lauren on camera duty
TIME: 1900 - 1945, 45 min.
CONDITIONS: Clean, glassy, sunny, barely any wind, uncrowded, 2-3 feet, small but fun.

    After checking-in, setting up camp, and eating a late ass breakfast, Lauren finally showed up at around 1600. She helped me set up the final touches to the tent which was the rain tarp, which we will unfortunately hear about again later. I wanted to paddle out earlier, but I had to wait for the firewood delivery guy. As soon as he showed up at 1845, I changed, and Lauren accompanied me with her hand-held digital recorder.

    The Bud Light Lime Series was officially over for the day. The tents were completely vacant, save for two guys wrapping things up. The sun was already low, and only four guys were out. As much as I would’ve loved to see what Trestles was doing, the sun’s rays were already fading.

    The size went down, as the waves were only 2-3 feet but still clean for the most part. The dark cobblestones in the water sharply contrasted the low orange glow over the horizon. Desperate for waves, I caught anything that came my way. My judgment must’ve been poor because every time I finished a ride, the set waves would break on the outside, and I would miss them completely. Maybe the pressure was on because I knew Lauren was recording. I tried my best to force some good top turns for spray, but the size wasn’t there. I could only put in one top turn at best, and then I’d fall on the second one. Really, I should’ve just lightly trimmed down the line to take the waves for what they were worth. It didn’t matter; I still had a lot of fun. For that little 45 min. I had a high wave count. I only left because we still had to cook and there wasn’t much daylight left.

I may not shred at surfing, but I shred at making Smores!

    The scenery was the most captivating of all. The sun was like a giant orange ball with dead sticks, trees, and brush giving their dark silhouettes against it.

Bunny in a blanket.

     When I returned home on Monday I looked at the footage that Lauren got. Wow, what a reality check. In my mind, I looked totally awesome. On the raw footage, I saw my arms flailing, absent of balance, and looking awkward on two foot waves. The best part was Lauren filming the sun. Oh well . . . I guess I needed to see this footage to remind myself that self image is harshly different from the actual.

   

TRESTLES--WHAT DREAMS ARE MADE OF: FRI 5.27.2011 MOR

Someone once asked me, "How can you tell if someone just started surfing?"

CREW: Solo
TIME: 0800 - 1130, 3 hrs. & 30 min.
CONDITIONS: Clean, glassy, sunny, barely any wind, unusually uncrowded, 3-4 feet, occasional 5.

    I leave to Bali on June 7th. This Memorial Day camping/surf weekend was planned a month in advance. Originally, it was strictly for Lauren and me. We were to have our quality time before I would be gone for a whole month, but due to her new job, she was barely there. This weekend’s adventure would start off solo.

    I barely slept Thursday night. In fact, by the time I pre-packed my whole car with camping and surf gear, it was almost 0200. I was awoken by Rick’s call, letting me know that the 405 was gridlocked near the Redondo Beach exit. I thanked him, brushed my teeth, threw on shorts and a shirt, made a cup of coffee, kissed Lauren goodbye, and fired up the wagon. I was on the road by 0600 driving on the 105W connecting to the 110S to the 405 and such. There were pockets of traffic and free flowing movement, hard to tell whether or not the holiday crowd was still at work or already on the road. I reached San Onofre a little after 0700. I expected to see scores of campers, tents, cars, surfers, and people already on the sand. What I found was the opposite. The place was pretty desolate, or it looked like any other off season morning. I even grabbed a parking spot at the northern most point next to Churches. There were only about four guys out in the line up. At the dawn of the holiday weekend, I couldn’t understand how there was no one out there. I could see the Bud Light Lime Surf Series tents already set up. I snapped a picture before I changed. Uncrowded, I watched perfect, glassy, three foot shoulders slowly roll in one by one.

    Opting not to take my camera with me (which I now regret), I did my routine as of late: paddling out north of Churches and working my way to the south end of Lowers. Due to the lapse of time since this very morning, I can’t recall anything spectacular happening where I paddled out, but I was fully submerged by 0800.

    By the time I got to south Lowers I was in the middle of two longboarders. With uncrowded and pristine conditions, I couldn’t help but strike a conversation with one of them. His name was Tim. The guy looked like an older version of Magnum P.I. with the full-on dickbroom mustache and everything. He was in town from Long Beach, NY to see his son graduate from Cal State Long Beach. He was on a 10 foot longboard, grimacing in pain. He explained to me that his whole right arm was a conglomeration of metal rods and pins, and his wrist could no longer bend. Poor guy, I thought. He said that he could only do three strokes before the pain set in, and that a fourth stroke would cause him to be out of the water for weeks. Tim . . . I watched this guy struggle and paddle. He waited for the peaks for late take offs, gave three labored strokes, tried popping-up using his fore-arm, then either scratched out or fell while the wave rolled away. I spent a good solid hour hanging with this guy and calling him into waves. It was a strange arrangement. Two perfect strangers unobligated to each other. Every time a peak came I said, “Here you go, Tim . . . go for it!” He got a couple, but he got up so late that the section ran off, and he kept bogging out. I would get the waves in between which were still worth while.

    Combined with the clear sky, ten o’clock blazing sun, and glassy water, the ocean looked like a tropical blue. I counted the heads out at Lowers, usually the most crowded peak at Trestles. A dozen . . . there were barely a dozen heads out. If you’ve seen perfect, soft, peaks, then you know what I’m talking about. They formed in the distance. The top halves were light blue with a darker tint in the curling pocket. The rights held better, but they still approached defined and broke in A-frame quality. The shoulders were smooth and round with barely a ripple. Instead of describing each wave on that magical morning, I’ll describe the one that stands out the most in my memory. The friendship with Tim was mutual and beneficial. I saw the first wave of the set approaching.

    I paddled for it until I heard Tim in the distance saying, “Wait, wait, don’t go for that one.”

    I turned around and saw the bigger wave of the set coming. “You want it?” I said.

    “No,” He panted, squinted at the sunlight, and clutched his shoulder. “You go for it.”

    There were only three other guys about 15 yards to our south and only the Lowers crowd to our north. With a peak all to myself, I picked the perfect place to paddle into right next to the peak. White shiny light reflected from my wetsuit and the spilling water from the breaking wave. The forming shoulder was blue as an indoor pool. The surfers in the distance paddled over the building shoulder, looking my way as I made the drop. It was five foot, max, but still fast. As I bottom turned up the wave I caught site of the perfect, round, virgin, untainted shoulder. I did my best to put as much power into the turn by forcing my tail through that beautiful mound of water. I heard the spray but could not see it, as I leaned forward for a reentry. Ever since Lauren told me that I’m hacking the middle of the lip and not the top, I’ve tried to stall just a little bit longer to get it right. I can’t see what I’m doing, I can only feel it, and the force of pushing my tail through the shoulder is the most gratifying feeling in my surfing so far. I pumped twice to set up for another top turn and did it again.    

    It was already 1100. I barely surf over two hours. Usually two and a half hours is my limit, but with a brand new wetsuit my body temperature felt warmer than ever. I tried my best to call Tim into his last wave since he had to go. He scratched out towards the inside and finally paddled in towards his son who was waiting. We said our goodbyes, and I paddled just to the outside of the Lowers pack. I paddled for an outside set, but a guy with blond yellow hair on a yellow longboard dropped in on the peak. I gave him a “hoot” in recognition of his good ride, as he smiled in acknowledgement.

     He paddled up to me afterwards and said, “It’s actually fun out here.”

    “Yeah,” I said. “Nice wave, you got it right on the peak.”

    “I saw you get a nice one earlier,” he said.

    He was talking about my wave of the day, as he was one of the guys paddling over the shoulder. We talked a little bit, and he told me he recently did a night session at Trestles with some buddies during the last full moon. He said that riding at night is more about feeling the wave.

    I was getting pretty tired. I caught another right to the inside, and checked my watch. 1130. I could either paddle back out or check-in to my camping site. I turned around and headed towards the shore when my heel slipped forward off of a rock. I felt a sharp pain, and I knew that the back of my heel got vertically sliced. I didn’t even bother to look until later, for I’ve been frustrated with cutting my feet on those cobblestones.

After three and a half hours of surfing, a meal as simple as tortillas, sausage, and eggs makes for a defining moment in one's life.

    That Friday morning was a rarity. I’ve scored perfect waves there before, but never that good, and never with so few people. Tim was the real highlight of the day. Here we are taking our health for granted, and this guy’s trying to surf with an arm made out of metal that only allows him three strokes. It humbled me. I had hoped that the whole weekend would be as good, but the future couldn’t have been any more uncertain, unpredictable, and unexpected. The worst and best was yet to come.