EPIC, FRI 06JAN2012 MOR

Crew: Deathwish Dave

Time: 0800-1045

Conditions: 5-6 ft with occasional 7+, glassy, consistent, clear, sunny, warm, and crowded.

     The line of cars was in the emergency lane before the Cristianitos exit. It only took a second to realize what all the traffic was about. Rick suggested Churches; I had to surf somewhere that was either reef or point; beach breaks would be closed out again. Even the local media was pumping up the swell. I didn’t get nervous until I checked the buoy report for Churches: 9-13 feet. Impossible. . . . There’s no way Churches could be breaking that big, or anywhere in the area; it just seemed too hard to fathom, but I don’t know what I was scared of. If it would be too gnarly, I knew I’d come back to surf another day. I think I was more worried if I’d let myself walk away without trying. It would only take one guy to be out there to make me think about it. And then again, maybe my balls aren’t so big in the first place. I called Klaude to vent. He said, “Dude, you’re nervous? Did you not go to Bali?” He was right. I lowered my expectations by chopping the buoy report in half; somewhere around six feet seemed more realistic. 

     When I finally get to the Basilone Rd. exit I can see Lowers. I’ve never seen it break this big. I’m witnessing a set, but it doesn’t look like Lowers. Usually it breaks in the same spot which starts off as an A-frame and has some inside sections that work too. However, this morning I see two long lines, the left is completely walled-up and closed, but the right is open and lined-up all the way to Middles. I can’t see any surfers; I’m far away, so I can’t get any scale. All I know is that only two huge waves take up the whole area. 

It's important to always have a battle buddy.

     I score on the VIP parking. One spot is left open next to the porta potties. Churches is madness. With my beachfront parking and the high tide combined, the surf appears to be right in front of my bumper. Everywhere, black wetsuits are in a frenzy: paddling out in the channel and white wash, jogging on the sand with their boards, paddling over waves, on the waves, sitting and waiting, and zigzagging on the open shoulders, pulling off carves and snaps. There’s just so much movement, erratic and spontaneous like flies on shit. Churches is a god damn machine. Three waves are peeling right in front of me, surfers on every one of them with more waves out the back—unreal. I gave Deathwish Dave my state parking pass, so he’s on his way to meet me. He hit me up last night and asked where I was going to surf. Guilty as charged, I thought it would be too big for him. I said, “Yeah, I’m going to check out Trestles, but um . . . it’s supposed to be priiiiity big.” 

     I’m in no rush. I think my anxiousness to hurry up and get out there is overwhelmed by the surf. Why rush? The surf’s going nowhere. I’m here, I got great parking, I’m gonna take my time putting on my shit, and we’re gonna fuckin’ surf. 

     Even though Churches looks good, it’s packed. The surf is so consistent here that waves are even breaking towards the San Onofre side; guys are sitting way far off to the side and still catching peaks that sprout up. “We’re gonna check it out down there,” I say as I motion towards Middles. On the way over Middles doesn’t look very good. The left that usually breaks off of north Churches isn’t working—too much west in the swell. The waves are breaking more just south of Lowers in front of the cliffs. I see a couple swing wide, and I tell Dave that that’s where we’re gonna sit. Even though the waves here aren’t as consistent, I always enjoy sessions more by sacrificing the better waves to get waves all to myself. 

     We sit wide of the pack; we’re more in front of the Battle Position at Middles, but nothing is happening. Lowers isn’t as crowded as Churches, so we work our way in a little closer to the pack. Everyone is spread out; that’s the good part. The high tide and swell form different peaks. For nearly the first twenty minutes I catch nothing. Either I’m out of position or some dick’s already on it. I resign to the thought of catching only a couple waves on such an epic day, and then it happens. I catch my first wave, and forgive me because I can’t remember how each one of them went. I love Trestles; it’s so rippable. I’ve fooled myself before. I surfed here so much in training for Bali. Its slopy, forgiving, long right-handers made me believe I was ready. Trestles makes any shitty surfer an average surfer, every average surfer a good surfer, and every good surfer motherfuckin’ Dane Reynolds. . . . Okay, maybe not Dane, but you get the point. At Trestles all you have to do is stand up, and you’re guaranteed a long ride. Whether you fall or not depends on you getting out of your comfort zone: turns, carves, cutbacks, airs, whatever. Even if you just trim you look good. The biggest wave I’ve caught out here was maybe five feet, but the first wave I get is at least five feet, close to six. I’ve been skunked for so long coming down here that I’ve forgot how to ride a good wave. Looking ahead of me, it’s so lined-up that I’m more concerned about falling than turning, but still I try. I’m so rusty. Carving three to four foot waves is easy, but when there is size you just can’t get so loose on them. I calculate, over calculate. I don’t bottom turn too deep, and my top turns arc way below the lip. I damn near lose my balance the whole ride: arms flailing, taking way too long to reposition my feet, and still, the mellow, crumbling lip is just pushing me back in. At Porto, and HB for sure, the lip would make you pay and pitch you over, but the lip here is actually correcting me, as if saying, “Whoops, watch out there little feller, you almost lost it. Now get back in there!” On a day like today three turns is a short ride, a fucking travesty. I usually blow a load over a three turn wave. Two turns?! I can call it a good day if I can get a two-turn wave. You know why I count turns? Because I barely fucking get them. If you’re surfing places that close out most of the time then you’re going straight, nowhere. My ride takes me all the way back to the BP which is just about half way to the tip of Churches. This was today’s “average” wave, and today’s “average” waves give me the longest rights of my life. 

     Wave buffet status? I don’t know. That’s the only thing fucking it up today . . . sharing. But still, there is enough to go around for everyone. The standout Lowers peak is now multiple peaks. It’s like roulette this morning; you may get a random peak sitting anywhere in the lineup. I always sit wide of the break, and for the first hour and forty-five minutes it’s like clockwork. As soon as I see that wall in the distance I just dart for the shoulder. Those that gamble on Lowers have to duckdive. One of the best things about today is that I’m catching waves so late; you can only get away with this at Trestles. Even on six foot faces I’m catching waves deep. The spilling waves are so gentle, over-forgiving and harmless, like catching a feather. But then the face just builds and stands giving so much speed on the drop. After the first carve I have to cut back and wait for it to build again. Once the wave hits the inside it stands up a little more; two waves in one! The inside gets more rippable. You have so much time to pump, draw the highline, and set up your next drop for the next maneuver, again ending the ride deep in Middles. It’s not just me. I have to pass up on so many waves. If you think my rides are long, guys sitting at the top of the wave (traditional lowers peak) catch waves to the BP too. I have front row seats for most of them. 

     The hardest thing about today is the paddle, believe it or not. Consistent and consecutive long rides means you’re spending a lot of time paddling back. Also, smaller, clean, three foot waves are breaking towards the inside. On a couple occasions I turn-and-go on these which results in an even longer paddle back to where I wanted to go in the first place. And the irony is that these smaller waves are the ones that we’re usually fighting over, but on a day like today nobody’s wasting their time with them!

     I sit with Dave for a minute. He gave up on the shoulder and has been in my area for a while. “Sometimes they swing wide,” I tell him. And of course, my strategy proves effective, as another juicy wall forms leaving an open shoulder that’s within reach. It’s easily in the six foot range. I’m deeper than Dave; he’s right where he needs to be. “DAVE, GO!” 

     “Go?”

     Man . . . he’s sitting there. Timing is so god damn crucial, but he’s asking me if he should go as this thing is approaching him. Sweet spot, EVERYTHING, this wave couldn’t have been set up better if you had Coco Ho on it surfing towards you naked. He finally maneuvers his board around and starts to paddle. As the wave breaks I see Dave stand up over the lip as it passes him; he popped up too early. I feel a hint of my brother within me, and as much as we bump heads I feel myself turning a little dickish. As my brother told me on a wave that I passed up at Balangan, I say, “You gotta go for those.” 

     Even a stranger starts blaring at him in the now still ocean. “You gotta go for it!” he says. 

     Dave smiles, shrugs it off, but I can tell he really wanted that wave. He says, “Damn,” to himself as he looks down at his board. Shit . . . we’ve all been there and still end up there on any given wave we miss; it’s such a shitty feeling. 

     I tell him not to worry, and that he’s just not used to surfing this wave, and then I explain how you can catch these a little late and how they’re not pitchy like Porto and HB. “If you can catch waves at Huntington, which I’ve seen you do, you can catch these, no problem.” 

     At about the two hour mark the scene changes; the late shift arrives. Middles is usually empty while there’s a circus camped at Lowers, but today everyone is posted all along the shoreline: cameras, umbrellas, chairs, etc. It’s obvious that a lot of people called-in sick today. I get pushed closer to Lowers because the crowd gets too thick. My strategy is now everyone’s strategy. My last wave is a left, my only left, but surprisingly it still has a little shape. I attempt to do a floater as the section runs away, but I don’t get high enough. 

     Back at the shore I wait for Dave, and I actually see him on a wave. Unfortunately someone else is already on it, so he kicks out. Better than nothing. I see him catch another one before I see him doing the cobblestone dance on the way in. 

     With the lowering tide, Middles and the north end of Churches is starting to work. Back at the car I see that Churches hasn’t skipped a beat. Sure, it’s a little smaller than Lowers, but its consistency is bar none. I get even more tired just looking at it. There isn’t a second that goes by that there isn’t a wave, and on every wave there’s a surfer on it. It’s hard to imagine, but it’s true. 

     I pass on the option to drive somewhere for chow. I can’t, not when the ocean’s doing this. I pull out a military ration. Shelf life Mexican rice and chili never tasted so good. Dave has some business to handle back in L.A. I thank him for coming along. He’s earned some stripes for even witnessing a day like this first hand, and even though he didn’t catch many waves, he was out there while the rest of our buddies would’ve killed to have the time to be in his place. Rick calls and tells me that the local breaks are closed out. Fuck . . . how many times have I been skunked here since Bali? Coming here was undeniably the right call, and it’s so rare that the right call is ever made when it comes to surfing. But to score on a day like this is like hitting the jackpot, winning, triple-7, lotto, who wants to be a millionaire. And yet these things cost no money at all while money can't buy them. Being addicted to the sensation of being on a wave, today is a great reward. 

Reward. . . .