A WEEKEND AT TRESTLES 2012 (Part IV): CALM BEFORE THE STORM, SUN 25MAR2012 MOR

Location: Lowers

Crew: Al, Cheryl, Francis, Klaude, Michelle

Conditions: Sunny, south wind, choppy, inconsistent, 3 feet, semi crowded.

The night before:

     After last night’s session, my friend Tim brought some pizzas over to the camp site. He brought along his friends Barbara and Susan as well. Susan was part of Tim’s group that took a recent trip to Vietnam where they also met up with my brother. To see Randy in most of their pics made me realize how much I miss him. I wondered if he was all right traveling by himself, and if he felt lonely after Tim left. I can only imagine how much seeing a familiar face can lift one’s spirits to eventually be alone once more. Tim showed me pictures of them snorkeling.

     “Yeah, Matt. Your brother was the first one in the water,” said Tim. He skipped to an image of Randy, jumping off the boat at a forty-five degree angle. “He had this really sick dive. From here he straightened out head first.” 

     It brought me back to memories as a kid, spear fishing with my brother in Maui. He was always good in the water. 

     After Tim and his crew left, Silverton, Cheryl, Al, Sebastian, and I racked out in the trailer. At 0200, Cheryl’s cousin Michelle arrived with her friend Gary. I sat up, half-asleep, pointed out where to sleep, and tossed her a flashlight.

Rise and Shine:

     My alarm goes off at 0545. It was a brutal night. Sebastian and I are sleeping, crisscrossed on the top compartment. The whole night he was blowing Argentine farts directly into my face. They were pure and uncut, and I was inhaling, tasting them. I climb down, stepping over Michelle who’s sleeping on the kitchen floor, and grab my wetsuit off of the hanger. The wind is strong offshore; it’s cold. I hop in the wagon and turn on the heater. Taking a note from G of the OC, I stuff my wetsuit under the floorboard heater, hoping to give it some warmth. The phone rings.

     “Matt, it’s Francis. I’m at the gate, but it’s not open yet.” 

     A minute later I call Klaude. He puts on a fake sleepy voice then says, “Yo, yo, yo! I’m almost there!” 

     When they pull up, I tell them that I’m gonna start changing, and they park. Al and Michelle jump in the car with me, but I tell them that I’m just taking my time, enjoying the heater. I introduce Francis to Michelle, Klaude gives her a hug, and then we suit up. 

     The sun creeps up fast, but we’re still making good time. Al assists Michelle with her equipment while she grabs her longboard, and then we start the morning trek. This morning is similar to the previous mornings: strong offshore, choppy, and inconsistent. The shape is horrible at Churches, and Middles looks questionable, so it’s back to Lowers. 

     When we arrive, there are four guys at the peak. They see all of us doing the cobblestone dance to deeper water. Even though we’re far away, I can tell that they’re scowling at the site of us. Lowers is a little choppy from the gusts, but a three-footer A-frames right in front of us, and the guy going left sells it—there’s still good surf here.

     It’s a tense approach to the lineup. There’s no “good morning” or “how’s it going.” It’s clear. For them, it was a good time until we showed up. I sit on the outside, so as not to just insert myself into the lineup. Al and Klaude go towards the inside of the break, not taking the top of the wave right away. I forget who draws first blood, but I see Francis and Al get some inside rides. Still, nothing is swinging wide towards me. I wait until the guys at the top of the wave split the peak before I move in. I paddle out the furthest, hoping for an outside set, and for some reason my timing’s on point. There it is, the bump that’s too far out for anyone else. I feel my people behind me. Maybe not all of them, but maybe at least Klaude or Al. This is a special moment, any time one of your buddies gets that wave to himself, you know he’s fuckin’ stoked. Again, I’m faced with an A-frame. I can go either way, but taking off from the center I go left. That Lowers peak is an anomaly. It looks mooshy, but when it breaks it just pushes you right in. I see the whitewash spilling near my deck, but I’m propelled to the open face. After a couple pumps I get my first top-turn. I lose a little speed on it, but for where my surfing is right now, I am satisfied. The section walls up towards the inside, looking like it’s over three feet. Again, I go top to bottom. I hear someone yell, “Yeah!” from the inside. I get a third carve off the shoulder before I kick out. It was a long left. I see Klaude on the inside, paddling through the white wash. He gives me a thumbs up. I nod. I look at Al while shaking my head. I’m thinking, my morning session is made.

     When I look back towards the inside, I see Al and another guy looking at their boards. Al has his hands up, saying something about who went first, and then I see Francis paddle over. I can’t hear them, but I can tell that something’s not right. The guy paddles back to the peak next to me and catches one in. 

     I’m feeling confident after my first ride. There’s no being shy and sitting wide. I sit on the outside again, and the technique pays off once more. I select the left and work on my turns. When I return, Al says, “Did you see what happened?”

     “I saw you talking to that guy on the inside.”

     “Yeah, well. I was paddling for a wave when he was paddling out, and then he turned around last minute and tried to catch it, so our boards were tangled.”

     “Okay?”

     “I told him, ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t see you,’ and then the guy pushed me.”

     “Oh shit.”

     “So I pushed him back. I was like, really? Do you really want to get into a fight at seven in the morning? He was shaking. I told him to get out of here, and then Francis was more intense than me. He paddled up and told the guy, ‘Get the fuck out of here!’”

    

     For some reason, Al finds himself in these situations quite a bit. If it’s not up north, it’s down here. The last time we surfed Uppers together some guy yelled at him too. However, as I’ve said before: Al is a beast; he can handle himself, so I don’t worry about him. Especially since he’s packing eight-plus inches in his wetsuit; that says a lot.

     After the first forty-five minutes, the wind swings south and adds more texture to the water. The peaks shift unexpectedly, and more people show up. My placement and timing is off, as I miss a lot of waves. Klaude still works the inside, and I see Francis and Al taking a lot of rights. On one right, Al zooms past Klaude and throws out a good little backhand bucket, but the snake of the day award goes to Michelle. I’m too south of the peak when it breaks, and Al is in the center of it with priority. Regardless of it, Michelle paddles in on her longboard and drops in on him, taking away his line.

     Our group leaves the water at different times. Al and I catch our last ones in and watch Michelle and Francis still going for it. There are barely six guys out now, and Francis gets two back-to-back rights, unchallenged, unmolested. Al and I watch in acknowledgement. Walking back to the trailer, we comment on the weather. It’s supposed to rain. 

     “No, it doesn’t look like it’s gonna rain any time soon,” says Al. 

     “Yup.”