A WEEKEND AT TRESTLES 2012 (Part V): HUNKERED, SUN 25MAR2012 EVE

    

Location: San Onofre

Crew: Francis & Michelle

Conditions: Choppy, jumbled, stormy, 5 ft.

     After the morning session, I grabbed some eggs, chicken sausage, green onions, tortillas, and started cooking breakfast. Even though everyone was nice enough to offer help, I didn’t want anybody in my way. Michelle brought some chili from home, so I let her throw some in a pot. Within an hour, we had a full blown trailer party going on. It was Sebastian, me, Al, Klaude, Francis, Michelle, Cheryl, Silverton, and Gary. There was more than enough food to go around, and everyone was full, allowing me to dust off what was left. Michelle also came through with the Irish car bomb cupcakes and chocolate brownies. I kept a good eye on the weather to see if it would in fact rain. I got texts from my friends up north where the storm already hit. 

     The wind started to pick up, and gray skies were pushed our way. Before we knew it, we were bombarded by the storm. Stepping out of the trailer was met with strong gusts of cold wind and rain. Even though we came to surf and enjoy the campsite, this was one of the highlights of the trip. We had plenty of beer to go around, food, and music. There was strong conversation into the whole afternoon. The fridge constantly opened and closed, beers were reached for and passed about, meeting thirsty mouths. Even though it was a little crammed, we all fit inside. I crawled under the trailer into Sebastian’s crotch, where he farted right on my forehead. Al drank to the point where no one understood what he was saying, and I had to translate. Francis just had that glazed look over him, chilled and relaxed as always. I’d say it was into that five o’clock hour when things started to slow down. Silverton was racked out across Cheryl’s lap, and the beer was getting low. The weather never ceased or let up, and then I started getting into my demons. I thought about all the homework that I needed to get done, moving out next weekend, what was Lauren doing at this very moment, and I worried for my guests. Sebastian was leaving in about an hour, and we’d be crammed up in a three-man tent, bracing the weather conditions.

     Al looked at Francis who opened the fridge. “Francis, can you grab me one?” he said. 

     Francis took a deep peer into the shallow compartment. He grabbed one for himself and gave one to Al. “Last one.”

     Klaude and I talked about the weather forecast. “I need a second session,” he said. “I’m staying to the bitter end.”

     I watched Seba open the fridge and stare into it for about ten seconds before he shut it, and then he said, “How we doin’ on supplies? Looks like I’ll be staying here another night.” Sebastian’s heart is as big as his stature. He called his boss and said he wouldn’t be coming in tomorrow. “I can’t leave you guys in the rain,” he said. I’m lucky to have him as a friend.

     From there I barked out orders. I organized a cleaning and resupply detail. We restocked with food and alcohol, and on the drive back was the most welcoming sight ever. Over the horizon, past the clouds, was bright orange sky, and then the wind died. We stood outside, grateful that the worst had passed, but even better, we had a window for surf. 

The Show:

     Francis comes back from doing a recon by Churches and says that there’s a peak working over there. The main problem is that we barely have an hour of daylight left. I look at Michelle. She’s contemplating. I ask Klaude if he’s down for a second sesh, but he says he has to hit the road. Cheryl and Silverton are also packed up and ready to go. “Where do you guys wanna surf?” I say.

     Michelle and Francis bring up the Churches option, but when I suggest the choppy peaks right in front of us, Michelle says, “I’m down for that too.”

     I turn to grab my gear. Michelle gives a sigh which translates into: I can’t believe we are doing this. 

     Even though Klaude and Cheryl are leaving, they stay to watch us surf. I’m the first to hit the water. I really don’t expect much. Even though the weather has cleared, the ocean is still stormy. It reminds me of choppy, evening surf at El Porto. We’ve been drinking all day, and it affects my performance. My heart races more and more with each duckdive; the waves are a little bigger than they looked from shore. The peaks are so scattered and random that I tire myself thinking about my strategy. My people are on the shore are watching. I want to give them something to “ooh” and “aah” about. The next set is big, a sloppy five-feet at least, but I’m too far out to paddle into it. I don’t see Francis or Michelle anywhere. The current pulls me north, so I paddle against it. My frustration builds when a big wave forms right in front of me. I feel like I’m late, but I go anyway. I dig-in my left rail a couple feet down the face before the wave morphs and pitches me forward. I ditch my board completely, and feel it sling into the air as I plunge below. I resurface unashamed; it was actually fun. I can’t see reactions from the shore, but I have a feeling they appreciated that one. 

     Francis tells me he got worked paddling out, and Michelle waited for a channel to open up. They are both to my north, but I try to fight the current back to the camp site. I still can’t catch anything decent, while Francis takes a couple with ease, getting at least one turn on each for some distance. 

     Daylight burns out quickly. Michelle’s on the shore walking back to camp, and Francis is making his way back in. I catch a closeout and ride it straight. I turn around, pondering on a last wave, but the site is unwelcoming. Roars of whitewash roll in, one behind the other. At least I got a monster wipeout.

     Klaude’s on the shore, ready to greet us as we stumble in. “Good job,” he says. He’s smiling and patting me on the back, looking more stoked than we are for the evening rush, but his look says it all. He wanted to be out there, he would’ve been happy to catch some storm slop with us, side by side, like brothers in arms, but we understand. He has to leave, already behind schedule. Cheryl and Silverton bone out too.

         

     Francis and I stay loyal to the ritual, and drink a couple MGDs in the shower. When we get back to the trailer, the weather starts to change again. What we witnessed was just a mere lull, there are darker clouds ahead. We still have time to bonfire while Michelle volunteers to cook. As soon as we go in for dinner, the rain and wind picks up again. 

     The whole day’s activities catch up to everyone. Sebastian passes out, so I play with his belly button while he sleeps. Al doesn’t even want to drink anymore, Gary and Michelle seem to be holding up strong, and I’m trying to get everyone to eat as much as possible.

     Michelle makes pasta with chorizo with a garnish of cilantro. I warm up some of her chili and put some tortillas in the microwave to make sure everyone’s full. Afterwards, it’s on to mint Oreos and Chips Ahoys with bunny tracks ice cream. Michelle’s friends from a San Clemente campsite show up to say hi, and then it’s time to go to sleep. It was a long and brutal day, but thank Sebastian we got shelter.