THE RELEASE PT.5 (triple sesh), SAT 12MAY2012 EVE

Location: Lowers

Crew: Francis

Conditions: 3-4 FT, light onshore, clean, sunny, not crowded.

     There’s no doubt in my mind that we’re surfing Lowers in the evening. I tell Francis that the wind usually dies down with the setting sun and that the crowd usually thins out. Refilled with stoke, I stand in place full-suited with board in hand while Francis tries to wiggle in his damp wetsuit as fast as he can.

     “I wish there was an easier way to get in a wetsuit,” he says.

     A smile comes across my face, but I remain silent. For me, silence means many things. In this case, anyone that’s familiar with my mannerisms knows it’s impatience. It’s just past 1800, and I’d like to catch a solid two hour window.

#

     It’s a classic sunny evening at Trestles. Because of the day’s mediocre conditions, barely anyone is surfing. The usual sight of surfers walking the path, talking, laughing, and carrying their boards is nonexistent; it’s just us. As we approach Lowers, we see guys going down the line on the A-frame. We count: 1, 2, 3, 4 . . . 13. I turn to Francis and say, “We’re surfing until we can’t see anymore.”

     He smiles.

     Something occurs to me. “You’ve never surfed Lowers this late, huh?”

     “Nope.”

     Twigs crunch as we squint from the low sun. I turn to Francis again. “All you can eat sushi!”

#

     We approach the lineup from the south. Francis eases his way closer to the middle of the wave while I sit wide to the south as usual. Nothing’s swinging my way. Even though thirteen people at Lowers is very minimal, it can still be a little competitive to catch one at the top of the wave. The next set clears the main pack; everyone scrambles: two catching waves, the ones in the way backing off, and the guys that scratch out or duckdive. I take the opportunity to sit at the top and find myself alone to catch the next wave. It’s a washy, forgiving, four-foot right. Even though the waves at Lowers are soft and mooshy, the drop is nice and fast which sets you up for a good first maneuver. I bottom turn and hook the lip, cutting back into the pocket. I almost lose the section, but I pump, make it to the face, and get another turn before kicking out. I’ve actually noticed that this is becoming a bad habit. Even though there is a time and place to cut-back, I’m beginning to do it every time, which causes me to fall behind the section. I guess learning a new maneuver can be like a new toy, when you just can’t put it down or stop playing with it.

     When I get back to the line Francis says, “How was that?”

     “Good!” My face is plastered with satisfaction. “Best wave this whole trip thus far. Longest one.”

    

     There are still some lulls in between the sets, but the crowd thins out a bit more, and with the dying wind I can’t help but be stoked to be here. On the next couple sets, I get out maneuvered and out paddled by the other surfers. Frustrated, I take a gamble and paddle clear across the pack to sit wide where the lefts are. Just as I’ve been lucky in the past, a random left swings exactly where I am, much too far for anyone to chase. It’s a good down-the-line left. I pump and set myself up for a carve before falling on the last turn. Again, I’m ear-to-ear. I love it when those gambles work. It’s like when a play out of a “time out” comes into fruition and gets you two points; this was my two-pointer. But it’s hard to keep secrets at Lowers, and everyone shifts over to where I just caught my wave.

     I lose track of Francis, but every time I look back he’s either bobbing in the lineup or paddling back from the inside, much more activity than what’s happening for me. Either way, my session’s been made.

#

     It’s so dark that I can barely see the set that’s approaching. I look back. Francis got a long right and is already doing the cobblestone dance back to shore. It’s just me and two other guys. I’m wondering if I should paddle for the set or not. The sun’s been gone for a while, and only faint traces of orange reflect small triangles on the ocean’s surface. The wave’s getting closer. I turn to paddle, but it breaks right on me. I couldn’t tell I was too deep.

     It’s a satisfying walk back to camp. Three guys trail way behind us making the similar walk. Lowers is such a crowded wave, and any time you catch a Lowers wave, and I mean a LEGIT Lowers wave, not from the side or the inside but at the top of the wave, it’s special. Tonight we can say we surfed a world class break.

#

     Everyone’s at the camp, immobile as stones around the flames. It looks like they’ve been there forever. Francis and I show up dripping wet. “Hey, Rick!” I say.

     His eyes widen. “You guys just got out?”

     “Yeah, we surfed Lowers.”

     Jordan sits up and says, “How was it?” Her marshmallow begins to burn over the flames, but she pays it no mind.

     “Eh . . .” I raise my eyebrows and give a slight nod. “It was fun.”

     Rick forces us to eat a little before we take our man shower together. He cooked chicken, pork, steak, and cabbage. I only eat a little in case anybody’s still hungry. At the showers, Francis and I drink our Coors Lights, giving the ritualistic cheers over the separator. We laugh through the walls and take our sips. Even though I can’t see him, I know he’s smiling.

     We go back and sit around the fire a little longer before Francis takes off. He has training tomorrow morning. “I wish I could stay,” he says. “I don’t really have to go.” He struggles with the decision. “If you stay until Monday, you might catch it when it’s good.”

     “Yeah, I’ll let you know what I do.” I give the guy a hug, and he drives away. 

     Rick leaves the fire, and it’s just me by myself. I guess today wasn’t so bad after all.