Crew:
Francis
Time: ?
Conditions:
4-5 FT, semi consistent, uncrowded, warm.
This entry is titled fuzzy because I’m so
behind on my blogs that I can’t fucking remember shit. This is terrible. Just
school and work lately have been taking up most of my time. Here’s what I can
recall:
#
It’s the day of my military reunion camping
trip at San Onofre. I should be there right now, getting my usual pre-camping
surf session at Trestles before I set up the tent, but the surf down south is
dismal. I reserved the sites over two weeks in advance, and the surf this
weekend is small. Not only is there no south swell, but there is wind and rain
forecasted somewhere in there too. Well, like a captain goes down with his
ship, I stand by my decision, never succumbing to a faltering thought of
cancelling. After all, I haven’t seen most of these guys in over ten years.
Local is the call. Why? Because the surf
local has been surprisingly decent. As much as I’ve written off the South Bay
before, I’ve had nothing but good sessions this week. The plan . . . is to surf
at 26th St. and then head down south.
#
The only reason I might be more consistent
that Francis is because I’m a bum. He has a full time job on top of school, and
also shares his time with his woman. Despite the everyday commitments that
beckon him, he has surfed with me the most out of all of my friends since I met
him over a year ago.
And . . . this is where things get fuzzy.
The surf is similar to the days before, but something happens around nine o’clock
where people just leave. The wind’s a little onshore, and it’s choppy, but it’s
still rideable, and sets are still coming out the back. Only five people share
the peak in front of 26th. One of them is a chick riding a twin-fin
fish. I paddle up and talk to her, but I can’t remember her name for the life
of me. I think it’s Erin, and she’s from Lawndale. She says she just got back
from visiting Maui, so we hit it off right away. What I’m most compelled by is
that it’s a brutal session. It’s not small, the inside is consistent, and it’s
hard enough to keep the crowd extra thin. And yet, there’s a chick out here,
riding a twin-fin fish. I’m not saying that females can’t shred, but I only
know one that does: super grom ripper extraordinaire Jordan. My other female
surf buddies wouldn’t even be able to make it to the lineup today.
I can’t remember any significant rides, but
I do catch a handful of rights and left, good enough to call it “single shot
city.” Francis leaves, but I hang out to talk to the chick a little longer,
meeting Francis at my house later.
 |
| Locked and loaded |
 |
| Carne asada tacos. So simple . . . and tasty! |
#
Only a small handful of my old battle
buddies from my old scout platoon showed up, and even though I’ve seen most of
them within the last couple years, it was the first time they had seen each
other in over a decade.
Once we were done eating tacos, we
surrounded the bonfire and lit some cigars that Castillo was nice enough to buy
at the PX earlier that day. With the light San Onofre breeze pushing against
our faces, we stretched out our fingers near the fire pit, smoked, drank, and
talked shit about the guys not there.
“Where the fuck is Cabrera?” asked Canales.
“Well, I tried,” I said. “He said he was
coming today. No answer.” I leaned over with a log, repositioning the fallen
tepee.
Castillo turned to Rastaetter and said, “Remember
Neubauer? I wonder what happened to him.” He turned back towards the fire, still
holding his boyish smile, the same familiar one he wore in Utah when he was
beardless and still had a head full of hair.
The wind seemed to stop, and I felt the
silence creep up the back of my neck. I knew what would happen next.
“Didn’t you hear, Craig?” said Rastaetter.
Castillo released his grin and returned a
blank stare. “No,” he said.
“IED. He was killed in Iraq.”
The fire crackled on, releasing small
sparks into the light plume of gray smoke. Silence followed.
“Are you serious?” Said Castillo.
“Yeah,” said Rastaetter.
All of our heads lowered without a word.
Even though we were all staring into the fire, we all saw something different.
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