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| A California day |
Location:
Churches
Crew: Rick
Conditions:
3 FT, warm, light onshore, consistent.
Bri treats us to breakfast at La Tiendita
in San Clemente. Once we get back on base, I call Rick to see if he needs any
groceries, but he says that he’s already set. As we pull into the Churches’
parking lot, we see him setting up his campsite. Bri and I walk up, and I
introduce them both. It means a lot for them to meet each other.
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| For the most stoked surfers I've ever known in my life, it's a tie between Rick and Fran-Sauce |
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| Trust me, this shot was necessary |
Bri and I unload some of our gear, help
Rick set up, and then we crack open some beers. I couldn’t tell what kind of
day it would be for surf when Bri and I showed up in the morning, but the
afternoon is starting to look good at Churches. For one, it’s scorching hot
which makes the water all the more inviting. Second, the onshore wind is light.
Third, there are three foot sets coming in consistently at the main point.
Fourth, it’s not that crowded.
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| It's not what it looks like |
Bri starts studying on the picnic table,
but Rick’s already sunblocking up and waxing his board.
#
 |
| Zamora Fish |
This session’s an important one. Don’t get
me wrong, I love sharing my passion for surfing with Bri, but it’s been a while
since I’ve had a solid man-session where other guys are pushing me in the
water.
Rick and I do the cobblestone dance on the
way out. I’m barebacking it. Rick is Hurleyd out from head to toe with green
shorts and a snazzy neon green rashguard. We use our boards for balance as we
push our way out.
“Ahhhhhhhhhh!” yells Rick.
“What? What’s wrong?”
He lifts his board, steps to the side, and
peers through the water. “I stepped on something.” He laughs. “Something soft.”
“Eh, it was probably just a sea cucumber.”
“I know, I just don’t like the feeling of
stepping on fish.”
#
Months ago, Rick, Francis, and I ran into
this huge, dark, brown, Mexican surfer. We had a conversation with him, and
upon asking him if he surfed, he said, “Every-Day-my-Friend. Every-Day.” Then
he paddled out on a longboard, got worked on the inside, and kept wiping out.
Sitting at the bottom of the wave, the
gargantuan is there again. I look at him and say, “Hey, I think I talked to you
a couple months back.”
He looks at me and then Rick. “Yeah, yeah,”
he says.
Rick says, “Are you a Marine?”
“Retired.”
Rick pauses. “You look a little too young
to be retired.”
Gartgantuan laughs. “Yeah, well if you go
to Afghanistan and get injured like me, then you can retire.”
I didn’t wonder what the extent of his
injuries were but instead wondered if the horror of it all was worth being able
to surf everyday from here on out for the rest of his life.
He and Rick start talking about his board.
He slides off of it and flips it upside down for Rick. He’s riding a biscuit. We
watch him catch the next wave on it. I must say, for a guy well over six-feet
and somewhere around two-hundred-twenty-five pounds, I’m surprised that he can
even catch waves on that small thing. He says bye to the both of us and leaves.
#
Rick darts for the top of the wave, but I
stand-fast and wait to catch something wide. A little three-footer comes my
way. I kick, stroke, pop-up, bottom-turn, but my backhand hack is a little
sloppy, causing my reentry to be sloppy as well. I try to hit the lip before it
closes which ends up being more of a kiss on the foam.
Other surfers lose patience on the inside,
watching the set break at the top of the wave. We all race to the point.
Even though it’s not that crowded, the
waves at top are so lined up on the first section, that there’s always someone
on the wave, but the three-wave sets spread out the lineup. I paddle into some
good ones, but the wind is still knocking them down a little fast, so it makes
the waves racy. I still manage to get a couple good turns here and there, but I
don’t get any life defining, perfect, down-the-line rights.
Even though the shape isn’t perfect, the
window that Rick and I hit is still consistent. The energy is good, just that
summertime energy. I’m stoked that I’m trunking it, and the rides that people
are catching from the top of the wave are “hoot worthy.”
#
Back on the sand, Bri’s reading her book,
lying out on a beach towel. We go back to camp, pour more drinks, and play some
Pusoy Dos.
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