Location: Middles
Crew: Bri,
J & Hayana
Time: 0715-0930
Conditions:
2-3 FT, warm, onshore, inconsistent.
Initially, the whole weekend had a good
rating, but Surfline downgraded Saturday to a “poor to fair” rating, leaving
Sunday with the best forecast. J knew this and had his expectations up. . . .
So did I.
#
I’m the first one to wake up. The first
thing I do is take a mean shit. It’s a long, unbalanced, stumbling walk to the
bathrooms. I have to squint hard in the morning light. I have a bad case of bed
head. Other campers pass by with the same half-dead momentum, also back from
taking their morning shits. After I dump my payload, I walk to the lookout
point to see the water. The wind is blowing side shore from the south west, but
the surface conditions are still clean. The north edge of Old Man’s is the closest
break to me, and a peaky, three-foot left peels for the crowd of longboarders.
The fact that the conditions are clean is all I need to see to motivate me.
Churches is far away, but I can see the white water from the rolling waves. It
looks smaller than Old Mans.
Back at the tent, Bri’s still knocked out.
I tell her that I’m suiting up, and that she can sleep in if she wants. She
lifts her head with her eyes still closed as I deliver my message before she
rolls back over to go to sleep.
J hears me stirring around, so he sticks
his head out of his tent.
“I’m suiting up,” I tell him.
He goes back in the tent and has the same
conversation with Hayana that I just had with Bri. He steps out his tent and
starts changing too. Minutes later, Hayana is up, and Bri stumbles out of the
tent as well. We have full attendance.
#
We’re down by the sand, making the trek
towards Churches, when I notice that the wind has shifted more onshore. I try
to tell myself that it’s a variable wind, but really it’s just my surfer soul
in denial. I feel it on the side of my face.
The top of the wave at Churches has a small
pack of longboarders perched there during a lull, waiting for a set. When the
first wave breaks, it’s lined-up, but the number of surfers eclipses the number
of rides, and the main rush of surfers haven’t even arrived yet.
The spot that we surfed last night is now
dead, producing zero waves. Today had the best rating, probably still does, but
I can’t see it. Lowers is breaking in the distance, and it looks like some sets
are swinging wide. “J,” I say, “I’m gonna paddle out here with Bri where
there’s less people. If you want, you can check out Lowers.”
“Nah, that’s okay. We’ll surf here.”
We paddle out at Middles, a little south of
the famed Battle Positions. Some small waves roll through. J and I get into
them with ease, but there’s no shape to them. Hayana gets some rides going
straight, and so does Bri. Some three-foot rogue waves break on the outside,
but they’re walled up. Bri goes for one of them but backs out. I don’t blame
her. I’ve never taken her out on an “ankle slapper” day in her longboard
training, and she’s showed her fair share of bravado, proving that she has the
heart to take the beatings. We catch a couple waves together going straight. I
motivate her to stand, but she falls as soon as she does. I guess it’s
something that seasoned surfers take for granted after a while, and we forget
what it was like when our cores couldn’t adapt to the balance act of standing.
A longboarder chick to our north sits on a
peak, getting some decent rights. J’s the first to share the peak with her. The
rest of us follow, we have to if we want a wave with shape. I get a few waves
with one turn at best, but they are short of memorable. The wind takes away the
clean surface conditions that I saw earlier, making things choppy, taking away
whatever shape was there. The spot turns off, and we end up at Battle Positions
again, but everything with size still comes in walled.
“I’m think we’re going in soon,” says J.
I look at my watch. 0930. I had planned to
surf until 1000, but . . . at this point there’s no reason to stay out longer.
“Man, I thought it was going to be better,”
says J.
#
At camp, we cook the very last of what we
have which is enough to feed all four of us. It’s a smorgasbord of grilled
cheese sandwiches, eggs, sausages, salad, and extra bread. We eat comfortable
for the next hour, leaving a full hour to pack before checkout at noon.
Tearing down the site goes well, but we use
that full hour. J’s nice enough to break my off with thirty-five bucks. I tell
him that it’s fine and try to push it away.
“No,” he says. “You fed us too.”
I thank him.
“Matt, come here,” says Briana from the
tent.
I walk over.
“Look.”
I see the red. She finally got her period.
Thank you, Jesus! The mess fills me with relief, and now I’m stoked again but
on a different level.
#
The drive home is long. I have to first
stop in Yorba Linda to drop off Bri. I skip Dan’s house on the way home since I
have to clean his grill and cooler that I borrowed. I leave Rick’s stuff on his
porch in Westchester and then finally reach my destination at home.
I chug the remaining beers from the cooler
while I unpack and play with Smokey. Time went by so fast that it feels like
this weekend never happened. When everything’s clean, I take a shower and plop
on my bed. It feels good to be home, but I’d still rather be in a tent near the
beach.
No comments:
Post a Comment