Location: Churches
Crew: Bri
Time: 1930-2030
Conditions:
1-3 FT, warm, light onshore, high tide, empty.
I wanted to be in the water by 1800, but we
just had to make the tent shake in broad daylight, right next to the Filipino
family in the campsite next to us. There was so much condensation in the inside
of the tent by the time we were done. After duckbutter depletion, what better
way to put a cherry on top by way of an evening surf session?
I normally don’t paddle out this late. The
sun’s just above the horizon to the north, inland of Lowers. The wind and the
high tide must have scared everyone off because the only surfers I see are the
black dots at Lowers. An empty lineup is a classic sign of bad surf, but
despite the small swell and high tide, some pulses push through and still
break. The mooshiness brings perfect conditions for Briana. Sure, she struggles
on the NSP which seems unfathomable to someone that’s gone through the
fundamentals of surfing. I catch the same waves, some even smaller on my much
smaller board. It makes me appreciate how far I’ve come with surfing. For
Briana, she just has to pay the dues like the rest of us. Eventually her paddle
will become stronger. She’ll be able to maneuver better on that log, pop up,
and her timing will get better.
Again, most of my rides are trimmers, so I
focus more on Briana. There’s an open lot behind us that is booked by a large
party of campers. They have a live band and Karaoke. Jazz music fills the air
while we sit in the lineup amongst the dying wind and waning light. The chatter
on the ocean’s surface turns into a calm blanket of gold and dark triangles,
and still, it’s hard to believe that no one else wants to paddle out this
evening.
Churches is always consistent, sometimes
even more consistent than Lowers and even better without the crowd. No break in
the Trestles area is better than Lowers, but a good Churches’ wave is still
worth its weight in stoke.
A random bump forms in the distance. I
paddle out to meet it. I’m dropping in late, but my board is angled to go down
the line as soon as I pop up. As usual, the wave proves typical of its
forgivable drop. I even stall on the slide, being pushed sideways but never
losing the wave. I pop up and pump, noticing the section opening up for a good
turn. When I take a closer look, the wave is lining up in its Churches’ ideal
fashion: shouldery and down-the-line. It’s only three feet, but I bottom turn
and whack the lip, backside. It feels good. Still, the section’s available, so
I get a second hack before I’m too close to shore.
I paddle back to Briana, stoked and
satisfied. Even though good waves today are few and far between, all it takes
is one good one to make it all worth it.
I call Briana on another wave. Just like
this morning, she’s paddling into it late. I hold my breath as it breaks,
concealing her from my view. I’m waiting for the NSP to shoot up like a
surface-to-air missile. It doesn’t. When the wave breaks, I see her moving
forward over the whitewash towards the shore. She’s standing up.
#
Random pulses still push through for my
enjoyment. Two-turn waves are hard to come by, but I get a couple single shots.
Similar to my wave of the day, some shouldery-rights come through, easy to drop
into, lined-up Churches’ style for at least one decent turn.
“It’s kind of scary,” says Briana.
“What is?”
She motions south over the nuclear titties.
“It’s so dark over there.”
I look at the lights at the nuclear plant
then to the north towards Lowers, where the gold over the horizon is turning into
a purple haze, bright enough to provide some visibility. “Don’t worry. I’ve
surfed here until you can barely see the waves, to the point where you can only
feel them.”
I think about surf sessions passed. The
very first time I truly scored at Trestles was on February 4th, 2011:
It was a solo session day, my first time
going there by myself, and I scored both in the morning and evening. During
that solo evening sesh, there was only one guy out with me surfing a spot just
south of Uppers. Ironically, this spot has never broke for me the same again.
But it was the first time I ever surfed in the dark here. I’ll never forget how
the waves were that evening, barely three-feet high but lining up perfectly.
Still mellow, still rippable, like a blanket of water draped over a large ball.
I was on the DMS then, seeing my potential for the first time. I had never got
good turns until that day. And then there were sessions with Al and Francis,
both surfing Lowers so late until we could only see the wave from the
whitewater crumbling on the face. This place is special, and surfing it until
complete darkness brings about a sense of balance and serenity. Even though it’s
been a while since I caught an epic session here, the image of the good days
will always be etched in my memory, and those images will always keep me coming
back. No matter how many times I’ll get skunked searching for the ideal, I’ll
never be able to stay away.
#
We’re both hungry, so we go in. On the way
back, we talk about how perfect this day turned out. We shower and barbecue
some pollo asada. It’s a lot of chicken, but we wrap them into large burritos,
using our salad as some filler in the tortillas. Bri only has one, but I
engorge myself with two. Even though I’m full, we sit around the fire and have
a couple S’mores. I check my e-mail and texts to see if anyone’s coming. A
couple e-mails come in; people apologize for not being able to make it. Khang
and Dais say that they’re coming in the morning. It’s a no pressure situation
regardless. Here at the camp fire, Bri and I just finished a solid evening
sesh, our bellies our full, we’ve showered, and I’m munching on some S’mores
with a Bud Lime in my hand. Flames from the fire light up and bring warmth to
our faces. Bri scoots her chair closer to mine. I have everything I need.
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