Location:
Churches
Crew: Bri,
J & Hayana
Time:
1845-2030
Conditions:
2-3 FT, warm, light onshore, high tide, consistent.
We don’t have an oceanfront campsite, but
who cares. The alcohol is getting to me and Briana, thus making our game of
cards more competitive. I’m beating her and rubbing in my victories like my
homeboys used to do back in the day, over Tecmo Bowl and John Madden Football.
“Awwww, I’m so sorry I won, baby,” I say
with a smirk. I lean in for a kiss.
“No!” She pushes me away with a smile and
laughs. “Come on. One more!”
J pulls up in his Honda Fit. I point to the
other side of the campsite to park behind the tent. Briana and I walk over to
greet him. I introduce Briana to Hayana and J. It’s good to see him. I haven’t
seen him since the 4th of July, and I haven’t camped or done an
overnighter with him since Baja, last August. I haven’t been around Hayana
much, but surfed with the both of them at Porto when they first started dating.
While they’re unloading their stuff, Bri
and I tell them we’ll be back and disappear into the tent. It’s steamy and hot
in there, but we can’t help ourselves. The zipper windows are sealed for
privacy in the eighty-degree weather but still cracked for some ventilation.
While we’re going at it, we hear J approach
the tent saying, “Hey look, there’s an extension chord. It’s going in the
tent.” He follows the chord to the slit in the vent and takes a peek in the
crack. “Hey, what’s up, guys?” He walks away in a hurry as soon as he realizes
what he just saw.
Bri turns looks down at me and gives me a
look that expresses shame, embarrassment, and pissedoffededness. She mouths the
words in silence, “He just saw us.”
I wave my hand in a calming gesture and
shake my head with a smirk.
#
The sweat on my skin cools as the breeze
hits me upon stepping out of the tent. J and Hayana are playing Pusoy Dos,
drinking beer. They invite Bri and me to play. At first, J’s instructions on
how to play make me sleepy, but once he slaps the cards in my hands, I start to
have fun. When Briana returns, she joins in too. We play five games before
deciding to suit up for the evening sesh.
#
It’s high tide again, and the beach is
empty just like yesterday’s evening session. Instead of apologizing for the
conditions, I remain calm and appreciate the moment. The energy that J puts out
is so positive. “I don’t care if it’s good,” he says, “I just wanna paddle
out.” His calm demeanor reminds me of Francis a bit. I’ve said time and again
that I only know a few straight-shooters in my life: Tan who I served with in
the Army, Francis obviously, Tim who can never say no to help someone out, and
then there’s J. He’s a random kind of guy, so optimistic and unsuspecting of
people’s bad intentions that he’ll paddle right into the lineup at Venice and
Porto, accidentally dropping in on people but always quick to apologize before
getting mouthed-off to.
Hayana looks at me and says, “This is
amazing! No one is out here!”
“Yeah, it was just like this yesterday,” I
say.
There’s an outside peak working at
Churches’ main peak. We all paddle out. J’s the first to draw blood, which
seems to be the case every time I surf with him. He catches a mooshy right. I
swear there’s no way he’ll get into it, but he does. It’s too racy for turns,
but he pumps and flails his arms, making it all the way to the rocks.
“Fuckin’ Bionic J,” I say.
Bri turns to me. “Why do you call him that?”
I tell her the story how during our first
camping trip, J was experimenting with a hand-me-down potato chip board. The
thing was so tiny, even had a broken nose. I didn’t think he would be able to
catch shit on that thing. All I could think about was how much smaller it was
than the DMS. That day at Middles, he paddled into every wave that came his
way. Hence the name, Bionic J.
The waves are small, but they are perfect
for the girls. Hayana’s got a good technique down, popping up quick on the
closeouts for short rides. Briana continues to catch the waves on her belly,
struggling with her balance but standing for the last couple seconds of her
ride. She’s getting better.
Even though the waves are small, some
three-foot pulses push their way through. I get a right that has a tight
section. I bottom turn, climb the face, and hit the lip just as it’s coming
down. It was a late, critical turn. The wave was small, but it still felt good.
Minutes later, I get two turns going right. My session’s made.
J spots a peak that’s working just north of
Churches. A lone surfer sits where it’s breaking by himself. I hate it when
people invade my territory, so I keep my distance. The girls are off on their
own, talking and doing their surfer chick thing. When the guy leaves, we all
surf that spot well after the sun sets. Just like the night before, darkness
grows to our south while the purple haze wanes to our north. The wind calms and
the water turns glassy. But unlike the night before, Bri’s not nervous to be
out here in the dark water, not in the company of friends.
#
Grub:
We do it to ourselves again. Other campers
are already huddled by their bonfires, and here we are, arriving, dripping wet.
We all shower, come back, and throw some food on the propane stove. Thanks to
Rick’s supplies, we don’t have to cook in the dark. Since Briana and I are on a
mission not to bring any extra food back, we offer to cook as much as we can
for dinner. The four of us eat together on the metal picnic table, stoked off
of surf and appreciative of the meager meals before us. Tonight, I couldn’t be
in better company.
We roast some S’mores well into midnight.
All of the firewood has to burn, so we milk as much heat and soak up the flames
until the last log is burned. Bri and I are so tired that we fall asleep,
seconds within lying down. A bad session in the morning gets balanced out with
a good evening session. Today’s mission is complete.
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