THE PASSIVE AND THE AGGRESSIVE, SAT 28JULY2012 MOR

Location: Middles & Lowers

Crew: Bri, Khang & Dais

Time: 0830-1100

Conditions (Middles): 1-2 FT+, warm, offshore, glassy, inconsistent, empty.

Conditions (Lowers): 2-4 FT, consistent, SUPER FUCKING CROWDED!!!

     I wake up at 0645. We slept in, but I’m not bothered by the late start. After I brush my teeth I walk to the overlook and get a first glimpse of Old Mans. The surface conditions are clean, slightly offshore, but the whole San Onofre lineup is dotted with longboarders. I’m not planning to surf there anyway. I think about Rick, remembering the times he woke me up at dawn, excited, saying, “It’s offshore, Matt. We need to get on it right now.” No doubt if he was here, we’d all be in the water already, with good reason.

     Briana shifts on the mattress when I unzip the tent.

     “It’s offshore right now,” I say. “We need to get on it.” I call Khang. He and Dais are in Irvine. I tell them that I’ll meet them in the water. Briana wakes up and munches on some snacks while I change and slap on some Vertra. I’m dressed, my board is waxed, and I’m ready to go, but I stop myself from heading out. Why not just wait, I think to myself. Briana takes her time getting ready. She points out a prairie dog that just popped up from under my board. 

#

 Briana’s already met Dais and Khang, but we still walk out to greet them. Khang has his wetsuit, but I tell him that’s it’s been warm enough for a wetsuit jacket and shorts. Since he doesn’t have one, I give him my O’Neill top while I use the Hurley one that Rick let me borrow.

#

     “Look at that!” says Khang. He’s pointing at a three-foot peak that’s breaking at Churches. “Bam ! . . bam ! . . bam!”

     I laugh at his mind surfing. Two other surfers walk past us, smiling, dripping wet, heading back towards the San Onofre state parking. We can easily paddle out here, but even though it’s not packed, I know that it will be soon. Khang and Dais talk amongst themselves of the possibility of surfing Churches if nothing’s better up north.

     Briana and I stop short at Battle Positions. “We’re gonna surf here,” I say. “Check out Lowers. You never know. Something might swing wide.”

     Dais and Khang walk further north while Bri and I paddle out. There are a couple longboarders sitting by the cliffs, but we maintain our spot to keep Briana out of harm’s way. The water’s glassy and clean but inconsistent. Even though the pulses that come through are weak and don’t line up, it’s fun to surf Middles when the conditions are good. I look to see where Dais and Khang paddled out, but they’re walking back towards us. I catch a little two-foot left and hunker down, faking a barrel ride. I paddle up to them.

     “What happened?” I ask.

     “Too crowded,” says Khang.

     Middles isn’t working that well, at least not for shortboarders. Briana gets some waves, mostly on her belly, but she stands up again on a couple of waves. She’s making good progress.

     I feel bad for Khang and Dais. I didn’t promise good conditions, and I know the conditions are out of my control regardless, but they made a long drive to get out here. I wish the waves were better for them. Like me, they’re paddling into little dribblers which offer zero turns. It gets so inconsistent that even Briana opts to go back to camp, start breakfast, and do some homework.

     We can see Lowers working with guys splitting the A-frame. The thought of catching some Lowers’ scraps, sitting wide and catching some good, down-the-line rights is too irresistible. We make our way towards Lowers.

#

The Other Side of Surfing:

     There’s one guy sitting south of the Lowers’ crowd. He’s wearing a scowl. I know this look. This look tells me: “I don’t want to sit at the main peak, so I’m sitting here, but I haven’t caught shit!”

     It’s the look I dread, but not me, not today. I have to score. There’s something on my side: luck, local knowledge, my paddling ability that will get me priority. I sit a little closer to the pack, not quite where I usually sit, but there’s no choice; nothing is breaking wide.

     Two guys, an old man and a young guy, paddle past me, heading back towards Middles. “I didn’t see that guy,” the old man says. “I didn’t know he was gonna go. By the time I turned around it was too late.”

     Khang, Dais, and I hoped that this would be a good weekend to hit Lowers because the U.S. Open is going on at HB. No one would be out here, we thought. Well, if that’s the case, then forty other surfers thought the same thing. Dais sits towards the inside. Khang is next to me, just south of the main pack sitting at the top of the wave.

     “Sometimes they swing wide,” I say, “but it doesn’t seem to be happening.

     Khang is silent.

     “I’m gonna sit on the other side. Sometimes I get lucky.” I work my way through the crowd at the top of the wave. I can already sense who’s owning this spot. An old guy with long hair paddles through the lineup back to the top of the wave like a great white shark, paying no mind to the other surfers around him. It’s obvious that I’m the new guy who just showed up. I sit to the north this time, hoping for something to swing wide so I can go left. Nothing. Every wave breaks in the same spot, with the scraps only breaking further inside but not to the left or right. It’s frustrating. It’s an internal struggle the whole time. I sit at the top of the wave, sitting way on the outside. I paddle but scratch out on the waves. I’m too deep to catch them early on the Tokoro, maybe if I had the JS. Khang’s shifting in the lineup, also forced to back out of every wave.

     I don’t know what’s worse, surfing shitty waves or sitting on perfect waves without being able to ride them. I get some scraps on the inside, catching two rights, but they don’t materialize into anything because they’re too small. Every time I try to go for a wave, someone’s already on it. I’m forced to watch guys get fun, four-foot drops and then see their spray as the hit that first turn. They return from their long rides, sit back at the lineup, and do it again.

     Frustrated, I go back to the top of the wave. I’m right in the middle of the A-frame; I have priority! I paddle in, but guys are still going for it, both on my left and right. I can force the issue, go either way, but I have no idea if someone’s gonna run into me; I back out.

#

Fuck My Life:

     I’m forced to accept the fact that I’m not cut out to surf in crowds. I wonder how I managed in Bali. The most crowded spot I surfed was Burger Peak in Canggu; there were nineteen heads, but I had my brother block for me. Randy’s just good. He has the look of a shredder and can even pass for Balinese. He’d paddle for priority and say, “Go!” So I went, and I was able to catch my waves. But here . . . there are forty-plus motherfuckers. I can’t. So . . . what makes a good surfer? Is the fact that I can’t muscle my way or be aggressive enough to catch a Lowers’ wave mean that I fucking suck? I can easily say, “Oh if I surfed this place uncrowded, I’d rip on these waves,” but anyone can say that. I ponder if the ability to establish one’s dominance in the lineup is what also makes one a “good surfer.” If it is, then I suck; I’m a Barney. Crowds . . . I just can’t do it. It’s disappointing because I believe in my surfing, but here I am, punked in the lineup. I take the paddle of shame towards the inside, defeated.

#

     Once I’m on the shore, I turn around and take a look at the peak. I see some neon yellow boardshorts pumping down the line, going right. It’s Khang. At least he got one. Dais manages to work the inside, getting a right as well. They both see me on the shore and paddle in to join me.

#

     We pass Churches on the way back to camp. The onshore wind has picked up. “Yeah, I’m cool with not surfing,” says Dais.

     I’m not sure if we made the right call. Maybe we should’ve gone to Churches instead of Lowers. Oh well.

#

     I lick my wounds and move on to thinking about food. Back at the campsite, Briana’s still reading her book. I start on some sausages, eggs, and hash browns. Dais and Khang plan on meeting Klaude at the Obon festival in L.A.

     “Sorry it wasn’t that good,” I say as they’re packing up.

     “Nah, man,” says Khang, “it was fun, dude.”

     Khang . . . poor guy has never caught Trestles good, or HB. Dais has seen Trestles breaking good and so has KK. 

     Briana and I see them off and chow down on our breakfast. We whip out the drinks and play some speed. Afterwards, we head to the PX for more water and splurge out on some Sonic’s milkshakes. J’s on the way with his girlfriend Hayana. I hope that the evening session for them won’t be disappointing.