Location:
Old Mans
Crew: Bri
Conditions:
2 FT, sunny, glassy, bath water, crowded, inconsistent.
I really wanted to surf on Saturday, but I
couldn’t. It would take me some time to go through all my pictures and blogs to
see how many times I’ve driven to the San Onofre, Trestles area in the last
month. After Friday’s staycation followed by sushi, I was wiped by Saturday
morning. The DRC was surfing local, but I planned to surf HB since I had to
pick up my cousin for a family get together. I never made it to HB.
I got a call from Klaude later that day. He
said the surf was terrible. After my family get together, I was so tired that I
couldn’t pick up Briana from work. I made a deal with her: Drive to my house,
and I’d take her surfing anywhere she wanted.
She’s no fool. She’s done her research and
knows where she wants to go for beginner waves. . . . San Onofre.
#
It’s Saturday night. J and Hayana are
surfing Dog Beach in the morning. I’m trying to convince the DRC for an OC
sesh. When I bring it up to Briana, she’s not happy, but she’s right. I made a
promise. A man is only as good as his word, and in a relationship, I need to
let her have a say in the decision too. After all, I promised her. The surf
down south is forecasted to be bigger. No one else can join us. It’s just me
and Bri.
#
It’s an easy Sunday. We don’t get up at the
crack of dawn, and it only takes a little while to load up the car for a simple
day trip. The drive on the 405S to the 5S is easy with light traffic. As soon
as we pass Lowers, we peek out to see if it’s crowded. It looks empty until we
reach a clearing and see the usual twenty-plus bodies in the lineup. It’s the
wave that never sleeps.
#
We park at the northern side of Old Mans.
The wind hasn’t changed yet, and it’s still somewhat glassy. From afar, the
waves look small and dribbly, but I’m hoping that it’s just a lull between the
sets. When we reach the break, most of the surfers are sitting and waiting.
Nothing’s coming in. I hate inconsistent days. It leaves surfers stagnant in
one place, waiting for the bump on the surface. To put it plain and simple,
there aren’t enough sets for all the surfers waiting. The occasional outside
set or rogue wave usually helps, but I already know, today won’t have any of
them.
We paddle out and sit at the north side of
the main pack, joining everyone else in the pondy lull. A wave breaks towards
us on the inside. Briana and I are scratching for it. I expect to slide in and
pop up. As I’m scratching for it, Briana stands up and takes the wave, leaving
me behind. The same thing happens on the next couple waves. Even though I have
Zippy, these waves are too small for it.
After a half hour of frustration, Briana
paddles up to me and says, “Do you wanna switch boards?”
How sweet, I’m thinking. Is it that obvious
that I can’t catch shit? The student takes pity on the teacher, but I tell her
to go ahead and have her fun, and that I’m doing okay.
The north side of the peak gets infiltrated
by the morning latecomers. I decide to work on the south side of the peak but
only catch a few dribblers. Briana stands her ground in the crowd that took the
spot over. Every time I look north, she’s paddling back out from the inside,
finished with a wave.
I watch a guy on a medium fun board shoot
his board out and almost hit a chick on the inside. They’re too far for me to
hear the exchange, but from the body language, I can tell that it’s tense and
awkward. Just then, the static from the lifeguard tower intercom fills the air.
“You, on the shortboard. You need to hang onto your board or you’re outta here.”
Everyone in the water looks over. The
funboard offender looks around, checking to see who the lifeguard is talking
to.
The lifeguard says, “Yes, you. White board.
You know who you are. . . .”
#
I’m still bobbing like a cork when Briana
paddles through the main pack to get to me. “You doing okay over here?” she
says.
“Yeah, I’m doin’ all right.”
“Oh my God, I caught so many waves over
there!” The smile on her face spells stoke. Truth be told, I haven’t really
been teaching her to surf, only pointers. She’s the one that’s been choosing
her own place to sit and calling out waves for herself. She’s gone through the
foot cuts, knee bruises, and head trauma. She accepts those dues and paddles
out on her own will and volition. I think she might be sold on this wonderful
art.
#
She doesn’t want me bobbing around on my
own, so she suffers with me. Nothing’s coming our way, so we work towards the
most crowded, popular peak on the southern end.
It’s actually consistent here, but what’s
weird is that it breaks on the outside, middle, and the inside in scattered peaks,
so there are many surfers catching waves at the same time. Every time we pick a
spot to sit we are either in someone’s way or there are too many longboarders
to compete with. We paddle to the very last southern break, and the waves here
are barely two feet. The waves aren’t lining up much, and all I can do is catch
the soup for a short, straight ride. Briana, on the other hand, makes a killing
here and catches all of these uncontested waves to herself. At her level of
surfing she’s happy just to pop up, and even though her pop up is slow, she’s
catching a high volume of waves now.
Whatever swell that Surfline mispredicted
is dribbling down even more. The dick in me can easily bitch about this morning’s
session. The surf wasn’t as good as I expected, it was crowded, inconsistent,
and I barely caught anything. On the good side, the south facing beaches had
the best chance for size, so it couldn’t have gotten much better than this
(unless I was good enough to surf Lowers). Briana got a lot of experience
points, and that’s what matters to me the most. Today was not a waste.
#
We hit the grocery store, buy some snacks,
and set up the portable picnic table on the sand. The onshores pick up, and the
surf at Churches is small and choppy. We eat and play cards until we make the
call that we’re not hanging around for an evening session. I need some bigger
surf.
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