Location: Churches
to Middles
Time:
0700-1100
Crew: Bec,
CC, Rick, Khang, Dais, and Cheryl.
Conditions:
6 FT, sunny, glassy, warm, walled, CROWDED.
Pre Blog:
My bro Randy e-mailed me, saying that his
friend Rebecca was gonna be in L.A. He met her surfing Java, and he asked if
I’d be able to take her out surfing with the DRC. Just as luck would have it,
her arrival was timed right for the swell of the summer. But on this occasion,
I wasn’t only stoked to take out one of my brother’s friends but also to learn
about how my brother’s been doing.
#
I’m so stoked for this swell that I lie in
bed staring at the ceiling for a good hour before passing out. I wake up at
0500. Christina is nice enough to pick up Bec for me, since she’s fairly close
to the hostel in Santa Monica where Bec’s staying. I pack the JS and the
Tokoro; there’s no need for Zippy today if the swell’s as big as they say it’s
going to be.
It’s 0545. I’m sitting in my car waiting
for the cavalry. It’s hard not to be anal. I look at my phone. Just a couple
more minutes, I’m thinking. Thirty seconds later I’m calling CC.
“We just
exited the freeway,” she says. As soon as she parks, I pull up right next to
them and start cross loading stuff.
Rebecca’s tall and she’s from Australia. We
shake hands before she hands me her board. The drive south is interesting. Bec
tells us that she’s saved up a couple years for this trip, quit her job, and
still saved up enough money for when she goes home and has to look for work
again. She’s been traveling alone since April, went to Bali, rode all around
Java on her moped, did El Salvador, and she just surfed Costa Rica. Her
boyfriend is joining her on Monday, and from there they plan to rent a camper
and drive the coastline north. Her trip will end in Oahu in November. “I met
your brother at a surf camp in Java,” she says. I try to ask more questions
about Randy’s well being, but it turns out that they only hung out for a little
and never even surfed together.
Rick calls us when we’re half way there; he
has a campsite. “Matt,” he says, “how far away are you?”
“Ummmm. We’re by Irvine right now. How’s it
look?”
“The swell’s not as big as I hoped, but it
still looks fun. Old Mans is breaking pretty good right now. I’m gonna get on
it. I’ll see you guys when you get here.”
Poor Rick had his friends flake out on him
when he checked-in on Friday. There was no way I could make it down to spend
the night.
#
There isn’t a long line to exit Basilone
which is surprising. A long peak breaks in two sections at Lowers. I can’t see
how crowded it is.
We get through the gate with ease and pull
up to Rick’s campsite. He’s stirring around getting his board ready; he didn’t
paddle out yet. I step out and introduce him to Bec.
A good sign that there’s swell is that
there are waves breaking in front of the campsites. Most of them are closeouts,
but they are clean, and they look fun regardless. Scattered peaks break across
Old Mans. It’s hard to tell how big they are, but they look like an easy
four-feet and consistent.
“I’m gonna paddle out for a little,” says Rick
before he jogs off to Old Mans.
Within minutes, Dais shows up. I check his
car. Khang’s in front, and I’m surprised to see Cheryl sitting in the back. I
haven’t seen her in a while. By the time CC, Bec, and I are ready, Rick comes
back to the campsite. Khang, Cheryl, and Dais still need to suit up, so we tell
them we’ll meet them at North Churches.
#
I haven’t seen this place this crowded in a
while. Rick’s the first one to paddle out. He turns and goes on an inside wave.
His Zamora fish sends him down the line on a clean, three-foot, left. He’s
pumping and cutting back with his hand in the face. CC gives a loud, “Wooooh!”
as he glides by. I catch the next inside wave, but it closes out. Everyone
around is scrambling towards the outside, and that’s when I see the first big
set of the morning. The waves break far, so I’m stuck duckdiving roaring
whitewash. I’ve felt pretty confident about my duckdives lately, but it’s not
easy punching through. For the first time in a while, I’m getting worked on the
inside. I look back; CC’s going through the same thing.
When I make it to the lineup, Bec and Rick are
sitting and waiting for the next set. It doesn’t take long. Some solid five to
six foot waves roll through, but it’s so crowded that someone’s already on
them. I finally get one, but it’s a closeout. As soon as I resurface,
everyone’s scrambling again—here comes the next set. Now I’m in the impact
zone. A couple guys have to readjust their lines to make sure they don’t run me
over. I hate being in the way, but it’s impossible not to be today. Once I make
it through the barrage, I see CC make it out to the lineup at Middles. Towards
the inside, I see Khang and Dais. I wave.
#
I was stoked for Khang before even driving
out here because he’s never had a good session at Trestles or HB, but today was
supposed to be the day of nonstop surf. Unfortunately, it’s just too crowded
and competitive. Dais and I paddle more towards Middles to escape the crowd,
where we catch some inside rides. However, this is a tricky game because sure,
we’re getting waves, but every time those outside sets appear, we’re fucked.
The current keeps pulling us back to North
Churches, so we have to fight to get away. The onshores start to pick up which
adds some texture, and the incoming tide makes the waves more walled; it’s
almost as if this place can’t handle the size.
I get some halfway decent rides. Size is in
abundance, but shape isn’t. I’ve surfed big Middles before, well over a year
ago, and I got nice, down-the-line rights. But today, they’re walled and racy.
Some waves are good for one turn, but the second one is a gamble: either kick
out or get caught on the inside for the rest of the set.
My arms are so worn. Some of the sets are
five-to-six waves, and even though I’m holding onto my board, I’m losing
yardage on each duckdive. Khang surfs closer to north Churches, but he’s still
around a small pack.
Sometime before 1100, Dais says that he’s
pooped and going in. I hate to leave the water without solid rides, so I paddle
all the way to south Lowers. If the swell’s right, sets swing wide of Lowers
and make for easy pickings, but it’s not happening today. The waves at North
Middles are just as walled. Lowers has turned into two peaks, and they both
have an assload of surfers. A bunch of other people are in the lineup too,
bobbing, stationary, waiting for that random wave to come by.
I give up and paddle back towards Middles,
and a guy catches a three-turn left, exactly from where I was just sitting at.
I try to work on the inside, but the outside sets start. Just as I’m
contemplating the paddle of shame, I get a two-turn left. The whole shoreline
is crowded, but I’m not putting on much of a show. Since the tide’s almost all
the way up, I’m able to catch the rest of the wave on my belly.
#
Back at the campsite, everyone’s changed
and showered up. Rick’s family is here now, and Dais and his carload leave.
After four hours of surfing, I’m starving. I make a food run with the girls.
Sonics is too crowded, so we head to San Clemente so I can buy some Jack in the
Box.
I’m a bit disappointed in this swell.
Surfline gave it gold ratings, but it’s not quite there. I think the window at
first light was the best, but the tide and wind really killed it. I get a message from KK. It reads, “0s no
bueno.” Well, maybe it wasn’t that great everywhere. I feel bad for all my
buddies that drove south, more so because I pumped up this swell so much.
Regardless, we had a good show out. It makes me happy to see who my die hard
surfer friends are. It’s days like these that remind me exactly who’s in my
crew. No more flakes. You know who you are. . . .
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