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| Don't judge me |
LOC: Churches & Old
Mans
Crew: Bri
Time: 1700-1930
Conditions:
4 FT+, north wind, choppy, cool, consistent
Rick calls and asks me if it’s worth
rushing down here to catch some of this swell. He says he might get into
trouble with his wife if he does though. I let him know that the wind hasn’t
died at all and that it might not be worth coming home to find his boards in
the middle of the street.
It is a little disappointing that the wind
is doing this, but there are still waves. Churches is working, but not as
clean, and on the drained low tide the size has gone down just a bit. The crowd
could be thicker. Surfers congregate at different take off spots but are still
spread out. The inside is a little congested with groms, so that presents an
obstacle.
San Onofre doesn’t look appetizing at all.
At Churches, the north wind is making the waves racy, but the shape is still
holding. At Old Mans, the wind is blowing against the peel of the wave, pushing
back and slowing down an already mooshy left. Even though the crowd’s thick, I
tell Bri that we’ll do the same thing as last week; we’ll surf both breaks.
Churches:
Since the size has tapered off a little and
there’s a bit of wind, I break out the Zippy once more. I don’t even know if I’m
lying to myself at this point. I could use the JS, but I decide not to.
We paddle out at South Churches hoping for
some insiders to come our way. I get one three-foot right, but I still can’t
get that loose on the top turn. I think I’ll have to accept that I’m riding a
stubby cork that’s great for speed and momentum but nothing too critical. A
lull ensues, so I tell Bri that we need to paddle closer to where it’s
breaking.
The waves are within reach, but most of
them are already being ridden. Briana tries to go, but she has to constantly
pull out. One guy backs off on a right, so I intercept the wave. It’s a solid
four-footer. The section’s standing up, so I try to hit the lip going backside.
For the first time, I hit the lip with a bang, but I purl really hard on the
downturn; it happens so fast. Again, I get a similar wave, and the same thing.
There’s just not enough rocker on this board to pull off the late turns, plus
there is so much speed from the volume and the rail, it’s hard to make those
tiny adjustments to stick the maneuvers.
I can tell that Bri’s having a hard time,
so I tell her that we’ll catch a couple more and change locations.
Breakthrough:
I get another right, but this time I avoid
trying to turn on the critical sections and pump to the shoulder. I transfer my
weight on the tail and redirect my board into the wave. When I’m confronted
with the oncoming section, I glance off the whitewash and redirect down the
line. Even though I’m on the Zippy, this is my FIRST LEGIT CUTBACK. I mean,
legit in that I actually went end-to-end and then back down the line. It’s a
feeling of accomplishment; I don’t care that it’s taken me forever to pull this
off, but now I can say that I know what it feels like. YES, Even something as
minor as a cutback. I don’t care; I’m claiming it . . . STOKED!
I can’t help but paddle back out again, so
I lie to Briana and go for one last one. I’m having so much fun at this point.
The crowd’s getting thinner because of the evening and the wind, but the waves
are actually getting better. I get another right. I’m deep so I’m going fast. Some
guys are on the inside trying to paddle out. The section’s standing up. I
bottom turn, hit the lip, and I come down the face with speed; I don’t purl! I
pump and make the next section. Now I’m all the way by the groms. An adult is with
them, probably an instructor. The wave’s about to close out. I get one more
turn and weave between a couple surfers to the inside. This ride had a small
audience, and I’m stoked off the two turns.
Paddling back to the lineup, my ego gets to
me. I can’t help but feel a little cocky even though I shouldn’t. It’s just
that the ride was so fun; it was such a good wave. I haven’t gone right in a
while.
Bri wants to leave. We catch the next
closeout to the inside and head to Old Mans.
Old Mans:
The waves looked like shit earlier, and . .
. they still look crappy. The rights at Churches are much cleaner than these
lefts; the wind is having a different affect on them. It’s close to mid tide,
so there’s a chance the surf can improve. At least there isn’t much of a crowd.
A lot of cars are parked, the drivers with their surfboards in the back. They’re
just waiting to see if it gets better, maybe waiting for the wind to die. As we
settle into the early evening, the wind is still holding up.
What seemed like small, crumbly
inconsistent surf earlier is now changing. The tide push is bringing in more
size, and even though she shape is shitty, the waves are coming in more
consistent. Just like that, the window opens up and four-foot lefts start
pouring in.
I can’t compare these waves to Churches. I
don’t really get “turns,” but more like frontside hits off the lips before the
closeout, still covering some distance in the process.
Briana gets caught on the sets; they’re now
coming in at four-or-five waves at a time. I lose her for a while. I expect her
to be on the sand, waiting, but then I spot her on the inside taking her
beatings. When she makes it back to the lineup, I tell her she’s doing a good
job. She’s so tired she can’t even paddle for waves; she’s just trying to hang
with me until I’m done. I talk to her, but she can’t even respond. I tell her
to move more outside to avoid the next set, but it’s too late. I’m prepping to
duckdive, but she’s gonna get WERKED again!
She makes it out one more time and then
catches a closeout. I get a solid wave to end it, again check-turning off of
the closing lip. For a beginner she did well. Most people would’ve paddled in a
long time ago.
COMA:
God damn we’re starving. After today’s
whole surf excursion we’re beyond ravenous. That giant sandwich we bought from
Vons was gone a long time ago. We fight over who gets the last Ritz Cracker as
we leave the parking lot. Sushi’s the first option, but it’s already 2000. Last
call is at 2115, and I can only do AYCE sushi if I’m afforded at least two
hours to engorge myself.
As soon as we’re north of San Clemente,
there’s gridlock. I’m irritable when I’m hungry, and I’m hungry in the worst
way possible. I exit and make Bri look up directions on where to go. We get
lost; I get mad at her; I’m a hungry dick right now, and she doesn’t deserve
this treatment.
Soup Plantation is nearby. We reach it at
2030 . . . I EAT SO FUCKING MUCH. I scavenge so much chicken from the chicken
noodle soup. Macaroni, pasta, clam chowder, pizza, and I put their ice cream
bar out of commission.
I’m so uncomfortably full when we leave
that I have to labor my breathing. Briana ate a lot too, so she falls asleep,
leaving a drowsy monkey behind the wheel. I make it as far as Westminister
before I’m forced to buy a Red Bull at 7-Eleven. We’re arguing. I’m pissed that
she can’t stay awake with me. She forces herself to. Somehow, we make it home
in one piece, tired and worn.
We can’t wait to do it again. Soup
Plantation is THE SHIT!
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