MORE THAN WAVES, DAY 2 (double sesh), SUN 24JUN2012 EVE

Loc: Churches

Crew: Briana

Time: 1830-1945

Conditions: 2-3, calm, clean, clear

Barf:

     You ever see that couple that’s so into each other that they make you sick? Yeah, that’s pretty much me and Briana for the whole day. After cooking breakfast, we lie out in the sun, drinking beer, just enjoying one another. It’s the first time in my life that I’ve ever relaxed this much. I mean, usually I’m sitting in a chair, walking around, checking the surf reports, or maybe reading. Nope, today, it’s all about being next to each other and doing nothing. Perhaps looking at the sky, a slight shift of the umbrella to keep the sun out, a sip out of my cup, a kiss, a nuzzle, and then back to the blue sky. Little kids play around us, and there we are, lovey-dovey in the most obnoxious of ways. We don’t even pay attention to the little kids or their parents, but we must be selling the spot because people are asking us how much it costs to get the campsite, and these aren’t even the ones with electricity.

#

     Briana suggests that we go in for a dip. The water’s cold, so she starts heading back up the sand. It’s a classic, cliché Hollywood movie scene. I splash her and chase her up the beach, smothering her with my cold water. I want to pick her up, but I’m worried she’ll lose her bikini or I’ll drop on a stone. When the commotion calms, I realize that four other couples on the beach are watching us. We attracted a lot of attention.

     Once we’re done swimming around, we walk past a young couple. It’s an Asian chick wearing a Fedora hat who’s caked with make-up, and her Marine boyfriend. She says, “Oh my god, you guys actually went in the water. Props!” She gives a huge smile and a thumbs up. Meanwhile her boyfriend refuses to acknowledge. In fact, he looks pissed off.

#

     We resupply for beer and dinner. Fucking perverts are everywhere in the Commissary. These buffneck fire department guys are totally checking out Briana. Well, nothing else for me to do but play it cool. I add the surf bum slouch and flip-flop dragstep. Fuck it, I’m that guy that other guys point to and say, “How in thee FUCK did he get her?” Haters gonna hate, yo. . . . It definitely ain’t the money or the car, I can tell you that much.

#

     Briana has some decent cuts on her feet, worthy for the cobblestone dues that Trestles demands. She’s tired. Surfing wise, this weekend is a lot to ask of a beginner, but we can’t skip the sunset sesh. I don’t know when we’ll be here again. We have to take advantage of it. THE MOMENT!

     I break a promise this weekend. I told her we’d surf Old Mans, but that’s not gonna happen, not when we can get waves to ourselves.

     We paddle out at Middles, but work our way towards North Churches because it’s breaking better over there. I get a random left, pump, set up for a frontside carve, but my JS feels too stiff and drags. I think I could’ve gotten away with the Tokoro. The ride sells the spot, and people start paddling closer. Still, there’s enough for everyone. Briana’s arms are tired, but she gets her rides all the same. We’re progress, not perfection, and she’ll be standing up and trimming soon enough, but standing isn’t even important right now.

     I don’t care about the lulls so long as a wave comes every once in a while. It’s been the theme of the weekend. This trip wasn’t totally about surfing, and neither is this blog. It’s about life and the life revolved around surfing. It’s about friends, people, relationships, family, and loved ones. It’s about expectations, disappointments, triumph, and success. It’s about being human and living in the moment, and right now, I wish this moment could last forever.

#

     Since it’s Sunday night, everyone’s cleared out of camp. What was a day and night of intrusions yesterday has come to a halt. I only see a couple bonfires in the distance far away towards Old Mans. The beach is practically ours. Ours. Our bonfire, our smores, our drinks, our space, our stars, our waves crashing before us into the dead of night. Bundled up on the inflatable mattress in the tent with Briana, I can’t imagine anywhere else I’d want to be. Good night.

    

MORE THAN WAVES, DAY 2, SUN 24JUN2012 MOR

Loc: Middles

Crew: Briana

Time: 0700-0900

Conditions: 2-3, offshore, glassy, clean, clear

     I took a look outside the tent upon waking. The first thing to meet my eyes are the glassy waves a mere fifteen yards away. The surf isn’t rideable here, but it means that the surf is clean everywhere else. Old Mans doesn’t have a lot of people yet and neither does Churches, but I know that “they are coming,” so I decide on Middles again.

#

     Briana’s feet are a little torn up from the cobblestone dance in and out of Churches. She says if she’s lagging in the water it’s because she’s in pain.

     We walk north of Churches. The competition at Lowers is going on which sends some ripper grommets to Middles, but as soon as we paddle out they leave.

     Even though I’m keeping an eye on Briana, surprisingly, there are little waves here and there for me to catch. Usually I do more, meaning I’m more aggressive, even on the small stuff. However, on this trip I’m distracted, and by distracted I mean distracted in a good way. It’s somewhat refreshing. I’m not mad at myself for not getting turns or aggro over the small waves. Instead I just appreciate the present moment, enjoying Briana, enjoying trimming down two to three foot faces that close out without giving me much to turn on, enjoy the sun on my face and the clear sky.

#

     Briana has a hard time paddling out. The surf turns consistent, and it’s a little bigger than yesterday, but she does make it out. Like yesterday, I’m trying to set her up for waves. Again, she’s going for them really late. I mean, the waves are breaking outside, and she’s already paddling towards the inside. I see her face on a big one. It’s funny. Her face lights up, but she’s stoked, catching it on her belly. She gets the longest rides. I hear her scream from the shore. She’s smiling on the way back. That’s all that matters.Once the sun comes out, it’s classic Trestles, just unhindered sun. Even the wind is cooperating, switching south but faint and light. 

     We surf for two hours and do the acclaimed trail back to camp, the trail so special to me and probably any other surf bum that loves this place. Briana says she loves it too. “Good,” I say, “you’re gonna be seeing a lot of this place.”

MORE THAN WAVES (double sesh), SAT 23JUN2012 EVE

Loc: Churches

Crew: Briana

Time: 1830-2000

Conditions: 2 FT, occasional 3, light onshore, inconsistent, clear

     After sushi we settle into the campsite. Man . . . that Coleman Instatent I bought pays for itself, way worth the $162 that I coughed up for it. I was tired of sleeping on the hard ground, despite my military background, so I also bought a fucking full-size inflatable mattress. The only thing that sucks about this site is how crowded it is today. So many fucking people, families, little kids. Don’t get me wrong, people are cool . . . actually, I might be lying here. Anyway, what I MEAN is, I don’t mind people, but I like my space.

     We spend the afternoon drinking beers and listening to music. Once I get loosened up I break into serenading Briana with The New Kids on the Block because . . . I don’t give a shit and because I have some alcohol in my system. I’m weird. She’s cool with it.

#

     It’s 1830 by the time we suit up and head out. We walk to Old Mans, but stop short before the park entrance. It’s blown out and looks like shit. We head back to Churches and paddle out at the south end. 

     It’s a fucking beautiful evening, despite the undying wind. The water’s a crystal blue reflecting off the low lying sun and darkening sky. I try to wave Briana over more north where it’s breaking, but she doesn’t move. I paddle over to see if she’s all right. She has a glaze over her, unaware that it’s even me who’s paddling up. “Thank you,” she says. “Thank you for bringing me out here.” Here I am worrying about her getting some waves, when she’s perfectly content . . . perfectly content. She laughs a lot to herself, something I realize that she only does when she’s happy.

     Eventually we do paddle more north. On one of the plus set waves, she goes for it and disappears. Worried, I catch the second wave to the inside to check on her. She’s fumbling for her board, but she’s all laughing and smiles. She’s all right. She gets a couple more waves on her belly and knees, but all that matters is the smile on her face and her stoke to be here.

     I surprisingly get my wave of the day. It’s a three foot right, a random bump. I only get a couple pumps and one turn on the lip before it closes, but it goes a long way for the day’s conditions. I get other small two-footers too, all for enjoyment-sake of being on a wave.

     A guy paddles up to us, an older guy. He’s in trunks and a wetsuit jacket. He turns to Briana and says, “Have you been on that board for long?”

     “No, I just started using it.” She motions towards me. “Actually, it’s his.”

     “Oh,” he says. He paddles up to me. “You should get her on something with a narrower nose, something she can whip around more.”

     I smile.

     “It’s so beautiful out here,” he says. “I’ve been watching it all day, and it’s just getting good. There are waves out here!”

     He reminds me of my surf mentor Rick.

     “Look,” he says, pointing out at the sunset. “What’s today’s date?”

     I look at my watch. “June twenty-third.”

     “Oh. . . .” He looks down at his board. Before he paddles away he says, “Happy sunset!”

     Briana paddles up to me. “Come here,” she says.

     I dismount my board. We kiss.

     “Happy sunset,” she says.

     We can hear the old guy talking to us in the distance, but it doesn’t matter. 

MORE THAN WAVES, SAT 23JUN2012 MOR

Loc: Middles

Crew: Briana

Time: 0800-1030

Conditions: 2 FT, occasional 3, light onshore, inconsistent

     We reach San Onofre at about 0730. Initially, I wanted to take her to Old Man’s, but there are too many heads out there. Since Briana didn’t get to catch any waves at PV, I’m thinking she’ll be better off surfing where it’s less crowded. Churches isn’t that crowded yet, probably from the bad forecast and gray skies. It looks cold out, but we’re gonna do it anyway.

     We walk to North Churches and paddle out just where Middles starts. For the whole morning, we have the place to ourselves. I manage to get a couple waves, but they aren’t that good; it’s just too small. I think I get one top turn. The Trestles area is so soft as it is, easy, rippable on a good day with some size, but there is no size. It’s perfect for beginners, perfect for Briana.

     I put my main focus on her, and try to set her up for some waves. She gets pounded on the inside. She knows how to turtle dive the board, but she keeps losing it. Practice, practice, practice. However, when we get to the lineup, she tries to go for everything. Even when she’s too far inside and the waves are breaking on top of her, she’s still paddling and going for them, kamikaze style, the DRC way.

     She doesn’t stand up, but she kneels. Not bad for a legit surf session for a beginner. We paddle out and clean up before 1100, and then I take her around Old Man’s to show her the Hoedads. The weekend’s off to a good start. 

CHANGE, FRI 15JUN2012 MOR

Loc: 26th

Crew: Khang & CC

Conditions: 2 FT occasional 3

     The original plan was to surf 26^th Street, but as I stand here looking at it, it’s just too small. It looks typical of the small days here; it’s only gonna break close to shore. There’s a good roster for the morning. Shan, Khang, and CC are supposed to be coming out, but I’m the first one here, and I’m thinking about Porto instead. As much as I fucking hate paying for parking, it’s usually a hair bigger there, and on a morning like this another foot makes a HUGE difference.

     I drive to Porto and send out the bat signal, letting everyone else know the change of location. I’m not in the water long before I spot Khang on the sand. We sit north of 45^th. It’s small, but it’s still rideable. I can’t remember any of Khang’s waves because for the most part it’s an insignificant morning. However, I do remember one of mine.

     I’m starting to realize that I’m much more aggressive on my finishing turn on the smaller days. Probably because they are turns without consequence, especially when the wave is a tapering shoulder from three down to two-feet. But I “geev’um” on that finishing turn, trying to gouge out whatever’s left. I catch a right that I get two pumps on. To end the ride, I hook it off the top as hard as I can, almost pointing the nose back from where I just came, stalling in place, completing the movement with a nice little wrap. It’s like falling into the turn.

     “Matt, that turn was pretty tight,” says Khang.

     CC’s on the sand warming up next to her fish. She paddles out, again bothered by her shoulder but trudging through it. She says she could’ve spent her morning cleaning the apartment or coming out to surf with us. She chose wisely. She struggles to get into some of the outside waves, but she ends up getting some towards the outside.

     Shan? He’s nowhere to be found.

     I tell them about my plans for the day, how a friend from class wants to come out and surf. Khang and CC are stoked for me, and they tell me not to be too much of an idiot on the first date. That’s one of my problems: toning it down.

     When I leave, I head to Boris’ to pick up the NSP that I pretty much let him have, but he hasn’t used it. Why let it collect dust when I can find a rider for it? I head to Surf Concepts in Manhattan Beach and buy a longboard leash, wax, and then go home to prep the NSP.

#

     Usually I consider any paddle out to be a surf session, but if I don’t catch any waves, then it doesn’t count. I need at least ONE wave to make it a surf session. No less. 

     Briana took a surfing class at UCSB. She also bodyboards and is a certified diver. As cautious as I am not to let her hurt herself, she gives me the impression that she knows what she’s doing. Since it’s been a while for her, I take her to PV. PV because it’s good for longboarding, it’s usually not too crowded, and I don’t expect it to be with the lack of swell. Also because it’s a beautiful place. 

#

     It’s funny when it’s time to change. I’m about to be in my wetsuit. She’s going to see my junk through the neoprene. It’s inevitable. This is where she’ll make her judgment on my penis, a sneak preview. She has her bikini on while she slips into her wetsuit. I am NOT disappointed.

     I carry the NSP and let her hold my JS since it’s lighter. Not one surfer is out. On the way down the trail, two guys are coming up. “Are you sure?” one of them says. “There’s nothing right now. The tide is coming up.”

     “Well, we’re just gonna check it out for a little bit.”

     He shakes his head. “Okay, but you should go to Rat Beach, just up north a little.”

     I nod my head and smile, the universal sign for: I’m gonna do what I want, regardless.

     Down at the water, I’m stoked at the sight. Yes, it’s small, maybe one foot, but it should be good for the NSP. Also, the water’s much calmer compared to the other breaks we just passed to get over here. The cliffs keep the surface chatter down to a minimum. A two-footer breaks on the outside. Stoked, I say, “Yeah, you’re gonna catch some waves out here.”

#

     My bionic arms are no match for the small and mooshy surf. The guys on the hill were right. This tide is making it swampy, and this two-foot swell doesn’t stand a chance to poke through it. Still, the sun beams down on our faces. The Vertra’s sticking to me like mascara. The water’s still nice, the cliff’s looming overhead give us seclusion, and the fact that no one else is in the water makes things . . . (this is going to sound cheesy) romantic. I tie a strand of seaweed around my head.

      “Let me tie it around you,” she says.

     I don’t know what to make of this. I mean . . . I should know. I know gawd damn well that I can tie this thing around my head myself. She has to know this too. So here we are, floating in the water off of our boards. She’s practically straddling me, Lamaze style, while she ties this seaweed around me. The current moves the boards, bringing them to near collisions but stopping short from impact. First kiss? Don’t risk it. We go back to our boards, laughing at the crooked, green bandana on my head. We try again.

     Even though we don’t catch any waves, we talk the whole time out there. The conversation is flowing; the energy is good, and I’m thinking this is too good to be true.

#

     I’m still bummed that we can’t paddle into any of these waves. We go in.

     We’re changing out when she says, “Oops . . . Matt. . . . “

     I look over. “Huh?”

     “Ummmmm, can you help me?”

     Her bikini strap came undone. Between the folds of her wetsuit I can see the soft, young, brown, unblemished, Italian skin. Her bikini top straps dangle off her back like candy cane ribbons. I tie them up, making sure that they’re not too tight or too loose. It’s impossible to avoid the back of my hand rubbing against her.

     “Thanks,” she says.

     After all that I’ve been through . . . maybe it was meant to be to lead up to this.