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.

    

PADAWAN PT.II, FRI 27JULY2012 EVE

Location: Churches

Crew: Bri

Time: 1930-2030

Conditions: 1-3 FT, warm, light onshore, high tide, empty.

     I wanted to be in the water by 1800, but we just had to make the tent shake in broad daylight, right next to the Filipino family in the campsite next to us. There was so much condensation in the inside of the tent by the time we were done. After duckbutter depletion, what better way to put a cherry on top by way of an evening surf session?

     I normally don’t paddle out this late. The sun’s just above the horizon to the north, inland of Lowers. The wind and the high tide must have scared everyone off because the only surfers I see are the black dots at Lowers. An empty lineup is a classic sign of bad surf, but despite the small swell and high tide, some pulses push through and still break. The mooshiness brings perfect conditions for Briana. Sure, she struggles on the NSP which seems unfathomable to someone that’s gone through the fundamentals of surfing. I catch the same waves, some even smaller on my much smaller board. It makes me appreciate how far I’ve come with surfing. For Briana, she just has to pay the dues like the rest of us. Eventually her paddle will become stronger. She’ll be able to maneuver better on that log, pop up, and her timing will get better.

     Again, most of my rides are trimmers, so I focus more on Briana. There’s an open lot behind us that is booked by a large party of campers. They have a live band and Karaoke. Jazz music fills the air while we sit in the lineup amongst the dying wind and waning light. The chatter on the ocean’s surface turns into a calm blanket of gold and dark triangles, and still, it’s hard to believe that no one else wants to paddle out this evening.

     Churches is always consistent, sometimes even more consistent than Lowers and even better without the crowd. No break in the Trestles area is better than Lowers, but a good Churches’ wave is still worth its weight in stoke.

     A random bump forms in the distance. I paddle out to meet it. I’m dropping in late, but my board is angled to go down the line as soon as I pop up. As usual, the wave proves typical of its forgivable drop. I even stall on the slide, being pushed sideways but never losing the wave. I pop up and pump, noticing the section opening up for a good turn. When I take a closer look, the wave is lining up in its Churches’ ideal fashion: shouldery and down-the-line. It’s only three feet, but I bottom turn and whack the lip, backside. It feels good. Still, the section’s available, so I get a second hack before I’m too close to shore.

     I paddle back to Briana, stoked and satisfied. Even though good waves today are few and far between, all it takes is one good one to make it all worth it.

     I call Briana on another wave. Just like this morning, she’s paddling into it late. I hold my breath as it breaks, concealing her from my view. I’m waiting for the NSP to shoot up like a surface-to-air missile. It doesn’t. When the wave breaks, I see her moving forward over the whitewash towards the shore. She’s standing up.

#

     Random pulses still push through for my enjoyment. Two-turn waves are hard to come by, but I get a couple single shots. Similar to my wave of the day, some shouldery-rights come through, easy to drop into, lined-up Churches’ style for at least one decent turn.

     “It’s kind of scary,” says Briana.

     “What is?”

     She motions south over the nuclear titties. “It’s so dark over there.”

     I look at the lights at the nuclear plant then to the north towards Lowers, where the gold over the horizon is turning into a purple haze, bright enough to provide some visibility. “Don’t worry. I’ve surfed here until you can barely see the waves, to the point where you can only feel them.”

     I think about surf sessions passed. The very first time I truly scored at Trestles was on February 4^th, 2011:

http://elportosurf.blogspot.com/2011/02/path-of-urban-surf-bum-pt-2-trestles.html

     It was a solo session day, my first time going there by myself, and I scored both in the morning and evening. During that solo evening sesh, there was only one guy out with me surfing a spot just south of Uppers. Ironically, this spot has never broke for me the same again. But it was the first time I ever surfed in the dark here. I’ll never forget how the waves were that evening, barely three-feet high but lining up perfectly. Still mellow, still rippable, like a blanket of water draped over a large ball. I was on the DMS then, seeing my potential for the first time. I had never got good turns until that day. And then there were sessions with Al and Francis, both surfing Lowers so late until we could only see the wave from the whitewater crumbling on the face. This place is special, and surfing it until complete darkness brings about a sense of balance and serenity. Even though it’s been a while since I caught an epic session here, the image of the good days will always be etched in my memory, and those images will always keep me coming back. No matter how many times I’ll get skunked searching for the ideal, I’ll never be able to stay away.

#

     We’re both hungry, so we go in. On the way back, we talk about how perfect this day turned out. We shower and barbecue some pollo asada. It’s a lot of chicken, but we wrap them into large burritos, using our salad as some filler in the tortillas. Bri only has one, but I engorge myself with two. Even though I’m full, we sit around the fire and have a couple S’mores. I check my e-mail and texts to see if anyone’s coming. A couple e-mails come in; people apologize for not being able to make it. Khang and Dais say that they’re coming in the morning. It’s a no pressure situation regardless. Here at the camp fire, Bri and I just finished a solid evening sesh, our bellies our full, we’ve showered, and I’m munching on some S’mores with a Bud Lime in my hand. Flames from the fire light up and bring warmth to our faces. Bri scoots her chair closer to mine. I have everything I need.

PADAWAN PT.I, FRI 27JULY2012 MOR

Location: North Churches

Crew: Bri

Time: 1045-1230

Conditions: 1-3 FT, warm, sunny, light onshore.

Pre Blog:

     I reserved my campsite at the last minute. It was last minute because I’ve been busy, busy with both the honeymoon phase of a new relationship and busy with the preparation of a two-week military class in Massachusetts that I have coming up. Being that I’ll be gone, this camping trip is important. Either way, I love the San Onofre campsites. Small surf or not, there’s something about tenting it, surfing all day, barbecuing, and drinking beers around a bonfire that I can’t say no to. These trips are always a win-win situation.

Staycation Time:

     I sent an open invite to twenty-five plus people about my campsite. Most importantly, the other surf bloggers. Even if no one shows, it doesn’t matter. I can make do with a romantic getaway with just Bri and me, but I like to show love to the people who matter to me by making my site available to them as well.

     I’m supposed to be up at 0600 to start loading up the wagon, but I’m tired. I wake up at 0715. By the time the wagon’s fully loaded, it’s 0900. After the drive to Yorba Linda to pick up Bri, we reach San Onofre a little after 1000. I try to check in early, but I’m told that the site’s still not available. Since we have about two hours to kill, I figure there’s no better time to suit up and go for a paddle out.

     We cruise by Old Man’s first. Even though I told Bri that I wanted to take her surfing here, the crowd is so thick that I opt to go to North Churches /  South Middles instead (always less people here). We park in front of Churches and unload the boards. Churches is small but fun and consistent as always. Since there’s a little crowd at the main peak, I opt to take her further north. The late morning sun beats us down. I’m sweating as I’m putting on my Vertra. The wax is so hot that it smears when I try to put a fresh coat over it. I whip out the trunks and rashguard while Bri sticks to her wetsuit.

     The surf is inconsistent where we paddle out. In the distance, surfers split the peak at Lowers. Just to our south, the top of the wave at Churches entertains a dozen longboarders. Here, I make a small sacrifice for my surfing to help Briana get her fundamentals down.

#

     Let’s face it, surfing is a selfish art. It takes patience to teach someone how to surf. For example, my brother rips; he’s a shredder, but he didn’t teach me how to Surf. Rick did. Randy’s probably the better surfer, but Rick is the better teacher. Me? I’m selfish as hell. I’d rather spend the day going where the waves are good for my own sake than waste my time surfing where it’s small, calling waves for a buddy on a longboard. But is this really a waste? If surfing is truly something that I’d like to share with Briana then this is not a waste at all. But with the instruction comes my time. In the meanwhile, I’ll sacrifice my own soul sessions to teach my girlfriend how to surf. I only have one rule for her. For whatever advice I give her, she must take it and use it.

#

     The paddle out is easy. Bri’s getting better at the cobblestone dance, using the NSP for balance as she walks her way out. The lulls are long, but when they come, I try to give Bri the priority.

     She has a good start. Some of the waves are small, mooshy dribblers. She purls a lot, being too far in front of her board, but she is also able to arch her back in time to keep the nose out. She catches almost all of the waves on her belly and some on her knee. At this point, I’m more concerned with her getting the feeling of dropping into a wave.

     I struggle to get a decent ride. Most of the waves are too small to turn on, so they turn into trimmers. Even though I’m internally bitching about not riding bigger waves, there really isn’t much of an alternative. Everywhere is 2-3 FT across the board, and that’s only south facing beaches. The South Bay is even smaller right now. So I appreciate that surfing with Bri has brought back the natural stoke of surfing even the smallest of waves.

#

     “Right here,” I say as the set approaches.

     “This one?”

     “Yup. Go.”

     She swings her board around and starts paddling. I realize I set her up a little late. The wave curls while she’s still in front of it paddling. Her board shoots straight up unto the air. I cringe at the thought of it landing on her head. She resurfaces.

     “You all right?” I ask.

     It takes a while for her to respond. “I hit my head on a rock.”

     “Shit. Are you bleeding?”

     “No, I’m okay.”

     She’s a little rattled, understandably. I tell her to cover up when she falls and to watch out for her own board hitting her. Her mishap has her a little apprehensive to catch anything else. It’s past noon, so I figure it’s a good time to check in.

#

     Unfortunately, no one’s cancelled their beachside campsites, so Bri and I have to take a site up on the bluffs. Even though it’s just a short walk to the beach, nothing beats being on the sand with an ocean front view, but if I had to choose between this and a Netflix night at the house, I’d rather be up on the bluffs.

     It’s somewhat of a joy to set up camp. The Coleman Instatent pays for itself again, only taking minutes to set up and stake down. I’m a lucky man to have friends with camping gear who don’t camp at all. I have a Coleman propane grill, large cooler, and an inflatable full-size mattress.

     We make a run to the Commissary and PX to buy supplies. We make an active effort not to overbuy and plan to cook and eat EVERYTHING we purchase. 

     Back at the site, we open some beers, get a good buzz on, and play speed with the deck of cards that Briana suggested we buy. I haven’t played speed in years, but it’s fun and gets really competitive. Aside from the surf, this camp trip’s off to a good start.