Loc: South
Middles
Crew: Khang,
J, Dais
Conditions:
4 FT+, glassy, high tide, walled,
uncrowded.
It’s an odd night sleeping. Seba’s
carbon monoxide alarm keeps going off, but he had told us that his propane tank
is empty. We have to wake up and turn it off repeatedly, and J eventually turns
to me and says, “It smells like gas in here.” I’m so tired, that I just want to
go back to sleep.
“I don’t think it does. I’m sure it’s
nothing.”
“I think I hear hissing.”
“Well, Seba said there’s no propane in the
tank.”
#
I wake up to the sound of talking outside.
It’s 0545. The alarm goes off again. This time I stop at the stove. It was on
the whole night.
When I get outside, it’s howling offshore
and cold. The sky looks overcast in the dark. Fisher is trying to rekindle the
fire in the pit. The vets are planning on hitting the road to check out O-side.
They invite me, but I tell them that I’m staying here, especially since my buds
arrived; there’s no way I’m leaving them.
After they take off, I head towards
Churches myself for a recon. In the early dawn, there are already some guys in
the lineup, but fuck, the tide is really high, even more so than yesterday. It
looks too fat out there. A grom surf team camped right in front of Churches,
and they have to stick to the waves breaking closer to the inside. I go back to
camp and sit by the fire.
Klaude texts me, says he’s heading to
Zeros. Khang and Dais had parked in the middle of the night. They’re in their
van knocked out, so is Hideki in his; everyone is still sleeping. Surfers make
their way out to the lineup at Old Mans. I don’t want to go back to sleep
though. There’s just something about this place. I can’t take my eyes off the
ocean.
#
At around seven, some of the guys start
stumbling up and out of bed. First it’s Khang and Dais, and then Hideki. Those
guys in the trailer, they’re sleeping too comfortable to come out. I make the
suggestion to paddle out after high tide, to catch it when it starts to go
down. I go in the trailer and let J and Al know. At 0800 we’re off.
On the way to Middles, our friend Orlando,
who surfs our local spot back home, shows up in his van with his friend Don. I
point him to the campsite. He says they’re going to surf Old Mans.
Hideki surfs Old Mans because he’s gonna
teach one of his buddies how to surf over there. When we get to Mons Pubis, Al
has to head over to Uppers to meet with a friend.
The surf . . . well, it’s not clean and
pristine. There is size, but it’s definitely on the walled side. Churches and
Lowers looks crowded, and we dare not venture into Uppers because, well, we
haven’t surfed that spot in a long time, plus we scored it so good at this spot
the last time we were here. We’re gambling that the conditions will change.
#
It’s tough out here. I don’t know what’s
off, whether it be the tide, the swell direction, or maybe it’s just too big,
but South Middles is not holding shape right now. It’s on the walled side. Some
of the sections hold though, long enough to get a turn if you’re lucky. In the
mix, there are some give-and-take corners, but for the most part we are fooling
ourselves. We had such high expectations for this swell. It’s not that the
swell isn’t working, it just isn’t working “here,” as opposed to every other
spot that is overcrowded.
Well, we stick to our guns though, and hope
for the best. I can’t really speak for the rest of the boys. I watch them, and
I hope that they get lucky enough to find a gem in the mix; I want them to have
a good time. However, I have another story to tell this morning. Expecting the high
tide, I asked Rick if I could borrow his Zamora Fish again, and in these
conditions . . . this board is just magic.
I’m able to get into the waves so early,
and the volume of the board allows me to milk the sections, allowing more time
to sneak in a couple turns before the waves close out. My rides go all the way
to shore. I damn near surf myself out from paddling back and forth so much. On
this one right, I’m able to get two, solid top turns. On the lefts I’m mostly
trimming for distance. We surf for about two-and-a-half hours. A lot of the
rides weren’t down the line with handfuls of turns, but I feel I had the right
equipment and did the best I could’ve possibly done.
#
Back at the campsite, Seba’s set up his
table overlooking the ocean, doing his homework. “How was surfing, guy?” he
asks as I climb the stairs.
“It was good. How’s the homework.”
“I can’t concentrate out here.” We look out
at the ocean. I know what he means.
Khang, Dais, J, and I grab beers and take
them to the shower, staying loyal to our Fransaucian ritual. Al returns much
later, with a smirk on his face. “Dude,” he says, “it was so good over there.
It was breaking like Lowers.”
Fuck, I don’t want to believe him. I’m a
hater right now. He says that the peaks were swinging wide, and he was able to
get a lot of waves to himself.
“I didn’t join you guys because I was
having so much fun over there,” he says.
Then Rick comes back. He shows us pics of
them killing it at the O-side beach breaks. “Barrels,” they say. Fuckin’ A.
“We gotta go back to Uppers,” says Al, “for
the evening session.
Orlando and Don return. They said they got
so many waves. Within minutes, they start drinking.
I spend the rest of the morning cooking
breakfast. I make sure Seba eats good. I have to. He’s taking care of us with
his trailer. And even though we’re cramped for space, gawd damn, I have all my
friends here. I’m proud at this sight. I’m a lucky man.
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