Loc: Middles
Crew:
Khang, J, Dais, Hideki, Al, and Klaude
Conditions:
4 FT+, glassy, high-mid tide,
consistent, crowded.
It’s the final morning before we have to
check out. Rick and his crew head back out to O-side. I’m left awake again,
waiting for everyone else to get up. Cheryl, Orlando, Tim, and Don start to
head out to Old Mans. The remainder, except Seba and Boris, head out towards
Middles. The new guy to our addition today is Klaude, who was fortunate enough
to find to spare time to make it down.
We pass Churches and keep going. Mons Pubis
isn’t really working. The tide is still high, and Middles is kind of working,
despite that it’s a little on the walled side. However, it is better here than
it was yesterday morning. Some longboarders are getting decent rides, but it’s
still breaking mostly in one area.
We paddle out and sit wide, a little south,
kind of by our old spot, Battle Position, which is a formation of stones
resembling a machine gun nest. So this is where the story really begins.
Blame it on me being surfed out or my shit
judgment, but I struggle to find good positioning for almost the whole session.
I get so tired that I sit towards the inside. Hideki snaps photos from the
shore, being very selfless instead of opting to surf; he chooses his other
hobby.
I catch a wave on my knees because I can’t
stand up fast enough. It was a good one too. On the inside, I get some fun
little three footers, good for at least one turn, but nothing like . . . everyone
else. Man, they are killing it. They all get good rides, all of them. I can’t
really write much else because from my perspective, I only saw so much of them.
As far as the master perspective over myself, I struggled.
#
Back at the campsite, everyone returns at
about the same time. Orlando, Rick and his boys, everyone. As I make my way out
of the showers, Orlando says, “Matthew, they took my board.”
“What?”
“They took my favorite board. It was under
my van. They took it. It’s gone.”
Fuck. I can’t believe my ears. “No way,” I
say. I’m thinking that it has to be around here somewhere. I walk around the
site and tell everyone else. Then . . . Rick’s missing a fucking board too.
Then so are Hideki and Fisher. Rick, that Zamora Fish and his brand new board
that he just got about three weeks ago during my last camping trip, they are
all gone. Five toal.
Fuck, it killed the trip. Up until that
moment we were jacking each other off, saying how much fun we all had, and now
. . . stolen fuckin’ boards. We’ve never had a problem camping out here; we’ve
always left our stuff out, expecting respect in the surfer’s code. No surfer
would want his board stolen like this. Rick calls the police, and a report is
taken. Fuck, such a bum mood. I’m upset. I mean, this happened when I was hosting
the site, this was my event, an event where my friends got their boards stolen.
And poor Orlando, his first time here, to have his board stolen. What a shitty
impression. I’m so sorry for all of my friends.
Seba has to leave. Everyone else stays to
wait for the filing process to at least be done. We leave on a bad note, but we
try to salvage what stoke we can.
We find ourselves at Sonic’s, eating an
overdue lunch. Sitting at the round table with Tim, Khang, Dais, Klaude, Al,
Cheryl, J, and Hideki, they are still happy and smiling, joking around, not
letting today’s thievery get to them. I dig deep and smile with them.
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