SECOND DRC CAMP TRIP (part two), FRI22MAR2013 NOON

Loc: Old Mans

Crew: Al, Gary C, Rick A

Conditions: 2-4 FT, sunny, semi crowded, consistent.

     So we’re at our campsite, right, and the surf is going off at Old Mans right in front of us. Even after splitting firewood and setting up camp, even after acknowledging how friggin’ hungry we are, we cannot take our eyes off of the surf. From our spot up on the bluffs, we have an overhead vantage point of the surf. With the low tide, the lefts are breaking wide north, almost in front of the first couple campsites. “We’re going.” I don’t know who said it, but it doesn’t matter because we’re all thinking it.

    Wheat Thins, bananas, beer, and water, this is our lunch.

#

      

     The atmosphere has changed to resemble a warm, summer day. Gary is the first one out. He paddles more towards the top of the wave. Al and I try to sit wide north to pick off the lefts. Al’s sitting much deeper than I am. He paddles for waves, getting down the line. Rick is coming down the hill. I see him once he reaches the sand.

     For the life of me, I can’t find the right spot to sit in. My waves are closeouts. Even though it’s Old Mans, the swell is building, and duckdiving is a lot of work. I paddle towards Gary who’s sitting with the crowd. When I get there, he catches a wave and doesn’t come back. I gamble, sitting at the top. It’s harder here, competing with the longboarders.

#

     Let me make a long story short. Old Mans, this spot, where I usually score with Bri, I’m having some bad luck. Most of my rides are short. Either I take off too deep and can’t make the sections, or I fail to set myself up for good turns. I paddle too far south to the peaks that are breaking right. I catch a long ride, but my turns lack accent, flat.

     I venture back north where everyone else is sitting. “Yeah,” says Gary, “I paddled over there where you were at, but it wasn’t that good. We’ve been getting some good ones over here.”

     We’ve been out for an hour and a half, but I am D-U-N, done. My arms start cramping on the paddle and the duckdives. That damn paper that I wrote, the lack of sleep over the past five days, yeah . . . it’s caught up to me and reclaimed my surfer soul, laughing in my face, saying: “Oh, don’t think I forgot. Those two-hour nights of sleep? Yes, we’re here. Pay up!!!”

     I’m usually a warrior, or I try to be. You’ll rarely see me leave the surf first, but I must. I head back up to the site, grab a beer, and hit the showers.

     At the campsite, I find my friend Dan there. He’s reading a book, waiting. I had called him earlier, letting him know we’re camping. He served with me and Al in Iraq. He also served with Rick and I in the scouts back in the day. I tell him that Rick and Al are still out there. Just then as I look out, I see Rick on a long left in front of the campsites. He’s on the inside, gouging out the last section with a frontside carve. There’s still bump on the surface when the wave closes out. He does a chop hop, boosts in the air, but doesn’t stick the landing. I laugh. Rick, he’s such a kid at heart.