ONE YEAR ANNIVERSARY STAYCATION (Part I / Double), MON24JUN2013

IT'S FUCKING FLAT!

Loc: San Onofre

Conditions: 1-2 FT+, south wind, inconsistent.

     Before I had left to Java, I asked Bri what she wanted to do for our anniversary. Initially, she had said that she wanted a candlelight dinner on the beach. Shortly after this request, she said, “Actually, as long as we surf, that’s fine.”

     So . . . here we are, exactly one year later from when I had first taken her camping, heading to the same surf spot—San Onofre. Surfline called today’s surf to be one-to-two feet—shitty. The news forecast predicted a chance of morning drizzle for Monday. Driving on the 405 South in the carpool lane, with my car packed with camping supplies, the windshield wipers do their magic against the rain. I had expected this, but . . . a small part of me had hoped that there might be a fluke in the forecast: good weather, good surf.

     Exiting Basilone Road, Bri and I turn our heads to the right, and the surf at Middles is Tiny. A few black suits sit at Lowers. Even in these conditions, it’s somewhat working.

     We do a light recon at Old Man’s first, walking from the north end all the way to the nuclear titties. Small. . . Surfers are out here, all longboarders. Today is the day that I’ll put my Lost board to the test, seeing how it handles tiny surf. But looking out at the mooshy, two-foot peaks, I feel ill equipped.

     We move our recon to Middles, and it’s worse. So with this overcast morning, these are the options: small or smaller. We take a chance at the office, and they are nice enough to let us check in early. May I begin by endorsing the Coleman Instant Tent? This tent . . . such a quick setup. For how many times I’ve used it, this damn thing has paid for itself.

     Bri and I take action and start staking the tent down, but we become frustrated by the hard ground. Unfortunately, tent camping can be stressful when the ground is too solid for your tent stakes. We spend a half hour repositioning the tent, bending the stakes after trying to force-pound them in with stones. Our campsite neighbor walks up and offers us his hammer, but now we are only bending our stakes with precision. We conclude by accepting that our tent will only be half staked.

Old Mans:

     There are no expectations today, but it’s our anniversary, and all we want to do is get wet.

     We paddle out at the most consistent peak just north of the titties. Since the surf is small on this Monday morning, it’s not that crowded. The tide is getting higher, and there is only a small crowd here. However, there are lots of people parked, watching and waiting. Despite the June gloom and cool temp, the abundance of cars in the lot is evidence of summer.

     We sit wide, hoping to catch a stray left, but we need the tide to drop a little more before anything breaks wide. I hate crowds, and competing with longboarders is hard enough on a shortboard, but we have no choice but to battle it out with the main pack.

     Longboards . . . they work, they really do. Even though the waves are small, guys are milking the tiny waves. I’m able to catch waves, but I have to strain to get distance, I’m talking crouching down with my hips low, front foot all the way on the nose. My Lost board is working, but it is not ideal in these conditions. I turn to Briana and say, “I really need a fish in my quiver.”

     The sun burns off the overcast and shines through, which has an adverse effect on the crowd situation. Now all the people who are parked on the sand and watching begin to suit up and make their way to the lineup.

     Sitting at the crowded peak, a set rolls in and scrambles the crowd. I get my wave of the morning, paddling into a wave that’s already broken. The white wash breaks slowly, giving me enough time to pop up while still slinging into the face of the wave. I get two pumps, doing a baby floater to clear a section, and I finish the ride with an accentuated tail whip. It’s a slow maneuver but punctual, and too easy to pull off in this small surf.

Break:

     Bri and I remain in our wetsuits and only peel them down to our waists, as we sit on our camping chairs, munching on bananas. You see, we have plans for an early dinner at ZENKO SUSHI! Oh my goodness . . . all you can eat sushi. I haven’t had it in over a MONTH! Sushi . . . it tastes even better when you’re surfed out and starving.

     After rehydrating and some small snacks, we paddle back out.

Building an appetite:

     We surf at the northernmost peak, just short of the campsite. The surf here is even smaller than the morning, but we force it. “Yellow tail!” I yell out at Bri.

     She paddles into a wave and yells back, “Salmon!”

     One-to-two foot waves, no plus sign at the end this time. These waves are consistent, rapid fire rides. As I stated earlier: no expectations, no disappointment. I’ve never surfed waves this small and worn myself out this much. Motivated by sushi, we surf our brains out.

     Bri gets a lot of waves, even more than I. We ride to the inside until the waves diminish in shallow water. The wind dies, the sun is out, but the surf is small. It’s a pure sushi surf session.

     After an hour, I lose my enthusiasm. I’m surfing for the sake of purposely exhausting myself. I want to be STARVING when I walk through Zenko’s front door.

The Payoff:

     Showered and changed into dry clothes, we pull out of our campsite. The sun is shining brightly, reflecting its blinding brilliance over the ocean. Driving at a lethargic ten miles per hour, we drive out of San Onofre. It’s warm, and I’m so relaxed. Reggae music plays on the stereo. My shades save me from the sun’s rays. The universe, the energy, the atmosphere—everything is spectacular. I’m absorbing the moment, satisfied with both surf sessions, I’m so happy that—

     “Babe!” says Bri.

     “What?” I look forward. There’s a car heading straight for me. “Oh shit!” I swerve into the right lane. “Sorry,” I say. “I thought I was in Java.”

     “They drive in the left lane over there?”

     “Yes,” I say. “Don’t let me do that again.”

Expert Eater:

     Buff Korean guy is working the counter. It’s 1800, perfect timing. We have well over three hours to eat, and we won’t need that much time. I start off with an order of four muscles, and then it’s salmon, yellow tail, unagi, tuna, scallops, salmon skin, albacore, salmon roe, and, and, and, EVERYTHING!

     In two hours time we’ve out eaten other diners. Looking at the tables across from us, I scoff at those who only eat the rolls. They don’t know what they’re missing. As my friend Totem Pole Tim would say, “The rolls . . . that’s how they get you; that’s how you get full.” Not me, not us. I’m a self-trained professional, and Bri is my padawan learner. Only the good stuff: sushi, hand rolls, one lobster roll at the very end, and then a miso soup for the cherry on top.

     By 2000, we’re so tired sitting at the table that we can barely keep our eyes open. Sushi is a success!

Fire:

     I’m also pretty damn good at starting a fire. It’s one of the marks of a true man: being able to start a campfire. So many people don’t know how to do it, stacking logs without a plan and lighting a piece of paper improperly placed under an inadequate bundle.

     Our neighbors offer us lighter fluid, but I decline. Once the starter material is in place, I have Bri do the honors in lighting them.

     Reese’s Peanut Buttercup S’mores is the final mission of the night. After two of those bad boys, we’re officially D-U-N, dun. I fade out, catching myself droop my head.

     “Awww, baby,” says Bri. “Come on. You’re done. It’s bed time.”

     I look at my watch. “It’s only ten o’clock.

Night Night:

     Wenzel Inflatable Bed is the way to go. It’s queen sized and superb for camping. After brushing our teeth with Army quickness, we zip up the front flap and lie down. Absorbed in the mattress, we curl into our sleeping bags after a full day’s activities: surfed out, sushied out, and S’mored out. No sex tonight. We’re tired, dead tired, the indication that today was a good day, a good anniversary.