ONE YEAR ANNIVERSARY STAYCATION (Part III), WED26JUN2013 MOR

Loc: Old Mans and North Churches

Conditions: 1-3 FT, onshore, inconsistent.

     With the extreme low tide, we’ve taken the opportunity to break down the campsite so we can take off right after we surf. Peaks are rolling in through Old Mans, not big but much better than yesterday. We initially make the call to go back to Mons Pubis, but the lefts in front of the campsite look so fun. “Let’s just surf here,” I say. Our neighbor is packing up to, moving to another site down the beach. We give him our firewood.

     Sitting in the lineup, the crowd thickens. It had looked good when we were watching it from the campsite, but now it’s slowed down.

     Sets do come, and everyone scrambles. There’s more size today, but the big ones are closed out. On the waves with shape, longboarders have first dibs.

     An old guy paddles past me and asks, “You having fun?”

     “Yeah. It’s all right,” I say.

     He paddles a couple strokes past me. “You want to rent a longboard?”

     “Um . . . no. I’m good.”

     He smiles and paddles away. Bri smirks at me. “You want to go to Mons Pubis?” she says.

     I’m still wondering if that old guy was being facetious or not. Yeah, I’m obviously on the wrong equipment. If I only had a fish in my quiver. “No, I’m fine here,” I say. Bri and I go back and forth before she admits that she wants to surf Mons instead.

Mons:

     The waves are breaking just as shitty as they were yesterday evening. Churches is crowded, and everyone is just . . . waiting. The top of the wave is working, but it’s the most crowded, and the rides aren’t long; it isn’t breaking like classic Churches. I sit in gloom and doom.

     Bri frowns, looks over at me and says, “I’m sorry I made you come over here.”

     “Nah, it’s all right.” I stare out into the flat horizon. “I was curious to see what this place was doing. You didn’t know.”

     A set approaches. Same thing as Old Mans: the big ones have no shape.

     Fight . . . fight the negative energy, fight the demons, fight how my brain is wired to blame Bri for suggesting that we surf Mons Pubis. I admit that I’m an asshole, and I’m trying so hard to rewire my brain to accept these situations and move past them. I inhale imagining a beam of light entering the top of my head. I exhale, imagining my breath coming out in a puff of gold dust. Let go of my asshole tendencies, rewire, evolve.

     Sitting in the lineup is making me upset. I know the surf is bad. I catch a small wave in on my belly. Bri is on the inside, but I point to the outside, motioning for her to catch a couple more waves.

Grub:

     “We’re getting really good at this,” says Bri. She’s right. Camping, man . . . we’re fucking experts. My wagon is fully packed, and only the breakfast material is laid out on the picnic table. We have turkey kielbasa, eggs, some leftovers from last night, and two flour tortillas. We eat . . . EVERYTHING. Our front, the surf at Old Mans has gotten much better. We missed it, but that’s okay.

     We stop at a coffee shop on base before hitting the road. With a hot coffee in my hand, we drive on the 5 North. Bri is knocked out, which is fine because she works this evening.

     Being home and doing a camp trip like this is a unique experience. I appreciate it even more now after being in Java. Even though the surf was small, we still had fun, and the surf wasn’t the primary reason for coming out here. Surfing, writing, and relationships, those are the things most important to me right now.

     Bri’s head tilts on the seat against the headrest as I enter the carpool lane. Sipping my coffee and listening to the Justice station on Pandora, I merge onto the 405 North. Traffic is smooth, the sky is clear, and the sun shines all the way until I reach the 105 East, all the way back to El Segundo.