OFF THE CLOCK (double), MON08JULY2013

Loc: North Churches / South Middles

Crew: Bri

Conditions: 3-4 FT, consistent, clean, glassy, peaky.

     I had just recently written about those who hate themselves because they wake up late for the good window of surf. Well, today that’s what happens to Briana and I. Blame it on the consistency that I’ve been surfing or the late night humping, but it’s just too easy to justify when you’re tired. Bri has the day off, and the plan is to go to San Onofre. With the whole day to ourselves, we decide not to rush.

#

     0545 . . . snooze. 0600 . . . snooze. 0630 . . . snooze. 0700 . . . “Hunnie, we need to get up. . .”

     I’m off. We’re off. Usually, loading up the wagon is like clockwork, but I’m still groggy while pulling our gear out of the garage. I slam the hatch and pull out of my apartment parking lot. “Hun,” says Bri. I look outside and see that I forgot to close the garage door.

     It’s about 0730 when we’re on the road. Not too late for a local session, but we’re heading all the way to San Onofre, North Pendleton, so we’re behind schedule. Usually I’m a stress machine in these situations, beating myself up over missing the good tide, light wind, and empty crowd. However, this morning calls for a change. Since I’ve been home, I’ve been sticking to the clock, waking up at about 0530 no matter what, even if I only had four hours of sleep. I gotta take a break from the clock, even more so since Bri has the day off. Sometimes the tide and the wind don’t follow the forecast predictions; sometimes things fall into place naturally, and good surf awaits no matter what time you get up.

     For the first time in about a week, the sun’s already been out since dawn, but once we hit San Clemente, a thick marine layer makes everything gray. I question the decision to drive this far south.

     Exiting Basilone Road, the quick flow of traffic makes it hard for me to see Lowers. “Middles has a couple of waves,” says Bri. “I just saw a set come through.”

     We check Old Mans first, but the crowd is so thick there that we don’t even wait for a set. We both know that North Churches and Middles are our best bets to beat the crowd.

     Upon parking at Churches, we see that the incoming tide hasn’t swamped out the surf yet. Even though the sky is gray, and there’s a little onshore wind, the surface conditions are still clean. Clean peaks are rolling in at about three-to-four feet. Longboarders are scattered across the break like waterbugs over a still lake. Too crowded here. It’s hard to catch Churches without the crowd; it’s like Lowers with longboarders when it’s good.

     In the distance, we can already see that North Churches (AKA Mons Pubis) has waves, and . . . there is nobody there. . .

Mons:

     Klaude had named this spot on an epic afternoon session one day. Since I’ve been home from vacation, I’ve only surfed this place small, and that includes all of Trestles and San Onofre. But today, despite our late wake up, it’s good. Thank the surf gods and the universe that’s aligned me and Bri’s path to stand amongst the shore on this very day. No one else likes to sit at Mons. Everyone wants the main peaks at Churches. Better for us. More waves for us.

     We paddle out at mid tide, and it’s going higher. Little two footers are breaking towards the inside. I get impatient to get out to the lineup, so I turn and go on a little one, barely getting any distance. When I turn around to head back out, the first set approaches. I’m out of position for it, but it’s the best I’ve seen this place in a while.

     A four-foot A-frame breaks right in front of me. I duckdive it. Out the back, a sectiony line comes in, giving a short right that breaks into the left. When I duckdive it, the wave’s power pushes me back a little. Ahhhh yes . . . this swell is a good one.

     Other surfers at Churches look our way. I fear that we’ll sell the spot, but it’s not ours to sell in the first place. All we can do is milk it before others creep up on the empty udders.

     It’s been so long since I’ve caught a good, Churches’ wave; it’s borderline Middles Trestles too. Lefts, I love lefts. A left rolls through, and there’s no one to my left or my right. I welcome the overcast because it makes the texture on the water invisible. The gray over the ocean mirrors the gray up above, so the water is as smooth as polished marble when I paddle into it.

     Me and my magic board, we do it together. I feel the drop as I slide down, and the perfect, Trestles’ wave stands up, giving me a shouldery face to work with. How else can I describe a Trestles’ wave? It’s soft and somewhat mooshy; this is true. It doesn’t stand up like a beach break wave that will throw out and go hollow. Instead, Trestles’ waves have that in-between slope, where it’s not too mooshy and it’s not too vertical. To sum it up, it’s a perfect, rippable wave. It gives enough speed for momentum on the turns while not morphing into a critical lip launcher. It’s deceivingly easy and allows surfers to paddle in a little late. With the cobblestones assisting the shape, the waves line up into long rides to the rocks. Now back to the left. . .

     I pump, knowing and feeling that my speed is good. With an unbesmirched face before me, I bottom turn, and climb the face. Shifting my weight on the tail while turning my upper torso and looking behind me, my momentum keeps my feet stuck to the board as I draw a tight, front-side carve. I pump and hit the end section for a final turn before the ride ends. Paddling back, it feels good that we’ve arrived in time to catch the tail end of this window.

     I imagine that it must have been good here the whole morning, from first light on through. If it’s this rippable at mid tide, perhaps Bri and I did miss a better window this morning, but we have to accept this current window right now, and we do it gladly.

     Bri’s a little apprehensive about some of the waves, and I can’t blame her. We’ve been surfing small Manhattan Beach as of late, so she’s passing up some of the four footers, or she’s shoulder hunting too hard. “Just go for the peak,” I say. “Go late. You can get away with it here.” After that, she just lets loose. Bri . . . she’s good for her stage of surfing. Her pop up has improved a lot, and she gets down the line consistently now.

     On the set waves, she pops up on the peak, stands, draws good lines, and takes them all the way in. The only problem is that this is becoming too easy for her now; longboarding is getting a little boring for her. I encourage her to mix it up a little. Crouch more on the drop in, extend coming out of the bottom turn, and crouch again to drop into the wave. “Play with your line,” I say. And then again, I had quit longboarding before I even learned to turn on one.

     Other guys see us catching waves, so three guys paddle to our spot, but Bri and I, we’re like dogs in our backyard; we don’t like intruders. I sit on the left and bri sits more north where the right is. The both of us seal off both peaks, catching waves, not leaving much for those who sit between us. I know this sounds greedy, but we didn’t plan on shutting down Mons Pubis like this. Plus this is crowded Cali surf. Do you think those guys sitting at the top of Churches, Old Mans, and Lowers give a shit about sharing? After all, Bri and I chose the spot that’s less consistent where no one else wanted to be in the first place.

     Since I’ve bought this board, I’ve tested it in a lot of different conditions. It works in hollow waves, tiny surf, mooshy surf, and rippable Trestles. I never thought I’d be able to turn this thing going right on my backhand, but I get a clean, glassy right and just throw a bucket out the back onto Bri’s face. Ahhhh, this board! I have a true all around board right now. I don’t even know if I’ll go back to riding my Tokoro thrusters or my Channel Islands’ Motorboat Too. I guess when you have one board that does it all, ya know, it’s just hard to ride anything else. Now I know how my buddy Rick had felt about his yellow Zamora Fish, the one that got stolen at my last group, camping trip. I love my board.

     We surf from 0900 to a little after 1100. Even though we haven’t pulled a marathon session, we’re tired. We’ve had so much surf to ourselves that our paddling arms are done. The cereal we ate for breakfast has been long burned off. My stomach is empty, and my mouth is parched. We need water and calories.

     By the time we get out, the consistency has died off. The swell’s not big enough for the tide, but with the sun’s late arrival, the ocean looks so inviting that people are still paddling out.

     After changing, we head to La Tiendita for our ritualistic machaca plates. It’s still the best deal in town for only $5.75.

#

     Back at San Onofre, we find the best parking spot available, which is underneath a tree in front of Churches. In my shaded wagon, I set up my laptop in the backseat and put on Game of Thrones season one. I got Bri into the show, and I’m trying to get her all caught up to season three. In doing this, we’ve started another ritual with this backseat theater deal. My seats recline far enough to give ample room, while my laptop rests on the center console, powered by my 110V plug in.

     With the ocean roaring in front of us, this is a nice luxury for the beach.

#

     The whole time we’re watching my laptop, I’m keeping an eye on the surf. The wind has picked up, but the peaks are still coming in. It’s 1400. We paddle back out at 1630.

Round Two:

     The wind is howling, the strongest that it’s been the whole day. It might die closer to sunset, but we can’t wait; I know I can’t. Paddle out now we must because the tide has just bottomed out at a high, three feet. Now’s the time. It will be swamped later, good wind or not. 

     We begin at Churches. Bri samples Rick’s Zippy, and she doesn’t do so bad paddling through the lineup on it. When the waves come, she can’t get into them. She’s a little too far back on it, and Zippy’s nose is a little too high.

     The wind is so bad that it’s ruining the peaks. The crowd’s the emptiest it’s been all day, and I can see why. The north wind knocks the waves down fast, but I’m still able to get good position to paddle into them. Even though other surfers flock to where I’m catching the waves at, the shape offers no turns. The waves are racy, running away too fast to get a top turn.

     We go back in so Bri can swap out the Zippy for the NSP. “I think I’ll stay on this board a little bit longer,” she says. 

     Mons Pubis . . . gawd, it worked so well this morning. There are waves. The swell is building; the size is there, but the shape is just blown to shit. Almost everything is a closeout. Goosebumps form over my arms, which are exposed from my rashguard. I’m surviving in boardshorts. The water temp’s fine, but the wind is just too much. It’s roaring in my face and ears like I’m surfing on the LAX runway. It’s fucking horrible. We’re skunked for the evening session.

Rituals:

     Strange cravings on this Monday evening after surfing. “Burgers,” I say. “I want a big, greasy burger.” Islands’ burgers comes to mind. I love Islands. Well, at least at this moment I do. There aren’t any good burgers in Java, and right now, I want a teri burger with teri sauce with a slice of pineapple on top of it. It sounds so good, but I really need to budget. The trip to Java had cost me my anus. “What are you in the mood for?” I ask Bri.

     “Soup sounds good. Something about a hot bowl of soup that makes me happy.” She smiles. Soup Plantation it is.

     All you can eat is a must for a surfer, especially after a solid day of surf. So we didn’t score in the evening. Who cares? The morning session made the whole day, and we paddled around enough. 

      My only complaint about Soup Plantation is that they don’t serve any meat, and the meat in the chicken noodle soup doesn’t count. At least Sizzler has some kind of meat, but . . . Soup Plantation is still good. Yes, Bri is right. After a surf with the cold wind in your eye, some Yankee Clam Chowder sure hits the spot, and some tortilla chicken soup. Mmmmmmmmmmm. Fuck yeah.

     To top it off, I kill two bowls of chocolate lava cake with vanilla swirl on top of them, and you know I put peanuts on top too. 

     I paid eleven bucks walking in here, but in my stomach I’ve eaten thirty-three dollars worth of food. I even took a shit halfway through dinner to make more room. Now that’s how a professional manhandles all you can eat!

#

     I should be tired, but I’m not, thanks to Bri’s Starbuck’s gift card. Listening to some Mitch Hedberg on Pandora, I chuckle while listening at his “Smokey the Frog” joke, while Bri nods off into sleep. It’s 2130, and the surf strap smacks against the car window as I accelerate on the 5 North. This is what SoCal summers are supposed to be like.