Loc: Lowers
Time:
1700-dark
Conditions:
3-4 FT, sunny, onshore, crowded
The
Decision:
With Bri still out of town, the thought of
a staycation makes sense. There’s a south swell coming in, peaking on Saturday,
and since I get out of class early, why not just drive straight to Trestles?
It’s in the morning when I wake up and load
up my car that I say to myself, “Do I really want to go?” A day trip is one
thing, but I had only begun camping in my car when I was going through some
turmoil in my life. But now that I’m beyond content, I almost back out of this
trip. Here, in my little studio apartment, I can just come back home from
school, make me a sandwich, force myself to read (most likely not), have a
beer, and then whip out the PS3.
But it’s the only time that Bri will be on
vacay for a while, so I have to take advantage of this. Better to do a
staycation now than have to feel guilty for not bringing her along later. . .
The
Journey:
Even while driving out of campus, I could
easily hit the 405 North onramp, but I go south instead. I had realized a
couple of things this morning when I was inconveniently too far from home. One,
I forgot my changing mat. That thing is important. I helps me keep the sand off
of my feet thus out of my car, but I’ll make do. Two, motherfucker, I only
brought one fucking wetsuit. Do you know what that means? I’ll have to pull
that wet motherfucker on in the morning. I’ll be paralyzed by the cold neoprene
in the crisp, morning air.
I make the left turn onto the military camp
grounds. The tide is high, and Old Mans only has a few takers. I ease off the
accelerator and crawl through the rows of campsites. There’s that San Onofre /
Trestles smell that I love so much: Kelp, firewood, and cobblestones. Then
other things come to mind. Just being here and seeing the fire rings between
the tall, bordering hedges of trees reminds of all the good times I’ve had
here. Francis, Khang and Dais always sleeping in Khang’s van, Klaude showing up
late in his Prius after work, Cheryl with lame-looking boonie hats, Al, J, Seba
with his lifesaving trailer. We used to camp here so often, but this summer
went by too fast. I miss those days and miss my friends.
The
Mission:
By 1630 I start prepping my gear for
tactical insertion into Lowers. Yup, that’s right. Not Churches, not
Middles—Lowers. I’m gonna pull one of my old stunts, showing up around sun down
and actually scoring some Lowers’ waves as people start to return home.
Churches only has six people on it. The
tide’s a little high, but it is breaking. There are some inside, three footers
that look all right, but I push on. I have a good feeling about this.
#
Now I’m in the Lowers’ lineup. I’m too
early. It’s too crowded. Some people are still paddling out. Middles is dead
empty. I thought I saw a couple of walls on the way over here. I count twenty
heads, which isn’t much for Lowers, but it’s enough to be annoying. Everyone
sits in a clump at the main take-off spot. I sit south, just to the side, and
hope some sets will swing wide. Some do, but guys take off way deep and still
make the sections. All around me, all I hear are waves being torn to shreds.
The sun’s still got a little ways to travel before making its exit. I tell
myself to be patient and that people will leave, but it’s been a while since I
wished for the sun to hurry and bury itself beneath the horizon.
Quads:
The sun’s down, and there are still over a
dozen people here. I struggle not to mumble my thoughts as I paddle around, but
I can’t help but say, “I fucking hate this place.” I’ve sat here for over an
hour and only have a couple, lower-than-mediocre waves to claim. There was a
right that walled up and closed out. There was a left, a legit Lowers’ left
that some fucking guy snaked me on. And then there was the potential bomb of
the day. Man, a right finally swung wide, and I took off deep and late. I
forgot how forgiving the waves are here. The wave was about five-feet high. As
I bottom turned, I wove around a woman who was in my line. My board felt fast.
Some guys were paddling over the shoulder. One hooted out loud. I climbed the
face and set up my top turn, but my board was going so fast that it didn’t
follow the torque of my body for my snap, so my foot slipped off. I resurfaced,
watching the rest of the wave peel all the way to the middle of Middles from
behind.
#
It’s getting dark. The lights are already
on at the nuclear titties, and the orange on the horizon has turned into a
fading peach. Darker blue encroaches on the remaining light, slowly changing to
purple. There are six of us here, and six is not a crowd for Lowers.
I sit in position for the lefts, and every
time I get one, I start out fast, flying down the line, but . . . my turns. . .
The quads felt good at DMJ last weekend, but every time I try to accentuate the
pivot for my frontside snap, my board does not follow my body. I keep on losing
the board. I switch to holding back a little on the carves, not putting too
much ass into them.
It gets so dark that the shape of the wave
becomes a guessing game. There are only three of us now. I had intended on being
the last one here, but that’s not gonna happen.
Grub:
I don’t think I’d be able to live in San
Clemente because the food here sucks. I’m sorry, but it just does. Especially
when compared to the South Bay, but every time I pull an overnight staycation, it’s
always an adventure to try something new. I go to a Chinese restaurant (I’m
leaving out the name so as not to bash the business). Dayum. I don’t want to be
mean here. The lady was nice and so was her daughter, but it’s the typical, non
authentic Asian food that you’d expect in a non Asian community. However, she
loaded up my plate. The portions were at least decent, and even though the
quality wasn’t that great at least they don’t “skimp.”
Night
Night:
And then there’s the loneliness. I used to
come down here with Fransauce a lot. One time we crashed Rick’s campsite and
both slept in our vehicles. We used to have a beer in the shower together. And
then there’s Bri. She would be down to sleep in the wagon, no complaints.
I look out on this Thursday night. There’s
only one other truck parked in front of the surf. The moon light glistens over
the ocean, making the waves shimmer and sparkle. I can tell that the surf is
good right now. Small, right handers peel, unchallenged, into the now-exposed
cobble stones. I pull out my camera and take a pic, but the moon is just one
sparkle, and the ocean a dim smudge of whitewash. It just can’t capture what
the naked eye can. I take another look at the ocean before turning in and give
another thought to my friends. I guess you would just have to be here to really
“see” this place right now.
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