FIRST CAMP TRIP 2014 DAY 2, SAT 18JAN2014

Loc: Churches

Crew: Bri

Time: 1330-1615

Conditions: 1-3 FT, sunny, offshore, glassy, low tide, empty.

     We wake up to a glorious morning. It’s the only way I can describe it: waking up with the surf right in front of you, the sound of the waves, the cool ocean air, and the sun illuminating the sky while it’s still making its way over the San Onofre cliffs.

     We had originally planned to surf at first light, but I woke up early to take a piss and was taken aback by the utter silence. On the way to the porta potty, I took a look at the ocean, and it was flat as a fucking lake.

     So we take our time getting up. I boil some water, get some coffee going, and set up some chairs under a tree, watching the high-tide moosh.

     There are only a small handful of surfers out. The top of the wave at Churches has an occasional peak, and there are already ten guys huddled close together, like a rugby match on surfboards.

     Not worth it. That’s the only thing that comes to mind. I had sent out the DRC signal last night, invited Rick and his crew, even my best friend and his wife. Out of everyone I contacted, only Klaude and Christina said they’d be able to go. I couldn’t do so without giving the warning: FLAT.

     But I have so much to read to get ahead of my last semester of school that I whip out a book and chill out in the shade. Bri does too. Of course, she has to take my fucking favorite chair, the one that reclines and has a built in footrest. I’d like to push her off that thing and take it for myself. Why do I have to be stuck with the piece of shit lawn chair? Why? Because I’m a boyfriend.

CHAIR THIEF

     Thank goodness my expectations for surf were low before even driving out here, and I actually enjoy myself just reading on the sand. With the lack of surf, the beach is EMPTY. We don’t even have any neighbors camping next to us. Churches and Trestles are only this desolate when there aren’t any waves. It looks like a Tuesday instead of a Saturday.

A rare set

     By 1330, we paddle out. We have to. Instead of a double sesh, we wait for the tide to drop out, hopefully making the waves stand up more, and hopefully the new swell starts to show early . . . but it doesn’t.

     We surf Churches first. It’s a hair bigger than yesterday bug god damned inconsistent still. On the Becker I get a two-turn right. Not vicious snaps on this big thing but legit enough to be impressed in turning a board so big.

     We paddle all the way to north Churches, pretty much having the surf to ourselves. It’s that fuck-around surf: small, playful, and just happy to go down the line a little and trim.

     We get out of the water earlier than yesterday because we don’t feel like cooking in the dark. We also skip the showers, and we’re only beginning to smell a little bit like ass.

     Tortillas, eggs, sausage, green onions, and a red bell pepper. Bri mixes all these ingredients into what her dad calls a Hobo’s Breakfast. And fuckin’ A, it’s delicious.