Loc:
Churches to Lowers
Crew: Bri
Time:
0730-1000
Conditions:
3-4 FT, sunny, slightly onshore, cold, crowded, mid-to-high tide.
Good luck on dawn patrolling. Last night my
back started cramping up, like one wrong move and I’d pinch a nerve. It’s been
fucking cold at night into the forties, so Bri and I slept in the car. That’s
right. We grabbed our full-size inflatable mattress and put that motherfucker
in the wagon. Slept warm and snuggly. Cramped like a motherfucker but better
than the tent.
#
The morning air is so cold that I shiver at
the thought of my damp wetsuit that’s been lying out all night. My dumb ass
left the 4/3 at home since it was so fucking hot on Friday. Now look at me. I’m
a bitch. My dumb ass had also told Bri on Friday: “You’re not bringing your
five mil.” Idiot. I dragged her down with me. Ill equipped for winter camping and
winter surfing. The days may be warm, but the nights are cold. The water’s
cold.
Plus I’m beat. My back muscles scream for
recovery. The light onshore wind gives me goosebumps as I watch surfers in hooded
wetsuits and booties fly down the line. The window is better today with a later
low tide, but I don’t froth or jump at it, not like yesterday.
We eat a light breakfast and break down camp.
Big stuff first: tent, mattress, sleeping bags. We pack until we’re confident
that our evacuation from the campsite will be fluid and flawless.
#
When we paddle out, the tide’s softened
things up a bit. We waited a little too long. So we’re back at Mons Pubis just
like yesterday. We sit wide, and I get a high-tide left. The inside bowls on
high tide, which makes the face really rampy, perfect for airs, but I’m not that good. I get three turns, pumping
down the line and tag the lip when I can. It’s a great start. Session made.
With the tide getting higher, Mons kind of walls
up a little. There are waves here, but only the prime breaks have the best
shape, so Bri and I paddle to Middles.
Middles . . . it’s the most consistent I’ve
seen this place in years, but it’s also more crowded than it was yesterday.
There are inside waves, but the crowd owns
them right away. Bri and I are so beat; we don’t feel like competing, so we sit
at the edge of the crowd.
We settle for the inside waves, still fun
but not bombs. Out back, so many surfers are sitting wide of Lowers, Little
Lowers. It’s working. There’s a rogue wave at five feet. I see the lump
protrude above the blue horizon. A single longboarder is on it. A couple hoots
emerge from the crowd. It’s incredible. The lone longboarder on this wave puts
his hands behind his head while he does a slow entry before dropping further
down with speed.
I turn to Bri and say, “I want a bomb. I’m
gonna go out there. If I get one of those, I’m pretty much done.”
So Bri stays at Middles and I work my way
just north of it. I’m in position for a decent wave, and a longboarder drops in
on me. I try to pump and make the section, but his wake hinders my progress.
Either way, it’s not the bomb that I want. When he turns around again, I wave
him forward and say, “Go.”
Now I’m trying my best to get in the right
position. A set comes. Three waves, but there are just too many guys deeper
than I am. One thing about Trestles is that you can pop up late and still make
the section, especially on the high tide.
I miss the whole set.
An old man on a green longboard paddles up
to me, smiling. He has a hood, gloves, and a hat. His face is wrinkled, and his
hair is white as a lab rat’s. The smile on his face looks plastered, like the
effort behind it requires him to hold it for a while before slowly morphing
into the next facial expression of his choice. He holds out his hand and says,
“Thank you!” As old as he is, he clenches my hand with the strength of a
gorilla.
“Thank you?” I say.
“Yeah, for letting me have that wave back
there.” He continues with how the wave was slopey and how he kept on looking
back to see if I’d catch up.
“It’s okay,” I say. “I told my girlfriend
that I just want one bomb and then I’m pretty much done.”
The old guy looks out towards the top of
the wave. “Well, I owe you a wave. If I get one, you just paddle right into it
and take it.”
The old man’s gesture . . . it’s what’s
missing in surfing today.
I never get to take him up on his offer,
but just the fact that he offered it is reward enough.
I sit at Lowers, waiting for a wave to
swing wide. It’s consistent enough to scatter people around, but then I’m
surrounded during the lull. I sit wide again. Too wide, and the next set rolls
in and puts me in position for the left. It looks like a perfect, monster
A-frame. I go, dropping in steep and critical, but . . . as the section builds
into Lowers, it walls up and closes out.
I straighten up and ride the white wash in.
Fuck it. I got a bomb. A closeout bomb, and I don’t want to deal with that crowd
again.
I walk towards Middles and see Bri chatting
with another old guy in the lineup. I try to paddle up to her, but she catches
the next wave.
Sitting in the lineup, I see more of the
insiders coming in that I had decided to pass up earlier. It’s consistent. I
should’ve stayed here.
Bri hasn’t returned, and when I see her on
the sand, I can’t believe how fucking far she took her wave. She’s all the way
at fucking Mons Pubis. She pretty much caught the wave all the way to Churches.
I struggle. I want to end my session with a
good one. I get outboarded and outpositioned by guys on the outside. I catch a
small closeout in. I’m done but don’t feel defeated. It was four days of
surfing, a whole day yesterday.
#
Opening the door to our studio apartment in
El Segundo, it’s a relief to be back. I see my bed/couch. El Futon! I’ll be
glad to get a good sleep in.
We do laundry and cook dinner. A shower’s
never felt so good.
Oh, and Al never made it. He didn’t have
time. Obviously didn’t get Bri’s new/used board that I had found on Craigslist.
Oh well. Only a couple homies showed up, but “only” is an understatement. I had
a campsite with only water and no electric. The first two days were only
one-to-two feet. I only had the best surf that I’ve had since Indo. All owed to
a last-minute decision to get a campsite four days ago. I guess “only” ain’t so
bad.
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