Loc:
Churches
Crew:
Cassady, Briggs, Rick, Gary, Bri
Time: 0630-0830
Conditions:
offshore, 3-4 FT+, high tide, inconsistent, crowded
This was supposed to be the biggest and
best day for surf. Rick woke up first, followed by Gary. Both of those Venice
Vets already had boiled water and gotten their boards prepped.
I poured the rest of the crew some hot
chocolate.
The wind was dead. Even the surf in front
of the campsite looked rideable. Surfers who had parked at the state lot were
dotting the sand, jogging to Churches. We needed to get out there.
I followed Gary and Rick. Bri was still
getting ready, so she was gonna wait for the rest of the guys.
Because of the high tide, we had already
expected the surf to moosh out. The plan was to catch an early window, rest,
and then paddle out again.
When we paddled out, I was shocked to feel
how much cooler the water had become. I was 3/2’n it in my holy Hurley wetsuit.
Bad idea.
I caught a couple waves right away, but I
found myself cutting back and rebounding into a swampy shoulders. Lame. Rick
did all right. He always does. He sat right in the pack, mixing it up with the
longboarders.
Gary and I stayed close, trying to milk the
peaks away from everyone. He took a decent right, but as I watched the wave
from behind, he churned back up over the lip, and then a longboarder emerged
through it. Gary gave me a glance and shook his head, his hand motioning out towards
the longboarder next to him. I already knew what he meant.
Missed Wave
of the Day:
Bri was in position for a bomb, a solid
bomb. I mean, she was right on the fucking shoulder. Perfect, hand delivered.
No . . . God delivered. God was saying, “Here, Bri, here’s a good one for you.”
Bri gave a couple strokes as the wave
approached. She was on a borrowed 6’8 NSP from Dais, a fun board. Everyone had
eyes on her. The surfers on her inside didn’t even try to go for it; they had
to paddle over because they were too deep.
I hooted, so did Rick, and so did about
five other sniveling jackals who I’ve never seen before. She didn’t increase
her stroke or paddle with a purpose. Instead, she let the wave pass her and
peel away. She smiled a girlie smile while she let this happen. I couldn’t
believe it.
Rick said, “You gotta go for those.”
Bri said, “I know, but Matt looked so
small. I got scared.”
I told myself not to be a dick. I struggled
to eradicate the influences from my uncle and my brother, struggled not to say
the things that they would’ve said to me in a moment like that.
She asked me if I was mad later. I said no.
I never saw Briggs or Cassady. They must’ve
paddled out somewhere else in the lineup and sat elsewhere.
Back at the campsite, the mood was glum.
The tide had came up and made the surf inconsistent. The crowd was up to.
Twenty minutes later, Briggs and Cassady showed up, saying that it was “okay.”
A little before noon, Cas and Briggs left.
They had originally planned to surf another session, but the surf couldn’t keep
them. I was still glad they came.
At noon, Rick said, “I think my sugar’s up.
I need to paddle out.” He’s a diabetic.
Even Gary wasn’t too thrilled about the
surf, but he was stoked to be on the sand. He was marinating in his beach chair
with his Bluetooth Bose speakers, bumping some 90’s dance music.
There were lefts at Old Mans, so Rick and I
paddled out there. The wind was onshore but light. The lefts were racy, but
much cleaner than yesterday.
Rick sat at the northernmost point, but I
worked my way a little towards the top of the first point, and the lefts . . .
were . . . fun. The best surf so far since the trip had started.
The shape at Old Mans is wedgy and racy
when there’s size. Immediately upon popping up, I was flying down the line. I
pulled off some sloppy but fast cutbacks, still rebounding and getting down the
line.
The surf was consistent and took a bit out
of me. Within a half hour, Rick was already gone. I spotted him on the sand,
heading back towards the campsite.
I was bummed that he had left. I caught a
wave in too. Back at the campsite, he said that he had just lost all of his
energy. He was drained.
They packed up and left. It was fun having
them there.
#
The evening session was terrible. The wind
didn’t die down as much like it had yesterday. We surfed Churches. The wind
made the rights so fast that I either purled or couldn’t make it down the line.
Bri was doing better than I was. She would
get worked inside, drift all the way towards the crowd at the inside point, and
then she’d paddle all the way back to the top of the wave. She was going for
bombs, mostly closeouts, but she had something to prove. Maybe not to me but
herself. I was proud.
For dinner, we made chicken fajitas. My
friend Dan brought his girlfriend and her sister . . . and more food. We were
stuffed. It hurt to go to bed with all that food in us. The wind was light, the
tent hot from our space heater, and our air mattress soft. Luxuries. It’s kind
of like camping.
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