Loc: Middles
Time:
0630-0930
Conditions:
Overcast, gray, offshore, consistent, 3-4 FT+.
Walking past Churches, the waves are peaky
and have much better shape than yesterday. Mons Pubis looks good too, but there
are already a dozen heads here.
“It looks good here,” I say. “But I think
we should surf Middles.” From where we are, Middles looks flat. Nothing is
coming through. When a wave does break there, it looks tiny. I look back out at
Mons. There are waves here.
“Do you wanna surf here?” says Bri.
I look back at Middles. “I have a feeling
that we should surf over there.”
We paddle out at an old DRC spot, the
Battle Position. But the old BP we used to know has been reduced from a machine
gun nest to a pile of rubble. A wooden cross looms over it.
A bodyboarder slides down the face of a
four-foot left in front of us. In a drop-knee stance, he hits the lip twice,
throwing spray out the back each time. He’s good . . . and we’re paddling into
his spot.
Making my way out, Body Boarder eyes me,
but he’s not smiling. I look back at him. Still no smile. I know why. He’s pissed.
He’s had this spot with only a few other people, and here Bri and I are,
crowding the lineup. I understand, so I keep my distance and sit at the bottom
of the wave.
Outside, an A-frame breaks, and I mean, it’s
a classic Trestles A-frame. All glass, smooth, and down the line. Out of
position, I’m forced to duckdive it. Another wave comes. I’m out of position
again. The rest of the set steamrolls through, and it’s walled. Behind me, Bri
is washed all the way near Mons Pubis. She’s tiny in the distance, trying to
paddle back.
A small lull ensues, and Body Boarder takes
the first wave of the set. The next wave is even bigger. I turn and go on a
steep right. The face is building and sectioning out. Body Boarder is eyeing me
as he paddles over the wave. Setting myself up with a deep bottom turn, I climb
the face and do my biggest backhand hack of the trip. I put all my weight into
the snap as I hit the lip before it closes out, sliding down and recovering in
good form. I know I’m no pro, but I feel like I’ve made a statement: I want
waves just as much as he does.
But even though Body Boarder is hogging,
there are only four other guys at Middles. The gray skies must’ve made everyone
lazy. So many waves come in that there’s enough for everyone.
Bri takes off on a bomb right. A small toss
of water comes out the back. I assume that she’s fallen, but then her face
reemerges as she continues down the line. When she paddles back, she says that
she’s pulled off her first official frontside turn.
We surf for three hours until the wind
turns onshore. Middles had worked the whole morning, BP to the edge of the
cliffs bordering Lowers. Clean glassy peaks. I don’t know why, but Bri and I
always score on the last day of our camping trips.
The conditions turn sour with strong
onshore wind and a marine layer that isn’t burning off. We decide to pack up
and head to Zenko’s for AYCE sushi for lunch.
On the way back to El Segundo, Bri buys me
a frapuccino and offers to drive. It’s so rare for me to be a passenger in my
own car. I feel like a kid without the pressure and responsibility of driving,
able to sip away and look out of the window for a change.
We unpack the wagon quickly. We’re such a
good team together. Beached with bloodshot eyes, we’re happy to be home.
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