Loc:
Churches, Middles, Old Mans
Crew: Bri,
Dais, Francis, Alex
Time: 1630-2000
Conditions:
Sunny, consistent, warm, walled, sectiony, 4-5 FT+.
Bri and I sleep in a little, thus leaving
at 0600 with the sun already shining brightly over the 405S. After so many dawn
patrols, leaving this late feels like a travesty, but we’ve been surfing
consecutive days, almost two weeks at this point, and before this long camping
trip, we’re already fading.
Upon reaching the campsite, we can see sets
right in front of us, just yards away from where we’ll be pitching our tent.
Suddenly, I don’t feel so bad for showing up late. Magicseaweed.com had
forecasted the swell at four-to-seven feet. I’ll have to say that they’re
pretty damn close. There is size, but . . . the shape is terrible. If Churches
isn’t holding shape, then that’s a pretty bad sign. Middles probably isn’t
either, leaving just Lowers with the shape. And then, of course, there’s Old
Mans.
Instead of paddling right out, we set up
camp. Francis and Alex, who are driving to meet us from a wedding in Corona, tell
us that they’re stopping in San Clemente for breakfast before showing up.
When they arrive, we can tell they had a
rough night. They look at the surf and don’t feel the urgency to get out. I
don’t blame them. Neither do I. Approaching noon, the shape hasn’t improved,
and there’s no sign of it backing off.
 |
| Afternoon surf check with Dais, taking a photo of him taking a photo. |
 |
| Bri making the call on North Church's lack of shape. |
Dais shows up. Alex takes payments on my
reclining beach chair and racks out. He’s done. Francis racks out in the tent.
Bri lies on the sand to read a book. It’s just me and Dais at the picnic table.
“I’m just taking it all in,” he says,
sitting with perfect posture beside me.
I take it in too. No matter how many times
I’ve brought my laptop, a book, or a magazine out here while camping, I’ve
never been able to take my eyes off the ocean.
 |
| Dais waiting for a decent window of surf. Alex waiting to get over his hangover. |
 |
| Francis isn't posing, he just looks this HAWT while he's sleeping. |
#
By 1600, I’m antsy. The shape hasn’t
changed much, but I’m expecting the incoming tide to soften things up, maybe
open up some shoulders. Alex is lagging behind a little, still hazy from the
night before, so the rest of us paddle out at Churches ahead of him.
Like old times, The Sauce and I make our
way out to the lineup, stopping towards the inside, sitting south from the top
of the wave.
“I like to sit here,” I say. “Wait to see
if we can score this spot before going to where it’s crowded.”
Even though I paddled out here first,
there’s something about Francis’ energy that attracts the cleanest peak that
I’ve seen all day towards him.
I’m too far inside. I’d be late to turn and
go. On my Lost Mini Driver, Francis has perfect position on the peak. I
duckdive the wave, resurfacing just in time to see a bucket thrown out the
back. Before positioning myself for the next wave, I get a glimpse of how the
rest of Francis’ wave is lined up perfectly.
The next wave is walled. I pull out. So
does the longboarder next to me. I go on the third wave of the set, and it
sections out. Meanwhile, Francis is inside, trying to make his way back from a
long ride.
We have to paddle towards the top of the
wave, the main peak where everyone is at. The smaller waves have some shape,
already affected from the tide, breaking a little fat. But the sets are pure
cleaners, pushing everyone inside or making those who are outside feel spared.
I get my wave of the day right here, a bomb
that doesn’t peel perfectly, but holds shape long enough for some distance.
I want to put a little extra mustard on
this ride since The Sauce is here. I want to show him that, like him, I’ve been
surfing too since he’s been gone.
Carefully, making sure that I don’t get so
excited that I blow the ride, I bottom turn and set up my backhand hack on this
great blue face. I do a stalling snap at the lip, weary of a poor reentry. I
pull it off. Flying back down the line I get one more snap before kicking out.
Dais gives me a little clap as I make my way back.
Then Dais. He gets one of those
in-between-sets waves that’s nice and shouldery. Bri and I watch his head break
the waveline as he goes right. It looks like his ride should end, but he keeps
going and going.
We paddle to North Churches. There is zero
shape here. Don’t ask why we keep going north towards Middles. We can see that
there’s no shape there either, but we keep paddling. Once there, there is
nothing but walls. The paddle out seems further. The shape toothier.
“I’m gonna go to Old Mans,” says Bri. Just
then, the next monster set sends us darting towards the outside. Bri doesn’t
make it, and she ends up back on shore.
#
We head back to camp to rehydrate. Alex
isn’t here. We look out at Churches but can’t spot him.
Reaching Old Mans, the tide is making
things a little soft, but some of the lefts are still shortboard rideable.
Regardless, there is shape here.
Everyone gets a second wave-of-the-day helping.
Dais’ C.I. Average Joe board is working well in this softer surf, able to
compete with the longboarders. He’s not only going left but right too. I’ve
never seen him catch so many waves in one session.
Bri gets a bunch of waves all the way to
the inside. The whole session, I see her pop up, disappear, and then kick out
after her long rides.
Francis more than makes up for the lack of
shape at Trestles. I’m jealous that he’s making my surfboard look so damn good
right now. Left, going backhand, I watch him take off on shouldery waves,
cranking clean backhanded snaps, two-to-three turns.
I do okay, but not as well as everyone
else.
I tell Dais that we’re leaving when the sun
goes down. Once it does, Bri, Francis, and I head back to camp while he stays out
there for more. On the way back, we run into Lori and Kurt, and older surf
couple who are part of the Manhattan Beach Ohana at our local break. I guess
everyone is trying to get some of this south swell.
 |
| Now why would these guys be so happy over Jack In the Box? |
That night, we head to Jack In the Box for
dinner. I watch my friends, stoked, red eyed, and giggly as they point towards
the menu.
Francis opens up a small box, stuffing his
face. “Mini churros,” he says.
Not an elaborate meal by any means, but
fitting for the mood. We go over our waves, the cleanup sets, and how we lost
track of Alex somewhere.
“This was the best session I’ve ever had,”
says Dais. I can’t say the same for myself, but it really makes up for it when
one of your friends had such a good time, a friend who you’re genuinely stoked
for.
 |
| Junk food always tastes better after surf. Actually, any food does. . . |
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