 |
| Surf Recon Bri doing the afternoon surf check. |
Loc: North
Churches, Middles, Lowers
Crew: Bri,
Dais, Francis, Alex, Lee
Time:
0700-1000
Conditions:
Sunny, consistent, warm, sectiony, 4-5 FT+.
Pre Blog:
For the life of me, I can’t remember
exactly where the session started. I want to say that we had started at North
Churches, but I only know for sure that we did surf Middles, so that’s where
this journey begins.
Bump In the
Night:
Last night, we heard a crash outside of the
fence. I hoped that it was just Francis. I could’ve checked, but I was fucking
tired, and I did not feel like climbing out of my inflatable mattress.
When we woke up, I found our food cooler
had been knocked off of our picnic table and was on the ground.
“The trash, too,” said Francis. I looked
over. Something chewed through it and made a mess.
#
The five of us paddle out at Middles, just
south of a rock formation that I had once named Battle Position, but since then
its bunker-like exterior has not withstood the test of time, and it looks more
like a rock mound now.
Consider it the bottom of the wave at
Middles, while the top of the wave lies in front of a building that sits on top
of the cliffs, just south of Lowers.
If the surf has backed off, it only has by
a hair. But the shape has improved a little bit. At least not all of the waves
are walled, as there are some with shoulders. But I’m not necessarily having
the greatest time, so I push it further north. I push it to Lowers.
Every time I surf Lowers, I get so damn
frustrated. I sit wide, hoping that random set waves will swing my way where I
sit all by my lonesome. Of course nothing swings wide enough to avoid the
proverbial bastard on the inside, taking off right at the peak.
I sit with the main pack. In front of the
main pack. Still. I’m not made to surf here. Too tight. Too compact. Too
competitive.
I resort to sitting on the inside of Lowers
with some other stragglers, and of course, that’s when the sets start coming
in. With a crowd behind me—buddies, pressing parents, and photogs—I duckdive
the waves while surfers take off right in front of me.
“I just want one,” is the mantra, and I
finally get one—a small, three-foot, insider. It drops me off closer to Middles
where I can lower my head and paddle away.
But approaching Middles, I’m met with
smiling faces. Dais looks stoked. Francis’ face is bright and smiling.
“Some good ones here,” says Francis.
Maybe I fucked up. Did I abandon my Battle
Position too early? And then Francis sells it, frontside rights. Back to back
even. He’s surfing so well, reminiscent to a Rick Amador show when he’s surfing
El Porto, wrap-around cutbacks the whole way. Bri scores. Dais scores.
“I’m going in,” says Alex, and then he
takes off on a bomb right, single-fin pumping on a huge white-wash face. Only
feet behind him, close enough to piss on his ankles, is a Japanese surfer in a
pink wetsuit. Pinkie doesn’t call Alex out of it, and Alex continues to ride
his wave so focused, with a look on his face like nothing else in the world
exists.
For lunch, we head to Duke’s in San
Clemente to watch Brazil get spanked by Germany. How sad to see all those
Brazilians crying on their home turf, seeing their team get annihilated. The
horror!
Session 2:
Dais leaves to work, but his coworker Lee
shows up to hang for the day. He’s a longhaired musician type, and he has a
five-fin medium shortboard.
We all paddle out at Middles before the
tide tops out. Again, the sets are walled, but there are some shoulders here
and there. I take off on my first left. Lee’s on my outside. He takes off too.
He creates a wake on the already-fast section, so I have no way of catching up
to the face. He rides the wave all the way inside. When he comes back, he
paddles up to me and says, “That was probably the best wave I had in my life.”
We surf for a couple of hours, but the high
tide changes the shape for the worst, and the size still isn’t tapering down.
There’s a cleanup set for like six waves.
I’m furthest out. I duckdive every single one cleanly except for the last one.
There’s another cleanup set before we
leave. I’m right beside Lee when we prepare to duckdive it. Instead, Lee slides
off of his board with speed, like he’s in fear for his life. He pushes his
board to the side, puts his hands together, and dives under the wave. I
duckdive, weary of catching his surfboard on my head. I come up clean.
“Hey, dude,” I say. “You gotta hold onto
your board.”
“Oh,” he smiles. “Yeah, I’m so used to
longboarding, you know. I didn’t hit you did I?”
“No, I’m fine. It’s not ‘round’ here, so
you can duckdive it. You’ll be fine. Just hold onto it.”
Back at the campsite, Lori and Kurt stop by
and invite us over for a bonfire.
After Lee goes home, the four of us head
over. Even though it’s warm, the fire is nice and comforting. We learn all
about our local pals from Manhattan Beach.
Kurt is retired Air Force, and he surfs
here all the time. “I once lived here for a whole year,” he says, motioning to
his camper.
He’s originally from Oahu, so he, Francis,
and Alex hit it off very well.
Lori’s daughter is on Rising Star on Fox, and they ask if we’ll vote for her.
Kurt is a man’s man, offering up more beer.
Francis is the only taker. We leave before 2300.
Back at the Churches campsite, we’re much
more remote. There are no campfires here or families moving about. The sky is
darker. The moon isn’t full, but it’s so bright that it casts a light over
everything, and it renders our propane lamp unnecessary.
“I haven’t been able to just relax and surf
like this in so long,” says Francis, looking out over the ocean. Moonlight
reflects off of his eyes.
We’re all tired. I tuck Bri into bed and
then come back outside to join Alex and Francis. They’re sitting away from the
tents and the trees, completely exposed to the moon’s glare. I pull out a chair
and sit beside them.
 |
| My iPhone camera doesn't do this moon much justice, but here it is. |
No comments:
Post a Comment