MY ENDLESS SUMMER, (double sesh) PT.4 SAT 26JUL2014

Oceanside to Trestles

Loc: Oceanside

Crew: Bri, Rick, Juan

Time: 0700-0945

Conditions: 2-3FT, clean, inconsistent, sectiony.

     Rick had informed me that he’d be camping at San Onofre. The occasion, his childhood friend Allen from Florida would be in town.

     Bri and I leave El Segundo at about 0500 to meet up with the guys in Oceanside. I get a phone call from them when I’m in Mission Viejo. We’re about fifteen minutes behind them.   

     We see them in the parking lot, Rick and Juan. They introduce us to Allen. Their other friend Vance is also here with his son Colby in tow.

     I had just surfed this spot two Wednesdays ago with Al, and even though the forecast that day was small, Oceanside had delivered. ‘Twas one of the best sessions I’ve had in a while, consistent waves with good shape the whole morning.

     On this morning, the surf is dismal. There are lefts off of the jetty breaking rather werbly. The sandbars off to the north aren’t doing much either. Surf syndrome ensues.

     “It’s getting better with the tide push,” says Juan. God bless him. I stare out there and squint, hoping that he’s right.

     Allen decides to sit this session out on the sand. Vance, a Venice Pier veteran and, still, active local, paddles out with his 9’6” at the top of the wave. Stylishly, he pops up and stalls with rear hand grabs before switching his stance. My friend Khang had told me how good longboarding is highly respected nowadays. No, Vance isn’t a team Costco kind of guy. He rips.

     Juan and Bri sit furthest south, where Bri witnesses Juan’s in-and-out tube ride. I believe it.

     Of course, Rick’s Mr. Wave Magnet. I should start calling him Magneto AKA Reptile Rick. Reptile because even Bri tells me that he takes off in front of her on at least three waves.

     I, on the other hand, struggle. At first the waves are fun. Small, but there’s a hint of shape. I pump down the line but the waves closeout too fast. It’s not until the end of the session that I get a two footer that grants me two turns. And that’s it.

     Afterwards, I head into the showers. No hot water today. Someone’s left his Irish Spring body wash next to the shower. As much as I’d like to use some, I’m a bit reluctant.

     We eat at Roberto’s for breakfast, and everyone’s giving Juan a hard time.

     “He used the body wash that was in the shower,” says Allen.

     “Yeah,” says Vance. “There was some white stuff in there, too.”

     A roar of laughter erupts from the table. Colby, who’s twelve years old, doesn’t quite catch on.

     I look at Al and say, “Looks like he was using ‘Spurt Plus.’”

     By the way, Roberto’s breakfast burritos are fucking horrible, at least their breakfast burrito and chorizo burrito are.

#

Unclassic Churches

Loc: Churches to Middles

Crew: Bri, Rick, Juan, Allen, Vance, Colby

Time: 1630-1900

Conditions: 2-3FT+, onshore, inconsistent, sectiony.

     After surfing Oceanside, we go back to the campsite at San Onofre. Our campsite is up on the bluffs, so we don’t get the ocean breeze right in our faces. In other words, it’s scorching. Juan and Colby try to take naps, but it’s too hot to sleep in their tent. Bri and I make due by drinking cold beer and playing pusoy dos.

     By 1600, we can’t take it anymore. I do a surf check. The onshore wind is light, the tide is low, and it looks like there’s some potential for fun evening waves.

     Bri and I paddle out ahead of everyone with Colby, who opts to bareback it. Within twenty minutes of paddling out at Churches, he goes back in to change into a wetsuit.

     Bri draws first blood, taking a peaky left all to herself. I’m so jealous. I paddle further out in anticipation for the next one. It doesn’t come.

     Just as the waves had poor shape at Oceanside, they’re not too hot here either. Both lefts and rights, the waves are lined up too long, not offering up rippable shoulders. The best spot is at the top of the wave, where the right holds shape a little better, but that’s where everyone is sitting.

     Everyone else paddles out to meet us, but the conditions don’t improve. I eye the right at Middles. The shape looks better there, and it’s empty.

     Bri and I make the long paddle there. Only three other guys are here. The only problem is that the tide is much higher than it was when we had first paddled out, so now the conditions are swampy. Still, some decent waves roll through. I catch a left, but the low sun is in my eyes the whole time, blinding me. All I can do is pump. I go far but no turns.

     “That one hold up for you?” says an off duty Marine, who’s sharing the break with us.

     “Yeah, but I couldn’t see shit.”

     Just then, a right pops up in the horizon, and its shoulder is lining up nice and tapered. I’ll have to admit that I’m pretty damn greedy because I paddle out and snatch this one too. Even though it looks like a good wave, it’s still racy. All I can do is pump for distance. No turns once more.

     I sit south of everyone since I had just snagged two in a row, but the surf gets even more inconsistent.

     Back at the campsite, everyone says that Churches got better after we left.

     “I got one of my best paddle outs,” says Juan. “Just driving on the rights, flying down the line.”

     But I? I’m a pessimist at this point. I haven’t really scored here, not in a classic sense at least, for the last four or five trips. That’s a lot of time, money, and gas. I don’t believe it was that good.

     As I’ve said before, “Sometimes the company is more important than the surf,” and in this case, having a beer around the fire with these salty veterans makes up for the crappy surf. Vance has so much local knowledge, being a Venice local. He tells stories about what’s going on with the Dogtown vets. I really don’t want to write the details down because I would hate for Vance to end up in cahoots with anyone. And then Allen tells stories about how he and Juan used to take month-long trips to Baja back in the day, and their misadventures like vehicle breakdowns and surf injuries.

     Juan offers to take Colby down the beach for some night fishing, so Bri and I follow. After Colby loses his hook and Juan catches nothing but seaweed, Juan finally has a catch. I laugh my ass off, watching Juan yell like a girl as he runs away from the waves breaking on shore, and then he yanks on the pole while running up and down the beach, trying to hook his catch. The cherry on top is when he runs backwards with the pole and falls on his ass. The whole time, Colby is telling Juan that he’s probably just caught on a rock, but for me, I feel like a kid watching wrestling. Juan’s performance might be fake, but I don’t want to believe it.

     Burning the last of the firewood, Juan throws in the unused bait, which is a bag of frozen shrimp, onto a flat log that’s in the fire pit.

     “Squeeze some limes on it,” says Vance. “And pour some beer over it.”

     The shrimps look good. Juan pulls one out and asks me to sample it.

     “It’s still a little wet,” I say.

     We all sit, gazing at the shrimp, ready for our midnight snack. The log twitches. Sparks fly. The log falls over, and all the shrimps fall into the fire.