 |
| We were up pretty early. |
Loc: DMJ
Crew: everyone
Time: 0700-0900
Conditions:
2-3 FT, sunny, cool, offshore, inconsistent, swampy.
We’ve all been obsessed about one
particular surf spot, a spot where your friends will have a hard time pulling
you away from, despite the forecasts and better rational judgments, no matter
how obvious. For Rick, his special place is DMJ. Aside from 45th
Street, he’d surf DMJ every day if he could. So on this weekend, even with
small surf in the forecast, DMJ is the call on day number two.
Once again, we’re not expecting much. The
swell and the tide are against us. When we make that ill fated turn towards the
beach, we can already see that the surf looks like Lake Placid.
All we need is a little bit of size and
shape to have to have some fun this morning.
DMJ is so exposed. Behind us, the backdrop
is open land with mountains in the distance. Cool offshore wind hits our backs.
The sun’s out, but it only provides a hint of warmth. There’s a peak wide north
of the jetty. There’s a left breaking on the jetty itself, where two guys
secure it. The tide’s coming up, so we’re going to have to hit it fast.
 |
| Photo by Juan A. |
I’m first one out, leaving the Lost Mini
Driver in the van and opting for the Lost RV again. Paddling out first doesn’t
guarantee first blood. Bri gets a wave before I do. Peaks approach on the
outside. They look like they’re about to break, but they keep on rolling
rolling, and then they finally stand up towards the inside.
Meanwhile, the top of the wave is working a
little better. The two dawn patrollers, who had beat us out here, aren’t giving
up any space. Rick finally paddles over to sit on top of them and begins his
campaign.
Birthday Boy’s outdoing us all. On a swampy
day, he’s getting good lefts on his Neckbeard, frontside, throwing buckets out
the back. Gary’s a close second, milking the lefts as well.
It’s too much competition where they’re at,
having to battle it out with the two guys and then Rick and Gar, so the rest of
us sit wide.
Nate goes switch foot on a left, J.O.B.
style, and catches the wave in. Done.
Daniel may not be heat winner, but he gets
the most waves. He sits even further north, sitting deep and catching all the
inside waves.
I’m cold. My leaky Hurley 3/2 is taking in
a lot of water. For some reason, the seals start to wear out so quickly. I
follow Daniel’s lead and start sitting more inside. I manage to paddle into
little lefts, trying to do my best to get some turns. I do . . . meh. I’m not
doing much damage today, but I build up my wave count and at least catch
something.
Juan’s on shore, snapping away on his
camera.
Afterwards, we all go to Roberto’s Taco
Shop for breakfast. I had vowed to never eat here again. Last time, their
chicken burrito gave Rick diarrhea. I had ordered the chorizo burrito, and it
tasted like shit.
Bri and I go for the machaca burrito. It’s
not bad. Half way through, and nearly a cup of juice starts spilling out the
bottom through the tortilla. Fuck. I should have learned my lesson the first
time.
From there, we visit Gary’s parents in
Oceanside and pick up two nights worth of firewood from their backyard.
Back at the campsite, I’m drained. The
drive did it to me, and I was just a passenger. Rick’s reserved the campsite
for another night in case Bri and I decide to stay longer. I don’t think I’ll
be able to make it.
No comments:
Post a Comment