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.
