TRESTLES DAYCAYION (double), TUE 27JAN2015

 

Loc: Trestles, Middles & Lowers

Time: 0745-1115        

Conditions: 3-4 FT+, sunny, warm, offshore, consistent

Board: Motorboat Too

     With some business to tend to at Camp Pendleton, and a sushi night with the boys in Mission Viejo, it only makes sense to head to Trestles for the whole day. Also with a juicy swell still on tap, I’m doubtful that the local beach breaks will have any shape.

     Even though I leave at 0545, I hit bumper to bumper traffic in Huntington. It’s nerve wracking. I’m tired from staying up late on the PS4, it’s dark out so I still feel like sleeping, and the drive is already about an hour without the traffic.

     Once I enter the campground, I stop at Old Mans for a look, and the waves are small and walled. Fuck. I head over to Churches not sure what to expect. When I park, the scene just takes my breath away. Long walls are coming in from the top of the wave, but the rights are peeling at lower Churches. There are only six guys out, all longboarders, and they’re trading off on rides. The set’s four-to-five feet easy. Looks like I won’t need my fish this morning. Suiting up takes a while because I can’t take my eyes off the ocean. In the distance, I can see the distant breaks at San Onofre much better, and it looks like it’s pumping there too. I guess the northern most break that I had looked at wasn’t working as good.

     Once I’m suited up, I walk the shoreline. I could paddle out here and mix it up with the loggers, but I don’t want to deal with any jockeying this morning. About three more guys have paddled out. It’ll probably be a fuckfest soon, so I push it further north.

     Upper Churches (or Mons Pubis) is kind of working but not as good as I’ve surfed it before. It might be because of the WNW direction. Most of the waves are coming in lined up, no lefts just right-hand shoulders at the end of them. A Middles gamble might be the call.

     Middles. . . I paddle out in front of a rock formation that I had named The Battle Position. Since then, it’s lost its luster, looking more like a moundish ruin.

     The water’s cold. I have to do a little cobblestone boogie but avoid getting cut. On my way out, some long rights start breaking. I’m not even at the lineup yet, but I can’t help but to turn-and-go on the inside waves. When I catch them, they race away. Too lined. I finally calm myself and paddle all the way out.

     I linger just wide of the main pack. A surfer rips the right at Lowers, but the wave looks fat. Surprisingly, there are only a few people there. Instead of packs of surfers, everyone is spread out in a buckshot spread along the Middles-Lowers border.   

     I do my usual technique of sitting wide to catch unmolested waves, but I can’t get more than single turns. They still feel good, but guys at the top of the wave are getting longer rides.

     Little by little, I inch my way into the action. A guy on a Costco foamie is fucking killing it. I mean, he has to shift his weight and torque his hips hard on each turn. Keeping that back foot on the tail, he’s able to whip that monstrosity around. Maybe not the prettiest turns but he’s pulling them off, showing off his knowledge of proper surf mechanics. He gets off the wave, smiles, and nods his head at me.

     “You killing it on that Costco,” I say.

     “Dude!” he says. “The waves are so predictable today.” He’s gleaming with stoke. I need to get like that too.

     I start getting better waves. No, it’s not classic Trestles, like how it can be on a good south-west swell, peaky and scattered, but every other set has shape. My how I’ve missed these Trestles waves. I’m getting away with fucking murder, paddling in so late with the lip spilling on my back. I’m doubtful at first with how fast I’m slung down the face, but I pop up and wind up for a snap. The face is so steep and rampy, yet never barreling, that the tail of my board is just doing these carving hooks on every turn. I mean, I’m not even snapping the lip. I’m doing these full hooks where I just pause at the end of the accentuated motion, redirect the nose, and wind up once more. I get four turns on my best wave. Four. Fuck it’s been a while.

     Even though the lefts are racy, I pick those off too just long enough for a single maneuver. Here I practice my laybacks. Ahh! What a morning . . . the lefts. Fuck my ass, it’s like, yeah . . . I’m really in the training stages of my laybacks. I just can’t ride out of them. On one, I try to pick a steep part of the face and just go for it. Like, I just throw my whole body into it Clayback style, but I blow it so fucking badly. Literally, I just backflop on my deck and wipe out lying on my board. Mechanics. . . On the next wave, I consciously spring up out of the bottom turn, torso, extended, and climb the face with speed. Reaching back with my inside arm, I lean backwards as board does a solid arc. It feels good. Too bad I don’t know how to follow through to get my board back under my feet and ride out of it.

     It’s a little discouraging. It just comes to show how long the learning curve is in surfing. I can only wonder how many times I’ll have to keep blowing it before I can pull it off.

     After that left, I paddle back out. I look at the beach, and I’m already at the next set of portapotties. I’m at Lowers.

     Lowers. . . The infamous Lowers. As I’ve called it before, the biggest lie in surfing. Yeah, it’s an epic spot if you can actually get a fucking wave here, yet there are only three guys on it. For some reason, the swell direction isn’t making it classic. It’s actually smaller here. However, if you’ve read any of my past Lowers sessions, you’ll know that I rarely catch it empty. Fuck it. It’s “LOWERS.” How can I not sit here?

     It’s breaking uncharacteristically softer than usual, but I still milk the lefts and rights the best I can. I get good opening turns but the shoulders moosh out soon after. With everyone spread out the same, no one really invades the spot.

     I spend the next couple of hours going back and forth, crossing that invisible line between Lowers and Middles. Some guys are reluctant to sit at the top of the wave where it’s breaking best, so I even sit at the bottom of the wave to give them as much priority as possible.

     When I look at my watch again, it’s 1045. Three fucking hours have gone by. Yet, I’m energetic. A crew of groms show up on their bicycles, boards in hand. I figure it’s a good time to grab some lunch.

 

#

Loc: Churches, Trestles--Middles & Lowers

Time: 1445-1700        

Conditions: 2-3 FT+, light onshore, cool.

Board: 6’0 Kainalu Fish, twin fin

 

     You see, me and the boys are power eaters . . . that’s right. We kill buffets and anything all you can eat. We don’t fuck with places with time limits. Nah. We do two hours minimum. It’s usually Sebastian, Tim, and me. We need a fourth seed so badly, but every candidate we’ve had can’t hang. It takes passion, a love of food and a certain respect for the deliciousness translated through each and every bite to sit down at the table with us. So tonight’s AYCE sushi night. During these occasions, we usually starve ourselves until it’s go time. When I say starve, I don’t literally mean starve. Maybe some light snacky poos throughout the day, but that’s it.

     I paddle out at North Churches with the fish this time. I figure since the swell’s backed off, why not make the evening session a fun one with a wave magnet of a board. The transition, though, is awkward. After having been on the 5’9 Motorboat Too, this board feels too big. The sensation is different popping up. It just feels slower, yet once I’m on my feet with, the board is just so fast down the line. I struggle to turn it. It just wants to go in one direction as fast as possible. I walk the nose and eat shit. My amateur hotdogging is hella rusty since the last couple of swells have been brutal.

     The guys who I’m surfing next to are a bit aggressive, so I paddle all the way to Middles.    

     At 1530, something happens. I forgot to mention that I had only eaten four tangerines the whole day. That and coffee from my mug and water. I had felt good into the afternoon, but now my fucking stomach hurts. The thought of white tuna, salmon, and yellow tail just makes my stomach hurt even more. Gawd, I haven’t been this hungry since that seven hour Jalama session in August.

     I’m weak. I start surfing like shit. I could leave the water right now, but I’m stubborn. My thighs are still aching from snowboarding, the rest of my body more so from the gym yesterday and session number one this morning.

     Lowers is breaking a little more classic now. Not crowded, but there are more heads there. I site wide south of it. It’s not as consistent as it was this morning. I’m more patient than I’ve ever been before, willing to let waves roll by, and every time a wave comes I’m hardpressed to surf it well. It’s like pussy being thrown at you when you don’t want it because you’re in a serious relationship. Because of my patience, I’m there in the right spot every time a good one comes. Perfect right-hand peelers come through. My feet placement’s off, throwing off-balance snaps on my backhand. Tired, I just walk to the nose and crouch to get distance thinking: spicy tuna handroll, unagi, albacore, mackerel, spicy tuna handroll.

     I catch a closeout in but it’s still too early, so I walk back to upper Churches where I’ll be closer to my car. Each wave is draining on my body. Delts on fire. I’m past burning calories. Burning muscle.

 

     I’m back at my car and fully changed by 1730. I call the boys and beg them to meet me at Zenko Sushi as early as they possibly can. “I’m starving,” I say. “I’m about to eat my hand.”

     When they arrive at 1830, I’m already sitting down at our table, first round of sushi on the way. With bloodshot eyes, white Vertra still stuck to my face, and sunburnt lips, I go into AYCE autopilot.

     A true samurai can hold up his sword and wait for the moment to deliver a fatal strike, even though an equal blow is about to be dealt to him as well. As hungry as I am, I focus on the white slab of fish, pick it up with my chopsticks, and dip it into the soy sauce. Raw and buttery, I chew it slowly, never having tasted anything so good in my life.