Loc: Churches
Time: 0545-0715
Crew: Bri, Gary, Dave, Rick
Conditions: 2-3 FT+, glassy, overcast,
incoming swell
My
alarm goes off at 0500, but I shut it off. I’m awoken from Rick and Juan’s
conversation in the next tent over. “You should wake up Matt,” says Rick.
“Me?”
says Juan. “Why don’t you wake him up?”
I
stumble out of the tent. I’m late. Should have gotten up when my alarm went
off. It’s overcast and gray out. I brush my teeth with fury, change into my
damp wetsuit, and grab my board. Even though Rick was suited up before me, I
beat him to the sand. No time to waste. Bri needs to be at work by 0900. It’s
gonna be a quick session.
I
should warm up. I always do, but I start my cobblestone dance half asleep. My
gawd it’s hard to do this right now. Paddling out, I miss a right that I’m too
deep for. I turn and go on the second wave of the set on my backhand. I pump,
the wave is outracing me, and I lose the section in the flats. I’m barely
shaking off the sleep by the time Rick paddles out.
The
surf is supposed to pick up later today. There are small waves right now, but
the incoming tide’s gonna kill it.
The
session’s hard. Gary paddles out, too, and so does Dave. We’re waiting for the
sets. When they come in, they’re a little soft.
Forty-five
minutes into the session, and I have half the mind to go in early, but all of a
sudden Mons Pubis, North Churches, starts working. Rights start coming in. Just
like the last two days at Churches, some random outsiders start popping up.
The
surf goes from mooshburgers to rippable lefts. More people paddle out. The
rights aren’t as good, but I catch a rogue left, getting down the line, pulling
off a wraparound cutback, and ending with a floater. I cover a lot of ground.
Rick
paddles further south, loyal to the rights breaking over there. Gary and Dave
paddle over just inside of Mons Pubis, battling it out with the longboarders
and some groms. At 0715, I have to leave early to help Bri pack. By session’s
end, we all get at least two solid rides.
At
the campsite, Bri’s already done all the packing herself. The whole crew comes
back from the surf, Juan with camera gear in hand. Rick’s stoked, says he ended
it with a set right.
“There’s
some good ones out there!” says Juan. I know. I know there are good ones and
that there’s gonna be more throughout the rest of the day. The swell’s shown up
early. Tomorrow should be even better.
Rick
wants us to stay, me at least. I could send Bri home packing. She could make
the drive solo, unload all of our gear, and get to work on time, but I can’t do
that. That’s gonna be a hell of a drive for her, and unpacking alone is never
fun. Truth is, I’m quite beached. Been here since Thursday, slept in a tiny
tent the last two nights, awoken by the damn Amtrak in the wee hours of the
night. I have a day on these guys, scored good surf on the first day, and I
have my share of sunburn to prove it.
We
hang for another fifteen minutes before saying goodbye. On the way home go
through the McDonald’s drive thru, and we’re home forty-five minutes later.
“Just
get ready,” I tell Bri, as I open the door for her. “I’ll unpack.”
Our
studio apartment’s so tiny. The average couple couldn’t share this space. The
air is stale and reeks from our trashcan. I open the windows to air it out.
Bri
puts down her bag, sighs, and says, “I love our home.”
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