ANNUAL JALAMA TRIP (multiple), SAT 08AUG2015

Time: 0800-1430

Crew: Rick, Garr

Conditions: 3-4 FT, Occasional 5

Board: Motorboat Too, EA450 Black Stix

     I wake up at 0330. Amazing. I should be dead to the world after the travel from the last three days. When Rick had invited me to hit up Jalama, my first instinct was to pass, but after texting my brother, he told me I should go because Jalama is a once a year trip for the WHC, so last night I stripped and waxed the Motorboat Too in hopes for action.

     At 0420 I pull up to Rick’s, and Mr. Dawnpatroller is

already in the driveway with his gear staged on the sidewalk. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since stepping off the plane.

     Last year’s trip to Jalama felt like a really long drive on PCH, but this morning’s drive on the 405 to the 101 is fast. By 0600 we’re at Albertson’s in Goleta, picking up rations for the weekend. A little ways into Jalama Road, and we lose cell reception. It’s a windy drive. Cars behind me put on the pressure to speed up.

     “Slow down,” says Rick.

     Finally reaching the coastline, we contemplate on pulling over for a surf check, but we stay the course in case there’s a line to get in. Looking back, Rick and I get a quick glance at a set. Stoke levels are rising.

     We pay the ten dollars, park, and take a look at the main beach. I can already tell that it’s not as big as last year, but it’s rideable. Just like last year’s Jalama insertion mission, we bring our snacks, surf gear, and I bring my chair while Rick opts to forego his. The walk is long and warm. It’s 0745, so the sun’s already shining over the cliffs onto the tide line. We pass empty peaks that are breaking a little too close to shore and offering short tubes. In the distance, Cracks is full of black dots in the lineup. That’s where we wanna be.

     The water’s clean. Close to twenty people are out. Even though the surf has decent rippable size, the peaks are still a little soft. I can’t claim to know this break, but based on last year, I think it needs at least a solid four-to-six foot south swell for it to really show its potential.

     Paddling out in my 4/3 wetsuit, I feel restricted. Just paddling in this thing is a workout itself. How did I ever do this before? The water’s freezing up here, cold enough for me to delay any duckdives and keep my feet out of the water as much as possible. After ten minutes, I get acclimated. I can only imagine how gnarly this place must get in the winter with head high north northwest swells. Maybe 5mm wetsuits around that time.

     I’m fine with surfing here in the summer. Like last year, everything is pristine. Perfect glassy cold beachbreak peaks roll in, but it’s so crowded that I have to sit wide for a while. I’m the only monkey in the lineup, and everyone here looks local. I can just kind of tell. Plenty of them are older and grizzled, some on longboards, but most of them are on big fishes.

     Rick and I are the outsiders. Even though I had paddled out before him, he maneuvers to the main peak and sits with the crowd. Not sure about the initial impression I’m making for myself. Part of me wants to get a good set wave. After all, I just came back from Indo. I should be able to rip it on a left.

     Frustrated, I paddle past the main peak and sit wide on the other side where there are a few rights. My first wave is steep and short, but I crank out a single backhand snap. It’s my first right in weeks. Usually I’d feel good about a single-shot wave, but the experience doesn’t last long enough.

     In the distance, Rick gets a long left. We meet again in the middle. A few people leave, creating a little more breathing room. Finally, I get my first left, and . . . I eat shit. Next wave, I bottom turn, top turn, and it just feels like too much of my rail is straight out of the water, like only the tail area of my boar is submerged. The low nose and low tail rocker on the Motorboat Too doesn’t seem to be jiving on this wave. The peaks are just too steep and rampy for it.

     Regardless, I do the best that I can. I pump through long sections, wrap the board around to force some cutbacks, and try to hit the lip. Unfortunately, my surfing just feels clunky. Has surfing a single wave on different equipment put me out of sync for Cali? I had my suspicions before, but I think I just brought the wrong board. The Motorboat Too has been demoted to just a specialty board for Churches and Trestles. It’s still a good board, but I should have brought my Lost Mini Driver.

     As the people who left make their way down the beach, more people in the distance are making their way towards Cracks. It’s the third shift of surfers, and the lineup gets crowded all over again.

     At the two and a half hour mark, I signal Rick and tell him I’m going in for a snack. I kill a hardboiled egg, a banana, and a handful of baby carrots. Twenty minutes later we’re back out there. We continue surfing, taking breaks, and paddling out again. We hope for people to leave, but the crowd doesn’t thin much. One local guy has long hair with gloves and booties on. His board is long and gunny, way too much board for these conditions. I watch him give up his paddle too early on waves he could easily catch, but there’s this setwave that he gets. Sluggishly on his big board, he drops in, bottom turn, climbs the face, and stalls right where the lip curls over the shoulder. Now, it’s not barreling out here, but there are those occasional slots offered by the pockets, if only for a second. The guy leans towards the face, head dips, and gets a split second of legit coverup. Now . . . I’m absolutely jealous at seeing this, but I can appreciate his technique. Locals know. He was waiting for a wave that was gonna do that.

     By 1330 Rick is done. I’m still in the water and about ready to go in for another snack, and that’s when I spot Gary walking towards Cracks in his blue Quik wetsuit. The heat’s now officially on.

     The tide and the onshore wind come up a notch, finally clearing the lineup. Only three other people are out with us. Despite the change in conditions, the mooshiness and texture over the ocean, the waves are still fun and rippable. Short single and double hitters. I still struggle on my board, but I’m stoked just to be out with these guys. It’s been so long.

     Rick and I have been out here for six hours, catching Garr for the last hour and a half. It’s easy to pass this session on as just another surf day, but it’s not. I just returned from Indo, so this session can’t really compare, but by California standards, I’m spoiled right now. This is a good session. Anytime you can sit on a spot from the morning through the afternoon, catching waves, you’re scoring.

     It’s a long walk back to the car. Gary heads back to camp while Rick and I bust open the coolers. I immediately attack the sandwich I had bought from Albertson’s, a foot long for seven bucks. I offer Rick the other half.

     Walking through the parking lot towards us, I notice a surf celeb. A few groms turn around and start pointing. I throw up a shaka and say, “How’s it goin’, Dane?”

     “What’s up,” says Dane Freakin’ Reynolds. He’s carrying a handful of gear with a twelve pack of Modelos stuffed in there, too.

     Rick’s mouth is full from a huge bite he had taken. All he can do is throw up a shaka.

     “Those look good,” says DFR.

     OMG. Dane Reynolds. I just talked to DANE REYNOLDS!