 |
| Russ and Gary, eyeing some pillow tops. |
Time:
0645-1000
Crew:
Rick, Garr, Russel
Conditions:
2-3 FT
On the way to Cracks, there is only one guy
out in the lineup. Either everyone got drunk last night and is hungover, or
people decided to skip out on the surf for good reason. It looks like peaks are
rolling through, but when we get close up we see that the tide’s making it soft
and that the swell’s backed off from yesterday. Of course as the saying goes,
We came here to surf, so we paddle out. A few surfers are watching it from the
sand, taking their time changing, half committing, half ready to leave. A few
guys walk towards Cracks and leave before reaching it.
Some waves are breaking through the tide,
but they’re breaking close to shore, worthy of a turn or one wrap.
“You cut back into nothing,” says Russ.
Still, I’m struggling on my equipment. Russ
had even let me use a set of his fins. For all I know, I may be the issue right
now. The Indian not the arrow, right?
After an hour, Russ and Garr call it.
“Breakfast burritos,” they say. I understand. They have their wives and kids
here, the whole setup. Why burn a whole morning for tiny surf?
Rick stays a bit longer. A few other people
paddle out. Rick has a paddle battle with three other surfers, basically the
whole lineup. Man, I shouldn’t be shocked by how aggressive Rick is. He’s
surfing Jalama like he’s surfing Porto.
A young buck snakes him, a kid I recognize
who was here last year. Maybe a local. Rick paddles up to him and says, “If you
wanna shoulder hop, I can shoulder hop all day with you.”
“Who the hell are you,” says the kid.
Two other locals, on big fishes, paddle
out, unsmiling. Rick goes for it anyway, paddling back to the top and taking
another when it should be another guy’s turn. A guy drops in on Rick
understandably.
By 0900 Rick heads back to camp. Keeping
the East Java momentum, I plan to surf until I’m either exhausted or until the
surf disintegrates. The lineup gains some new heads, but the crowd’s still
manageable. I’m frustrated, trying to stick those frontside snaps instead of
glitchy nonfluid arcs.
At 1000, someone calls my name from shore.
I turn around. It’s Gary. When I paddle in, he says that Rick needs to the keys
to my wagon. “He’s leaving with my daughter,” says Gary.
Rick had said that we might have to caravan
back with Danielle and her friend, but I didn’t think he’d be leaving this
early. I know I still want to surf. The consequence will be a long solo drive
home, but it’s a nice drive. I should manage.
Out in the lineup, I see a dorsal fin
heading north. It doesn’t look like a dolphin, but I wait for the fin to pop
back up again for verification, but it disappears.
Twenty minutes later, the park ranger is
driving up the beach, stopping every surfer he sees. He stops near Cracks,
talks to a surfer, and then he starts yelling at everyone to paddle back in. On
the sand, the ranger says that a shark was spotted close to shore, and he’s
asking for witness statements.
 |
| 86'd from the ocean |
Walking back to camp, I try to snap a
couple pics of some waves, but the peaks still look soft. I hate to call the
session early, but I’d hate to get bitten, too.
 |
| Small but fun |
#
Time:
1430-1600
Crew:
Garr
They lift the restriction, but I’m not too
eager to paddle back out because I imagine the leftover surf has dwindled too
much. After taking a nap, the overcast burns off, and sitting at the campsite
gets a little stagnant, so I walk out to the water with Garr and his
granddaughter Harper. The wind looks good, and the surface conditions are
clean, oddly enough for the afternoon. I start to walk towards Cracks and
notice three people bobbing in the lineup as some waves pass. This could be a
mirage, but I’m willing to take my chances.
When I make it back to Cracks, I see two of
Gary’s other homies who had joined us yesterday. Two older vets who surf
Lowers. It’s mid tide and going higher, so the waves are short and fast
teepees. Looks fun enough to paddle out, so I go for it.
The surf’s inconsistent, but a few rare
gems pop up on the outside. I look like shit on my turns, so my new missions is
to try and get slotted on the inside section. I suck at barrels, but I feel
good setting up. On one slotty section, I’m too far in front of the pocket and
miss getting shampoo. On another, I force stall with both hands, but the
pocket’s just not offering a slot. Still, though, it’s a fun way to salvage a
bad performance.
Gary shows up a half hour later and surfs
until the waves start breaking too close to shore. We avoid tar patties on the
way back. The only surfers left in the water are in front of the north end of
the campgrounds at the river mouth.
Gary’s wife and Russel ask if I’ll be staying
for dinner. I know if I stay that I’ll end up spending the night. I hate to
ditch Garr and company, but I had only intended to stay one night with Rick.
Also, I still really haven’t even been home yet.
I feel like I have enough energy for the
drive, but I start nodding off before I even get off of Jalama Road. I park at
the McDonald’s in Goleta and nap for an hour. When I wake up, I go inside and
order a large coffee and a cheeseburger. I get a couple stares. I haven’t
showered, plus I’m the darkest guy in here. Easily darker than any other Asian
for miles. My shorts and shirt give off a smokey campfire odor. I wonder if
anyone thinks I’m a transient.
Traffic’s wide open until the 101 and 1
junction. After a slight crawl, the freeway opens up again. Even though I
struggle to make the drive home, Jalama is definitely close enough to make a
good day trip out of with friends.
My key jiggles the door knob to the
apartment as I unlock the door. Bri says, “Yayyy!” on the other side, as she
rushes to open it for me. Even though I had landed on Friday from Java, I now
officially feel like I’m home.
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