SOUTHERN GAMBLE, SAT 05NOV2011 MOR

Location: Churches

Crew: Klaude

Time: 0815-1100, 2 hrs & 45 min

Conditions: Offshore, clean, high tide, 4 ft with occasional 5, air temp in the mid 40s, moosdhy, sunny, crowded enough.

            I’ve been waiting for an opportunity to head down south to score at this fickle, empty break that I rarely go to. What I love about this place is that there’s barely anyone there, and a crowded day has no more than ten heads. Even though the swell is forcasted stronger in the South Bay, O-side was barely a foot less in size, so the decision in my head was made: gamble on a smaller wave with fewer people. I’ve had this discussion already before. Sometimes we find good waves, but what’s the worth if you have to compete with the whole community for them? 

            Klaude and I went through the roster to see who was game. Francis went up north to check out the Rip Curl event in San Fran, Dais had plans, Khang had to stay local, and Rick already committed to overtime on Saturday. 

            Klaude pulls up at 0530, right on time. We bring two boards each, minimum gear, and load up the vehicle to hit the road in total darkness. We’re making good time. We catch up on the week’s events while gaining some miles. The sun is barely peeking over the horizon as we reach O-side. According to my car temp gauge it’s 46 degrees. We step out and are blasted by some strong offshore winds. Of course, they may not be that strong, but it’s just so cold. A car load of three surfers pull up just before us, and we perch right next to them on the sand for a look. We give our morning greetings as offerings of peace. 

          What I see is a goldmine. I’ve never seen this spot break so big and consistent. Thank god it’s not flat like the last time I was here. Consistent waves are coming in at an easy five feet, bigger than expected. The peaks are scattered everywhere, and the conditions are clean. 

          I’m stoked, sounding like a teenage adolescent every time I point and call out a wave right in front of us. There’s a wet surfer back on the sand talking to someone with a purple body board; he couldn’t make it out. The guys next to us ask if we’re gonna do it. I say, “Yeah, why not? There’s waves. You can surf here where there’s no one or you can go to Trestles where there’s a hundred people.” I ask Klaude what he thinks, and his outlook isn’t as positive. I can see why. It’s almost “too consistent.” The waves are breaking right on top of each other, one by one with barely a lull. And of course, the other guy couldn’t make it out. However, what I see is an empty lineup. The peaks are rideable, and since I’ve been dying to practice my front-side turns on some lefts, I can have all the lefts I want to myself. The paddle out looks challenging, but if I ever want to surf Bali again or anywhere that has pumping surf, this is good “training.” 

            Last time Klaude and I took a trip like this, we went to South Oxnard. I called all the shots that day, forcing Klaude to surf where I wanted to. To be fair, I asked him to make the call. He opted for Trestles instead. My heart was broken as we drove away. Goodbye, empty lefts. 

            I finally get over it. Trestles could be good too, and Klaude rarely has opportunities to come down south, so why not go to a more mellow, enjoyable spot? As we pull up to Churches, we’re in for another surprise. 

           The surf is pumping here too. It’s not as gnarly, but an easy four feet on the face, and it’s consistent. We can hardly contain ourselves as we get our equipment. I say, “Klaude, I need you to do me a favor.”

            “What?”

            “I need you to tell me to slow down.”

            “Slow down.”

            We can’t decide where to paddle out, especially since the surf in front of us is going off. We venture closer to Middles, but . . . the peaks there aren’t as good. Another shocker is that Lower’s isn’t going off. I don’t know what causes Lower’s to shut down, maybe it’s the direction of the swell combined with the tide, not enough south swell perhaps? It’s back to Churches. 

            I take out my chippy DMS because there is size to work with. We paddle out just south of the main pack. Some big, clean, lined up waves come, but there are always people already on the wave. It just comes with the territory with surfing a crowded spot. There are some longboard chicks just killing it. I pull out on a wave that one of them is on, but her bottom turn is too slow, and she gets broadsided by the lip. I could’ve had that. I hear my brother’s lesson in the back of my mind: never pull out. I’m always so worried of causing an accident. I give up the main peak even though it is breaking better here. I go all the way to the top of the wave where Churches gives a little left to find that the conditions aren’t as pristine as I thought. Because of the tide, the waves are really mooshy. My board is too small, as I scratch out on numerous waves. Before I catch a real wave, I wipeout on a couple at first. I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately, but I’ve been eating shit. I think the last good session I had was at HB a couple weeks ago. I catch a wave that only has a pocket to ride while everything else flattens out. I catch it all the way to shore and switch boards. So I’m at the starting line all over again, and I try to find Klaude to let him know where I am. He’s sitting towards the inside of the crowd, and I see him looking around for me. As I near, an outside wave approaches, I’m the only one in position, and it’s a left. As I’m dropping into it, Klaude is right in front of me. I’m sure that he sees me because I damn near run him over before he duckdives. Unfortunately, the wave doesn’t open up at all, and I end up in the white wash. Today isn’t an easy day. The high tide makes the paddle out further, and the inside is really consistent; it’s a lot of work. I go back to my spot and get my wave of the day. It’s actually pretty sad because I only get one turn on it, and that’s the best I can do all morning. It’s a right that lines up for a long ride. I drop in, bottom turn, and manage to hook my top turn. It feels great that I’m not just cracking the lip on my back hand, but my rotation is going a little further. My main problem is that I tend to stall right after. I manage to down turn and redirect at mid face, but the wave is so mooshy that I don’t compensate for it, and I go right over it as it peels away. It dumps me out near Klaude, and he’s surprised to see me. I explain that I almost ran him over earlier, but he doesn’t recollect. 

            Klaude and I are separated almost the whole session. Finally, the window closes, and the wind turns strong on shore. The conditions get choppy and the waves shut down. The prime peak is working, but there are a lot of guys there.

            Changing out of our wetsuits back at the car, Klaude is pretty satisfied with the morning. For me . . . well, I don’t know. I suppose if I was really good I could just maneuver through the crowd and compete for a wave, but it’s just my lens; I hate crowds and don’t do well around them. At the same time, I know how ridiculous of a notion that is. Am I not part of the crowd adding to the masses as well? We receive the reports from Dais, Khang, and Rick that Porto was firing. Sometimes I wonder if I take my surfing too seriously; I have issues. It’s not that Churches was bad. Klaude sat in the right spot, and I just wanted some space to myself, sacrificing better shape to be alone but didn’t really score. That’s what I tell myself. It’s not the spot, it’s me. 

           

Fueling Up:

            I take Klaude to Pipe’s Café in San Clemente, a spot that Al showed me when he was in town. Klaude agrees that the atmosphere hadsa nice surf theme. After all, who can argue with Innersections playing on the big screen TV. Like clockwork, Marzo’s section begins as we approach the register. Klaude orders two meals: Quesadillas and a sandwich. I stick to my big breakfast of pancakes, bacon, eggs, and potatoes. It’s on this time here that I realize the food actually isn’t that great; it’s just the atmosphere that I love so much. We over eat and get ready for the next go out. 

STAYCATION SESSIONS--TRESTLES: THU 8.11.2011 DAY

Crew: Al
Conditions: 3-4 ft., onshore wind, inconsistent, sunny.

Days of the Skunk:


    I wake up periodically through the night from a tapping noise. It’s coming from my car’s roof. It’s my surfboard leash. The wind’s blowing it. My alarm wakes me at 0530. I turn to look at the RV parked at the neighboring campsite. The cloth trim over its windows are flapping in the wind.

    Shivering, I step outside and put on my sweater. It’s dark and the wind is strong. I walk to the bathrooms to brush my teeth and sit in front of the fire pit until first light. The water’s choppy. I look at Old Mans and Churches, and the waves look blown out. Since I begin to nod off, I go back to the wagon for a little more sleep.

    An hour later, Al’s tapping on my window. “Dude, it looks like shit,” he says. He suggests that we just go back to sleep, but it’s day three of the trip, and I’m tired of crappy conditions.

    “Let’s check it out further south,” I say. Francesca stays behind, we load the car, and we get on the 5 South to join the morning traffic. We first check out South Oceanside. It’s terrible. The wind is just as strong, and there aren’t any peaks at all. Fuck. We jump back in the ride and head further south. Blacks it is. It’s my first time driving there, but I find it without incident. I park where Francis and I did, but the wind’s not dead like the last morning I surfed here. Even though the wind is a little lighter, it’s there. We walk out to take a look, and the peaks are crumbly and small. Triple skunked. “This is your first time here, right?” I ask.

    “Yup.”

    “Well . . . this is Blacks!” I snap a photo, and we’re on our way back to camp. Was it a waste? If you don’t check it out, you won’t know. You’ll have to rely on a surf report that’s sometimes unreliable or someone that might exaggerate mediocre conditions. Regardless, we’re doing the drive of shame.

    Back at camp, we pick up Francesca and head to Pipes Café in San Clemente. It’s my first time there, and I wish I had found the place sooner. Their “Big Breakfast” is about seven bucks, but they give you a shit load of food. Innersections plays on the wall mounted TV. Eating is the best part of the morning thus far.

    Back at the camp, Al and I are stuffed with food. The overcast finally burns off, the wind lightens up a little, and we keep our eyes on the surf as our food goes down. Even though I need more time to digest, Al makes the call to paddle out. We walk towards the BP and see a set roll through. The shape’s not as good as Lowers, but we’ll gladly take it over dealing with the crowd. We paddle out and catch some waves. It’s a little smaller at Middles, maybe 2-3 ft. We get a couple turns here and there, but the lulls keep getting longer. “You wanna go over there don’t you?” Al says.

    I can’t stop looking at those perfect rights at Lowers. “Maybe just on the side,” I reply. I work my way towards the show, and Al trails behind. I get a spare wave right away. Al passes me up and goes straight into the crowd. I watch him working the inside line and actually catching waves amongst the competition. I wait, catch another wave, but the scavenger technique isn’t working good this afternoon; not much is breaking my way. I have no choice but to go closer to the crowd. I catch nothing. Almost an hour goes by. Al throws me the signal for the “last one.” When I make my way back south, away from everyone, a spare wave actually breaks and takes me all the way to shore. Al’s a little stoked. He tells me that he got snaked a couple times but that he managed to get some rides. Me? I’m a bit frustrated. I vent on being “over“ the crowds. The stoke that I had last night has evaporated and turned into this.

    There’s a ton of food left in our cooler. Back at the site, we kill off as many sandwiches as we can. We’re full again.