MALIBU: FIRST IMPRESSIONS, SAT 4.23.2011 MORN

CREW: Klaude, Dais, Cheryl, Christina

FLAKES OF THE DAY: None

RAN INTO: None other than local hero Allen Sarlo

TIME: 0730 – 1030, 3 hrs.

CONDITIONS: Low tide, a little chilly, faint offshore, clean, pristine, glassy, 3 feet.

    As I approach the end of this school semester, I am getting more and more swamped with work. I dedicated all day Friday to working on a research paper, so much that my back hurt from sitting in a chair so long. Saturday was dedicated for school but not without a much needed morning surf sesh.

    The whole week, Christina tried to organize a DRC surf day followed up by a movie afterwards. I had to opt out for the movie, and I was an advocate for staying as close to El Segundo as possible. Klaude came up with the idea of surfing Malibu, everyone else agreed on that, so I thought I'd change things up a bit to check out something new.

    Two weekends ago from that morning was the first time that I set eyes on Malibu. What does one think of at the thought of that place? Well, obviously, a lot of SoCal's surf history is rooted in Malibu, there are the stories of bad water quality, and also, the localism. If you disagree, feel free, but that's the “buzz” about Malibu that I've heard and continue to hear. And how can we forget that incident when the paparazzi got beaten up while filming Matthew McConaughey's surf session? Well, despite rumors, we all have our personal first impressions where we end up saying, “It wasn't that bad,” or, “Holy shit, I'm over it!”

    I expected a large crowd, so I left my apartment at about 0600. I got past Manchester Blvd. until I realized I forgot my damn wetstuit; I had to bust a bitch. New time check, it was 0620 on my way to PCH. It was a nice morning drive, but gawd damn, you would have thought there was a tsunami from how fast people were driving and cutting cars off. It took away from the beautiful coastline PCH experience. I felt a shit coming on, so I pulled into the Mickey D's in Malibu. The manager was outside and opened the door for me. I rushed to the one bathroom stall, but someone was in it. Feeling guilty at using their restroom without being a customer, I got a McGriddles breakfast meal to go. When I got back to the shitter, a morning bicyclist walked out of the stall, sipping his coffee. I only do that at school and home, I thought. Could you imagine that guy, drinking his coffee while taking a shit?

    The street parking next to the ocean was all taken, so I parked at the northernmost spot across the street. A broken bottle and fragments of glass were in the gutter. More shards of glass littered the sidewalk. I walked across the street to have a look. There was a crowd at Third Point. It looked pretty flat until thet sets came. Goodness, I saw the potential. Clean righthand waves formed out of the point. The rides were so long that the waves didn't end until the shore. Some guys at the point ended up falling off, which left the wave open for guys trying to get some scraps towards the inside. The main problem I saw was how many people the point had. Realistically, I didn't see myself paddling right into the “main pack” in unfamiliar territory. Another problem, there were only a couple peaks working, so the option of paddling somewhere else seemed dismal.

    I suited up, and then everyone else except Cheryl arrived. While warming up on the sand I noticed that Christina didn't have her longboard. She said that she was ready to experiment with something smaller. We walked out north of Third Point; it was shallow. The rocks there are different than Trestles, just when you thought you were in deeper water, more big rocks were in your path. The air temp was cool but doable. We sat next to a couple old school longboarders that had the same idea of avoiding the crowd. They got waves while we waited . . . and waited . . . and waited. We saw the main pack at the point jockey for set waves, and then we'd see the lucky surfer go for his long exhiliarating ride. We chanced paddling closer to Second Point, but then we got entangled in the kelp. Wow, the kelp . . . it kept us from getting any waves right there. Some perfect little shoulders arrived, but we couldn't get any paddling momentum. The aqautic vines snagged onto our arms and board fins as we failed.

    Klaude got frustrated and paddled just south of Second Point where the sections were pitchy and racy. Dais and I watched his glorious effort to paddle into waves as we watched the ocean's imitation of playing Dominoes with our friend and his Rising Sun board: “DOMINO, BITCH!” with a loud and emphatic “smack!” It wasn't just him. I had a memorable wipeout shortly after.

    I got lucky and caught a clean little right. My main goal was to gain speed, for the rides were fast, and a top turn would've let the section run away. However, it was still fun. Drawing the highline on a smooth shoulder, while pumping backhand, was good practice. As that first ride ended I was towards the inside, just over the rocks, when I looked up and noticed a guy making his way out. It was Allen Sarlo. I couldn't help but get a little star struck when I saw him. I've seen him in Chasing the Lotus and other surf movies, and his name appears in anything “Dog Town” related.

    I couldn't help it. I waited until he was closer and said, “Good morning, I've seen you in the movies, man. Right on!”

    He smiled and let out a little laugh, and then I turned around to paddle back out. Cheryl showed up with her longboard and joined the rest of us. She paddled out quite a distance in her search. Christina went back to her car to switch boards.

    Dais and Klaude were catching waves, but they seemed like short and fast rides. We kept trying to call waves for eachother and yelled words of encouragement like, “Paddle for your life, you saltwater bastard, you!” Okay, so we didn't say exactly that, but you get the gist. With few waves and the froth that exceeded them, we found ourselves scrapping over the same rides. Klaude and I were paddling greedily, thigh to thigh, on more than one occasion. He actually let me have one which was my longest wave. Once again, I drew the highline to gather speed, and for a moment I thought I would be able to wrap around the Third Point for an epic ride. Well, that was wishful thinking, as the wave closed over the rocks. I was lucky I didn't get hurt.

    When I returned, Klaude said, “Damn, I would've given you so much shit if you didn't catch that one!” Thanks for the wave, KK.

As the tide filled in, more surfers arrived, and the chances at getting waves to ourselves dissipated. I turned around and saw Cheryl talking to Mr. Sarlo. She had no problem inserting herself among the wolves, and I even saw her returning, numerous times, after catching some longboard rides. Christina was somewhere near Cheryl. I told the fellas that I was done and paddled south of Third Point in hopes to catch “the last one.”

    South of the point was a whole different story. I've never seen so many longboarders scattered over such a small area; they all waited for the leftovers. Every wave had a couple people on it, sometimes four going at the same time. Some people had etiquette to kickout after the drop in, some didn't. It was useless. I got to the shore when I saw Klaude walking out. He didn't look happy, as he made the universal sign for slitting a throat. He said that he and Dais got into a verbal altercation with some longboarders. Dais got out, and he gave us his story of what happened too. Fuck, well . . . what can you do? A lot of times we're on the spectator end of seeing such things. If you spend enough time in the water, eventually you'll get your serving of negative vibes as well.

    My first impression: Malibu has good waves. The long rights kind of remind me of Trestles. But damn . . . too much crowd factor for me to handle. I'd like to see how that place gets when it's big. Maybe a weekday would be best to avoid weekend warriors. I still say I had a good session there. It's always good to check out new spots, and that's another one under my belt.

COUNTY LINE: STRIKING GOLD ON THE NORTHERN FRONTIER: SAT 4.09.2011 MOR

CREW: Dais, Klaude, Francis, and Nichole (Francis’s photog gf)

FLAKES OF THE DAY: None

RAN INTO: No one 

TIME: 0815 – 1015, 2 hrs.CONDITIONS: Cold front, icy balls temperature, slight offshore winds, glassy, scattered peaks, right-hand dominant, a couple lefts to be had, and averaging chest high.

     I tried to surf at Porto and Parks this past week, but every time I went to take a look, it wasn’t that good. I had work this weekend, but because of the possible government shut down, work was cancelled. Unexpectedly, I had this Saturday off, and Dais and Klaude already had the thought of venturing out of the South Bay for some surf. We debated on where to go. I’ve shown a lot of favoritism for Trestles, and I put the idea out there to see what the fellas thought. They said they wanted to check out Sunset or Malibu. Initially, I thought about just making the drive to Trestles on my own, but instead I valued the idea of sharing some waves with friends.

     I got under four hours of sleep and still made it to Klaude’s house at 0620. Dais was running late, so I rummaged through Klaude’s refrigerator and kitchen cabinets to pass the time. There was no ice cream. Dais finally showed up, and we hit the road at about seven.

     The last time I went up north was when I surfed at Oxnard with Rick and Michaelson, and that was about two months ago. I actually love to surf Sunset. That right that forms off of the point is really clean, but I can’t deal with the crowds, and parking is a bitch over there. When we drove by Sunset the conditions were really clean, but the waves weren’t even three feet. We kept driving and parked when we reached Malibu; I’ve only driven by that spot in the past, and it was my first time having an opportunity to gaze out at it. It was a chilly morning. The crisp air bit at my toes; the water looked even cooler. Sorry to say, but Sunset looked a little better. 

Malibu

Zumas

Klaude fired up the bang-bus, and we were off to check out Zumas, another first for me. It was amazing seeing the different surf spots north of the South Bay for the first time. Zumas is a beach break, and there were a couple peaks that were firing. The shore pound there looked big, but the wave looked fast and racy. Some of the waves looked a little hollow; it was definitely a shortboard spot. It looked a little crowded for just a couple peaks, plus there was a surf contest going on. We huddled for the next move.

     “I don’t care; I’m just a passenger today,” I said.

     “Sunset looked pretty good. We could go back there unless you guys want to keep going further north,” said Klaude.

     “Well, Sunset looked all right, but I kind of like exploring and checking out these different spots,” said Dais.

The search continues.

     And just like that, we headed further north and came upon County Line. Dais has seen it before, but for Klaude and me, it was our first time. First of all, the parking is a dirt and gravel shoulder that’s on a cliff, overlooking the surf. The wind was still chilly and offshore as we walked towards the lookout to see the conditions. We didn’t expect it, but before us was a promise land of surf. Who would’ve expected it after the let downs we saw on the way there? It kind of reminded me of Trestles. The water was glassy, and there were two consistent northern peaks that gave good, chest high surf. The kelp at those peaks eliminated any texture which made the waves look much cleaner. In between the little bay were scattered peaks, less consistent but still clean and rideable. There weren’t even that many people in the water. 

My apologies for my shitty camera with zoom to match. This picture of County Line doesn't quit catch the essence of how good it was out there.

     We were satisfied with what we saw, so we started changing into our gear to hit the water. Unfortunately, I couldn’t help but feel a little anxiety at the thought of paddling out. Why? Well, both of my wetsuits are on their last legs. One is so worn out on a shoulder that you could practically see through it. My O’Neill Psycho has breaks in the seal, and every time I paddle out, cold water just shoots in from everywhere. I took the cheap route and thought I’d hold out until things warmed up. Well, the cold air that numbed my ears was a premonition that my balls would be in for an icy treat.

     It was obvious that we weren’t from around there. We weren’t sure how to get down the cliff, but we finally took a chance on a steep little, rocky, trail that led town to the shore. The beach has a rock bottom just like Trestles, which is probably why the surf there seemed so good and consistent. I warmed up and did a time check; it was 0815. I walked out to waist deep water and paddled out. Despite the lack of sleep, I was wide awake after that first duck dive. It was a long paddle out, but the waves were so soft and gradual that it was easy to get to the line. I paddled past the line while I caught my breath. It didn’t take long to catch my first wave; it was a left, but the section ran away before I could get a turn. I got a right after that, but it was pretty fast with a racy section as well. I caught one more, but I popped up late.

Klaude joined me in the line up and said, “You drew first blood.”

     I was trying to get a feel for the waves. They were soft and gradual, but they felt fast, not HB fast, but definitely faster than Trestles. Klaude paddled north and sat at the kelp beds where he met a Japanese regular at that spot. They were rapping in Japanese, and Dais was south of me. I couldn’t believe that the crowd was that thin during prime time. I sat towards the outside and waited for the set waves, and that’s when my balls started to hurt. Yes, it was one of those mornings, that’s when I can tell if it’s really cold. A perfect left came my way, but my hands were so numb that they slipped on the pop up. I had to give it a second try, but I lost my balance on the second attempt. I was mad at myself for that. To compensate for the numbness, I had to pay closer attention to my hand positioning on my board.

     I started having fun after my first couple rights. No, the rides weren’t as long as Trestles, but they were clean enough for a couple turns, and a couple turns are better than catching Porto’s close outs. I caught one right at the peak, but after a couple turns the section ran away. On a different wave, I pulled off one critical top turn off of the lip as it was closing. I’m not sure how it looked from the cliff, but I know that it felt good. When I returned, Dais told me that he saw a little toss of water out the back. Yes, I’ve realized that I don’t actually get any spray out the back, at least not just yet. No, I only get little “tosses.” This is true, as Lauren told me this at Trestles last time. She said that I’m trying to snap, but I’m doing the turn short of the lip. I hope to correct this soon.

     I didn’t get to see my boys on any waves. The truth is that we got separated and just did our own thing. But I did see Klaude paddling back from the inside quite a bit, so I know he got some rides.

     Etiquette lacked at this place as well. I heard, “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” from the longboarder that almost got dropped in on.

     I saw Klaude’s new pal get dropped in on, too. I realized that prime time wasn’t when we paddled out. Prime time was more like 0900. Before we knew it, there were surfers everywhere, but it was a different kind of vibe. At a break with so many good waves, we were surprised that everyone wasn’t a ripper. There were a lot of beginner surfers out there, too. But I have to say that it was a positive atmosphere. I hear so many stories of localism at all these different spots. I didn’t see one altercation, no bad vibes, and no one was mad-dogging anyone. We showed respect and it was given back.

     By 1000 I couldn’t take it any more. I had already been shivering hard for the last hour, and the crowd factor kept me on less waves. I wasn’t moving around as much, and the sun did little to warm me up. The cold brought about painful discomfort. I saw Klaude on the shore, so I caught my last wave in. It was 1015.

     When I got to the van, Klaude and Francis were talking. Francis introduced his girlfriend Nichole, and he said that they drove over to surf with us. Klaude said that he just got out of the water to stretch and that he was paddling back out with Francis. I took a look out at the water. It was crowded, but there were still so many fun rides out there. I was just so damn cold; I couldn’t do it. I talked to some other local guys, even they said that they were cold in their 4/3s, and that today was definitely not the day for a holy wetsuit. I sat in the van and ate some snacks. Dais got out at about 1100, and everyone else was done at about 1145.

     On a different note, we were parked in the middle of a tailgate party. Locals were parked all around and behind us. The guys there had a big group, and everyone that parked hung out and perched by our van. They glanced at us a couple times and went on with their business. I wasn’t sure if we’d have any problems. Then they started “lighting it up,” and even told us to let them know if we needed to move our van. Wow, I thought. They were some grimy surfers, mellow . . . just like us. We were in good company.

     Our group went to Neptune’s to grab lunch then came back to eat at the cliff. Tired and full of food, we took a nap in the bang-bus. County Line was a real score. I didn’t expect it to be that good.