THE PASSIVE AND THE AGGRESSIVE, SAT 28JULY2012 MOR

Location: Middles & Lowers

Crew: Bri, Khang & Dais

Time: 0830-1100

Conditions (Middles): 1-2 FT+, warm, offshore, glassy, inconsistent, empty.

Conditions (Lowers): 2-4 FT, consistent, SUPER FUCKING CROWDED!!!

     I wake up at 0645. We slept in, but I’m not bothered by the late start. After I brush my teeth I walk to the overlook and get a first glimpse of Old Mans. The surface conditions are clean, slightly offshore, but the whole San Onofre lineup is dotted with longboarders. I’m not planning to surf there anyway. I think about Rick, remembering the times he woke me up at dawn, excited, saying, “It’s offshore, Matt. We need to get on it right now.” No doubt if he was here, we’d all be in the water already, with good reason.

     Briana shifts on the mattress when I unzip the tent.

     “It’s offshore right now,” I say. “We need to get on it.” I call Khang. He and Dais are in Irvine. I tell them that I’ll meet them in the water. Briana wakes up and munches on some snacks while I change and slap on some Vertra. I’m dressed, my board is waxed, and I’m ready to go, but I stop myself from heading out. Why not just wait, I think to myself. Briana takes her time getting ready. She points out a prairie dog that just popped up from under my board. 

#

 Briana’s already met Dais and Khang, but we still walk out to greet them. Khang has his wetsuit, but I tell him that’s it’s been warm enough for a wetsuit jacket and shorts. Since he doesn’t have one, I give him my O’Neill top while I use the Hurley one that Rick let me borrow.

#

     “Look at that!” says Khang. He’s pointing at a three-foot peak that’s breaking at Churches. “Bam ! . . bam ! . . bam!”

     I laugh at his mind surfing. Two other surfers walk past us, smiling, dripping wet, heading back towards the San Onofre state parking. We can easily paddle out here, but even though it’s not packed, I know that it will be soon. Khang and Dais talk amongst themselves of the possibility of surfing Churches if nothing’s better up north.

     Briana and I stop short at Battle Positions. “We’re gonna surf here,” I say. “Check out Lowers. You never know. Something might swing wide.”

     Dais and Khang walk further north while Bri and I paddle out. There are a couple longboarders sitting by the cliffs, but we maintain our spot to keep Briana out of harm’s way. The water’s glassy and clean but inconsistent. Even though the pulses that come through are weak and don’t line up, it’s fun to surf Middles when the conditions are good. I look to see where Dais and Khang paddled out, but they’re walking back towards us. I catch a little two-foot left and hunker down, faking a barrel ride. I paddle up to them.

     “What happened?” I ask.

     “Too crowded,” says Khang.

     Middles isn’t working that well, at least not for shortboarders. Briana gets some waves, mostly on her belly, but she stands up again on a couple of waves. She’s making good progress.

     I feel bad for Khang and Dais. I didn’t promise good conditions, and I know the conditions are out of my control regardless, but they made a long drive to get out here. I wish the waves were better for them. Like me, they’re paddling into little dribblers which offer zero turns. It gets so inconsistent that even Briana opts to go back to camp, start breakfast, and do some homework.

     We can see Lowers working with guys splitting the A-frame. The thought of catching some Lowers’ scraps, sitting wide and catching some good, down-the-line rights is too irresistible. We make our way towards Lowers.

#

The Other Side of Surfing:

     There’s one guy sitting south of the Lowers’ crowd. He’s wearing a scowl. I know this look. This look tells me: “I don’t want to sit at the main peak, so I’m sitting here, but I haven’t caught shit!”

     It’s the look I dread, but not me, not today. I have to score. There’s something on my side: luck, local knowledge, my paddling ability that will get me priority. I sit a little closer to the pack, not quite where I usually sit, but there’s no choice; nothing is breaking wide.

     Two guys, an old man and a young guy, paddle past me, heading back towards Middles. “I didn’t see that guy,” the old man says. “I didn’t know he was gonna go. By the time I turned around it was too late.”

     Khang, Dais, and I hoped that this would be a good weekend to hit Lowers because the U.S. Open is going on at HB. No one would be out here, we thought. Well, if that’s the case, then forty other surfers thought the same thing. Dais sits towards the inside. Khang is next to me, just south of the main pack sitting at the top of the wave.

     “Sometimes they swing wide,” I say, “but it doesn’t seem to be happening.

     Khang is silent.

     “I’m gonna sit on the other side. Sometimes I get lucky.” I work my way through the crowd at the top of the wave. I can already sense who’s owning this spot. An old guy with long hair paddles through the lineup back to the top of the wave like a great white shark, paying no mind to the other surfers around him. It’s obvious that I’m the new guy who just showed up. I sit to the north this time, hoping for something to swing wide so I can go left. Nothing. Every wave breaks in the same spot, with the scraps only breaking further inside but not to the left or right. It’s frustrating. It’s an internal struggle the whole time. I sit at the top of the wave, sitting way on the outside. I paddle but scratch out on the waves. I’m too deep to catch them early on the Tokoro, maybe if I had the JS. Khang’s shifting in the lineup, also forced to back out of every wave.

     I don’t know what’s worse, surfing shitty waves or sitting on perfect waves without being able to ride them. I get some scraps on the inside, catching two rights, but they don’t materialize into anything because they’re too small. Every time I try to go for a wave, someone’s already on it. I’m forced to watch guys get fun, four-foot drops and then see their spray as the hit that first turn. They return from their long rides, sit back at the lineup, and do it again.

     Frustrated, I go back to the top of the wave. I’m right in the middle of the A-frame; I have priority! I paddle in, but guys are still going for it, both on my left and right. I can force the issue, go either way, but I have no idea if someone’s gonna run into me; I back out.

#

Fuck My Life:

     I’m forced to accept the fact that I’m not cut out to surf in crowds. I wonder how I managed in Bali. The most crowded spot I surfed was Burger Peak in Canggu; there were nineteen heads, but I had my brother block for me. Randy’s just good. He has the look of a shredder and can even pass for Balinese. He’d paddle for priority and say, “Go!” So I went, and I was able to catch my waves. But here . . . there are forty-plus motherfuckers. I can’t. So . . . what makes a good surfer? Is the fact that I can’t muscle my way or be aggressive enough to catch a Lowers’ wave mean that I fucking suck? I can easily say, “Oh if I surfed this place uncrowded, I’d rip on these waves,” but anyone can say that. I ponder if the ability to establish one’s dominance in the lineup is what also makes one a “good surfer.” If it is, then I suck; I’m a Barney. Crowds . . . I just can’t do it. It’s disappointing because I believe in my surfing, but here I am, punked in the lineup. I take the paddle of shame towards the inside, defeated.

#

     Once I’m on the shore, I turn around and take a look at the peak. I see some neon yellow boardshorts pumping down the line, going right. It’s Khang. At least he got one. Dais manages to work the inside, getting a right as well. They both see me on the shore and paddle in to join me.

#

     We pass Churches on the way back to camp. The onshore wind has picked up. “Yeah, I’m cool with not surfing,” says Dais.

     I’m not sure if we made the right call. Maybe we should’ve gone to Churches instead of Lowers. Oh well.

#

     I lick my wounds and move on to thinking about food. Back at the campsite, Briana’s still reading her book. I start on some sausages, eggs, and hash browns. Dais and Khang plan on meeting Klaude at the Obon festival in L.A.

     “Sorry it wasn’t that good,” I say as they’re packing up.

     “Nah, man,” says Khang, “it was fun, dude.”

     Khang . . . poor guy has never caught Trestles good, or HB. Dais has seen Trestles breaking good and so has KK. 

     Briana and I see them off and chow down on our breakfast. We whip out the drinks and play some speed. Afterwards, we head to the PX for more water and splurge out on some Sonic’s milkshakes. J’s on the way with his girlfriend Hayana. I hope that the evening session for them won’t be disappointing.

    

TRESTLES: HELLO SWELL, FRI 7.29.2011 MOR

SKUNKED AGAIN!

Crew: Khang

Ran into: Uncle Miles from Parks Beach.

Time: 0845-1200, 3 hrs. & 15 min.

Conditions: Onshore wind, 3-4 ft., inconsistent, decent shape, overcast to sunny, and warm.

Roll Call:

     I wasn't as tired as I thought I'd be from the surf. I planned on going back to HB in hopes that the new swell would produce some good waves. I asked around to see who could go. Khang was the only one who was down. He offered to pick up some coffee and help out with gas. What a nice guy. The plan was to meet up at 0600 and hit the road.

HB, do your thing:

     Khang shows up with Starbucks coffee in hand. We're only a couple minutes past six but still on schedule. Surfline upgraded the El Porto conditions with a fair 2-3 foot rating, but their morning forecast doesn't sound too promising. HB has to be the best bet. Yesterday I got skunked, so I can't get skunked two days in a row.

     It's nice to have a buddy in the car with me. The drive goes by fast as we bullshit the whole way there. Everything's in place. We plan on eating some good Vietnamese food for lunch after the surf, and we're excited for some fast, peaky waves. Khang notices the flags as soon as we pull up. They aren't just blowing, they are flapping so hard that they look like battle streamers on a navy vessel. I say, “Yeah, but HB can still be okay with wind. There's a chance that there's some shape.” We pass some guys changing into their wetsuits, but my parking area is desolate again like yesterday.

     “It's pretty overcast here,” says Khang. It's another gloomy morning, but this marine layer looks pretty thick all the way out to sea and inland. The overcast and the wind are a dreary combo. I'm optimistic. I still haven't seen the water, and I'm thinking that anything is possible. We get close to the shore and notice the swell. It looks 4-5 feet, but there is no shape. The waves wall up. There are a couple shoulders, but they are marginal. Two guys paddle out. The second they hit the water, the current starts dragging them north. We watch them paddle, step off in shallow water, and then get worked by the white wash. They never make it out. “That one looks fun,” says Khang. He motions towards a left that's at the end of a wall. I watch this wave, but I'm over it. Once again, it's not the image I had in my mind. No one is here for a good reason.

     On the way back to the car, we run into an old timer, probably an HB vet. We shoot the shit about the winds and conditions. “I'm going to check out Bolsa and see if the wind's any better,” he says.

     Khang raises his head from his iPhone and replies, “Nah, Bolsa has the same winds right now.” It appears that everything in the immediate area has wind on it. It's another disappointment, but I'm getting used to it. We sit in the car, check the surf report, and discuss our options. Going back to El Porto isn't one of them; there's no surf there.

And Another One:

     God damn, I never planned on doing this much driving this week, but HB looks like shit, I know Porto's not looking good, and I want some good surf. This will be day number two with crappy waves. Today, getting skunked is not an option. We're on our way to Trestles. The drive is fast again. We see the flags on the campers blowing as well, but those cobblestones have to be making the shape better. Old Mans and Churches is more crowded than yesterday. However, we see solid three foot sets peeling away right in front of us. The overcast and wind add an ominous tone to the waves, but the shape is all that matters. The rights are holding. We watch a guy get four hacks on a ride. We walk towards Middles to do more recon, but the consistency of waves makes us turn back around to suit up. “You want to paddle out over here or walk up there,” I ask. I point towards Middles where it's less crowded.

     “Yeah, but, it doesn't really look that great over there,” he says. I usually skip Churches to see what Middles is doing, and then I make my way back if Middles sucks. But on this morning I'm open to getting out of my routine. I've been making some bad calls lately, so I think it's good to go along with someone else's energy. We paddle at south Churches were we saw the guy get four hits. We scratch out on two waves that break towards the inside, and then the spot shuts down. We paddle to the next peak over, and the lull has started. Nothing. We paddle to the main peak where Khang decides to stay. I don't want to compete with the longboarders, so I head to the south end of Middles in hopes for a random peak to stray my way. Finally, I draw blood on my first left. The peaks are long, but not as much as yesterday. The wave is fast but good for some fun pumping and top to bottom trims. My second left is similar. Khang paddles to me and says, “Fuck man, every time I was in position I had to back out of the wave. One this one right, the guy behind me asked me to kick out. He said, 'Please, kick out.'”

     “Fuck, no shit? Well, at least he said 'please,'” I reply. As Khang arrives, a bump forms in the distance. I paddle out to catch it before it breaks. As I turn and go, I realize that I'm right at the peak. The slopy, forgiving Trestles wave allows me to take my time as I pop up. I drop in, set up for my bottom turn, and hit the lip once. On my second bottom turn, a couple longboarders from Churches back out. I get one more before my ride ends. It instills new life in me, especially after the recent skunks. It just might be a good day.

To the battle position!:

     “You were catching waves until I came,” Khang says. We joke about how the waves turned off with his arrival. The lull is long again, and we're already into the second hour.

I say, “Hey, lets go further north.” We paddle in front of the battle position just outside of a small crowd that's been there the whole morning. We don't get anything there, so we paddle further north just past the cliff. It doesn't take long before a wave comes my way. There's a guy on my right, but he doesn't know that I want to go left. As I pop up I yell, “Left!” I'm not sure if he hears me, but I'm going down the line for a decent ride. Lowers is working as usual. Khang and I watch surfers tear the shit out of that wave, but we're happy as well because the cliff begins to turn on. I catch one of my best lefts since being home. I drop in at the peak again, the section isn't running away, and the shoulder is wide open for me to do my worst. Unfortunately, my front side abilities aren't that great yet, but I gather speed and practice carving the lip. It's not working. I shift my feet to practice a cutback, and half way through the arc I spring out of the turn. I feel my tail slide down with power as I redirect my board. It feels . . . like magic, amazing. I don't know how to describe it, but it's a very new feeling that I've only felt a few times. I ride it until the wave's barely a foot high. I kick out over the the small lump that used to be a wave. Khang sees me and shakes his fist with a smile on his face. I hold both palms open with my arms out on each side. I'm stoked.

     My next wave is a right-hander that I catch at the peak again. I swear, this wave is so forgiving. The lip feels as if it's keeping me up there, but the drop is so naturally delayed that it's normal, and yet it's a four foot day?! Some of the waves are so good they are breaking like Lowers. The shoulder's a little steep, and I shoot up the wave for a hack. The wave's shape forces me back into the pocket with speed, and I go back up the face for a second hit as the lip is starting to curl. It's a late turn, so my nose purls because I'm practically vertical when I reenter. I spin around and get whiplashed as my back smacks the water. I resurface, I'm all right.

     I paddle back to Khang. I'm so fucking happy at this point. The session has been officially “made.” Those two waves already made the drive worth it. “Fuck, I need to catch one,” says Khang.

     Reminiscent of the young Aussie, Dillon, that I met in Bali, I reply, “The next wave's yours!” Well, Khang doesn't really need my help, as he catches a wave that forms slightly north of our position. It's about three feet, but there's a little shoulder on it. He returns. “How was that one?”

     “It was okay,” he says. A set wave forms on the outside, and he catches this one going right. From behind, the shoulder is holding again. I scratch out on the next couple. He comes back to tell the tale. It was a good one.

     Just then, an old timer paddles by us, gets my attention, and says to me, “Hey, thanks for that wave earlier!”

     “Ohhh . . .” I'm awkward. What is he talking about?

     “You said, 'Left!' I didn't know which way you were going, I thought you were going right!”

     “Oh, did you go right on that one?”

     “Yeah.”

     “Good, good!” I reply. Man, it always lifts my spirit to experience a friendly exchange in the water like that, all due to good surf etiquette. Nice. I now turn to Khang and say, “Man, now you've turned on and I've turned off.” With Khang's luck comes my dismay. We sit at this spot for the remainder of the session. Khang chooses to sit in front of the BP while I remain at the cliff. I catch more rides, but none are as good as those two earlier ones. I turn to see if I can spot Khang, but he's returning from the inside. I don't know if he's scoring or not, but he's definitely catching waves. At the third hour I find myself scratching out and mistiming the waves. The Book of Randy says to take a break after surfing for two hours. What happens is that you get hungry, tired, and you start making mistakes. Also, surfing tired leads to bad habits. I signal Khang who's sitting at a different peak amongst other surfers. I point to the shore and show my index finger. One more and I'm going in. My last wave isn't spectacular. The section runs away and I fall after forcing a top turn. It counts.

     Standing on the shore I feel my stomach tightening. I need to put some food in there. We walk back, side by side, praising this morning's score. He says that he got a lot of waves; we both got our fill in. Clean shoulders are still rolling through as we leave to grab some food. Right before we pull out we see a familiar face watching the surf. It's an older guy wearing water shades; we've seen him at 26^th. “We need to say hi,” says Khang. We go out and say wassup. His name is Miles, but Klaude refers to him as Uncle Miles. When we get back the tide is lower, and the wind is stronger. We eat our sandwiches as we contemplate the next move. The window of good surf is closed. Surfers leave the Churches' lineup until there are only a half dozen at the main peak. The drive back home is easy with a co pilot. We say our goodbyes and save our energy for tomorrow. Today we gambled, gambled and won.

A WEEKEND AT TRESTLES: A LONGBOARDER‘S HEAVEN, SUN 3.27.2011 EVE

CREW: Michelle, Cheryl, Silverton, Sebastian, Dan, and Tim
FLAKES OF THE DAY: NA
RAN INTO: NA
TIME: Guestimating from 1630-1900, 2 hrs.  30 min.
CONDITIONS: Offshore winds, soft, chest high, consistent, a little choppy, and sunny.

    Most of the DRC left one by one, and it was just the girls and I. They napped in the tent while I failed at suppressing my snack attack on the picnic table. I gave them the choice of where we would surf, and they were pretty adamant at trying out Old Mans for their first times; it would be my first time, too. Even thought the spot looked packed and the swell looked like it was decreasing, I didn’t mind the thought of catching some lefts for a change. We prepd for round two and made our walk south. I’ve never seen that part of the beach. We walked a bit further and paddled out at what was officially San Onofre Beach. Michelle eyed a lone peak that broke outside and to the south of the whole crowd. I made my way there while they hung out amongst the patches of surfers. The early evening conditions were almost summer-like. All the clouds were gone by then, the sun turned the blue water to a light tinted green, and everything looked delightfully warm.

    I sat and waited for that peak that Michelle saw while they were getting some long two foot rides. Finally, the outside set came, and I paddled for it, making a very late drop. The wave bogged out once it got to the inside. Michelle paddled up and said, “That wave that you got was clutch!” Yeah, there were a couple fun rides out there, but the truth was that I definitely needed a bigger board to really enjoy that break. Cheryl and Michelle came prepared by bringing their longboards just in case. Michelle shared the peak with me until she darted further south to a more consistent spot. Cheryl joined me and had problems with the hat she was wearing. It was actually a little comical to see her paddle out with that thing on. It looked liked a hat made for planting tulips in a garden. I assisted by stashing the hat in the top of her wetsuit, which gave her a hunchback like appearance.

    We joined Michelle at her newly found peak. Surprisingly, it was really consistent. Wave after wave broke from the outside. The wave would peel far away, and all we had to do was chase down the shoulder to paddle into it. It was just so small and mooshy. Michelle milked the most out of those waves, but I had to work hard and generate whatever momentum I could. Some of the rides were still fun and good for a couple top turns, but for the most part I was trimming on a burgery shoulder.

    I paddled back towards Old Mans to see if I could snag a left, but by the time I got there the water was already clearing up, and everyone was leaving. The surf turned choppy, and I caught a close out to shore.

    When I got back to the site I saw my friend Dan’s car was parked there. I dried up and saw my friends Sebastian, Dan, and Tim in the distance. With them was Cheryl’s boyfriend Silverton walking with the girls. My buddies stayed to smoke a cigar and left. The rest of the night was spent eating chili and making some smores over the camp fire. Silverton offered a kind gestured and carefully made me some smores with the precision of an iron chef. It was the calmest night of the whole trip; there was practically no wind. However, I slept in my car since the girls were there, and I had the worst sleep ever in my wagon. I didn’t anticipate that the car windows would make everything inside so cold over night.

    It was still fun to have that easy session. By that evening my body was worn, and it welcomed not having to work as hard. For any of my friends that are just starting to surf, that will be their spot.

A WEEKEND AT TRESTLES: AGAINST ALL ODDS, FRI 3.25.2011 MOR

INTRO:

    On Tuesday, Klaude text me and said that he was surfing Trestles on Saturday even if he had to sleep in the bang-bus on Cristianitos. I knew for sure that I’d be going there on Friday. I thought to myself about how I could make the plan work? I thought about surfing all day Friday at Trestles, coming home, then venturing out with Klaude again, but that would be too much driving. Then, I got a wild hair up my ass . . . I decided to just get a camping spot for the whole weekend. It would work out perfectly because Lauren was going to San Diego with her friends anyway. I set up a webpage and made an event out of it. It was an open invite for everyone.

    Well, the only bad thing was there was rain in the forecast, and there was a fifty percent chance that the whole weekend would be ruined by stormy conditions, but it was a chance I was willing to take. To me it was worth the risk, but only time would tell if the decision would be genius or buffoonery.

    I stayed up late getting all my shit together. It was the first time that I’ve ever set up a camping expedition by myself. The more I thought about it, the more stuff I wanted to bring. I almost bought a whole new set of outdoor pots and pans. Last night Lauren gave me a funny look as she watched me in the kitchen. “Really, you’re going to take the rice cooker?” she said.

    “Hell yeah! Spam, eggs, and rice on the beach! Oh my gawd, sounds so delicious!” I said.
    She nodded in disapproval as I stood there with the one pound Diamond G bag in my hand.

    Last night was pouring rain, and this morning was no different. I got a late start and hit the road by 0630, and by the time I hit HB it was “stop and go” traffic. Sheets of rain pounced on my car sporadically throughout the whole drive. I figured that there was no rush to paddle out because of the conditions, so I took the long drive through Dana Point and San Clemente to see the ocean and find somewhere to eat. The surf looked stormy with not one surfer out.

    I ordered a plate of machaca with eggs and cheese at Love Burger (I’ll give them a good review on Yelp) and headed to San Onofre right after. I’ve never seen the surf so consistent at Old Man’s. Yes, it sure was stormy, on shore, rainy, but there were head high lefts that still held their shape. Not perfect, far from perfect, but they were rideable.

    Now, the sun is out with the overcast finally burning away. It’s 1007. I regret eating such a heavy meal now. I’m gonna watch it for a little bit and figure out where to surf. As of right now, there are three long boarders at Old Man’s; it’s warming up.

A WEEKEND AT TRESTLES:
AGAINST ALL ODDS, FRI 3.25.2011 MOR

CREW: Solo
FLAKES OF THE DAY: NA
RAN INTO: NA
TIME: 1035 - 1200, 1 hr. & 25 min.
CONDITIONS: Sunny with patches of gray skies, side shore to onshore wind, extremely low tide, slight south current, five feet, inconsistent, long lulls, mostly rights, a couple lefts, lot of chop and texture because of storm, waves still had open faces.

    I just learned that the tide is still going up. Low tide was at 0942, and high tide will be at 1658 . . . It fooled me. Once the sun came out and I saw three surfers at Old Man’s, I decided it was time to change. As I parked at Churches I saw that no one was there. I literally had first dibs on that whole spot. Because of that, I was reluctant to walk to Middles or Lowers. I did see some fun looking rights rolling through, and I justified myself by saying, “I only go to Middles to get away from the crowd.” Since there was no crowd at Churches, I thought it more convenient to just paddle out right in front of my parking spot. I thought that it was low tide because a lot of the rocks were exposed. I saw a longboarder and his shortboarder girlfriend paddling out just to my south; they wisely picked a channel with less rocks. Not me. I was stubborn and walked to chest deep water, braving the uneven and slippery footing while looking like an orangutan on ecstasy.

    I couldn’t find the line up. The longboarder was close by, but then he paddled so far on the outside that I figured either he or I was completely off. My local knowledge of the spot still isn’t quite there yet. The water, despite after the storm, was just like any other winter day. There weren’t any funky debris floating around, and the water looked lime green under the high sun. The longboarder paddled early into a right that was about five feet, and he caught it all the way to the shallow area--a long ass ride. I backed out of the first right that came. It looked like it was going to close, but it actually rolled past me, and I could see that the shoulder was holding shape from behind. I should’ve gone. An outside set came. It was a random left. Even though the tide was low, since the wave was breaking so far outside, it was actually burgery. The slope of the wave was almost too gradual, but I paddled myself into it. It was probably a four footer, and it was a clean shoulder in the midst of the morning funk. I trimmed top to bottom, desperately trying to dig my tail into the lip for a mean gouge, but I still couldn’t whip my tail around. Something just happens when I’m front side, like I’m stuck on the board. I’d like to think that the waves mooshiness didn’t help with my speed, so that could’ve been another factor. I even tried shifting my footing, putting as much weight, and pushing on the back to no avail. Regardless, it was a really fun left. Actually, it was one of the longest lefts that I’ve had in a while.

    I’ll keep the rest of my report short. For about the next hour I wiped out on two waves, was out of position for the plus sized sets, and frustratingly waited in between the long lulls. I only got one wave. The last forty five minutes was me and this other guy that showed up after the couple left. We were both going through the same shit. The wind picked up a little bit more turning from sideshore to onshore. There was more disorganization and inconsistency in the water. Maybe it wasn’t the tide to blame as much as it was the wind. I figured that I missed the morning window because of the storm, and what was left was a race against the wind.

    Well, one good wave for the morning . . . what can I say? The walk back to the sand was excruciating. My toes were numb, and I kept stumbling and falling because of those damn rocks. The cold and pain combined made me feel like if I had lost a toe I wouldn’t have noticed!

    Well, it’s time to check in. I got a good handful of people that are actually stoked about coming out here, and that makes me happy. I’m gonna set up camp.