SMALL DAYS PT. 4, WED03APR2013 MOR

Spare change?

Loc: Churches

Crew: Bri

Conditions: 2-3 FT, glassy, clean, overcast, cool, uncrowded.

     Don’t let anyone tell you that it’s summer because it’s not. Nope, not yet. Last night was cold as fuck. Condensation in the tent. . . Thank goodness we pulled the mattress away from the walls. The sound of the waves put me in a paranoid, sleep state. For some reason, I was in constant fear that the tent was gonna wash away. I mean, LITERALLY, the water sounded like it was right there. I woke up to the reality that the waterline hadn’t touched any of our things.

     It’s a slow start this morning. There is no mad dash to rush it at first light, especially not when low tide is a little later. We wait, cook our breakfast, pack up as much as we can, and then we hit the surf around nine. Even though we didn’t plan things this way, it works out great because the first shift of surfers have vacated Churches and headed back to their cars at the state beach. The surf looked small from the campsite, especially with this drained tide. The rocks are so exposed that we have to paddle out way south and away from the normal spot. But there are still waves breaking through the low tide. Like yesterday, we start off by sitting wide and to the south. Since I’ve stuck next to Bri the whole trip, I tell her that I’m going to head to the top of the wave. It turns out that there are waves everywhere, not for the sake of consistency but because there aren’t even ten heads here anymore. Churches is so fun when it’s not crowded like it usually is. How to describe these rides? Well, there’s not much else I can say that doesn’t sound the same as the last three sessions, but now these are rights. More waves to ourselves. Plenty of time is spent paddling back to the lineup after catching so many waves.

     Bri is a little apprehensive at going for the sets. I try to call her into them without being too forceful. She raises her head while paddling, as she senses she’s scratching out. “Keep your chin down,” I tell her. Then, she starts catching. She’s really doing a good job, I mean getting quality, down the line rides. Sure, her pop up is slow, but she’s able to recover after hitting the base of the wave, and redirecting her nose down the line to get some distance. I swear, when I was at her surfing level I was either going straight or just going for bomb, closeouts. She’s so spoiled and doesn’t even know it. . .

     When the tide comes up, our spot slows down. I head further north, just short of Mons Pubis. As I’m heading there, I pass this guy that’s sat at the top of the wave all morning. “Good morning,” I say.

     “Morning.”

     “It’s small but pretty fun.” He doesn’t reply. He’s stocky, a little older than me, and has a bald head. As I make my way out of his range, an outside wave just pops up, just . . . right to me. I hear him scratching for it behind him, and then I’m faced with the etiquettical dilemma. . . Am I back paddling him right now? I mean, he’s been sitting at the top of the wave; he can easily turn and get the shoulder. But I’m not here to take his wave; I’m just making my way to another spot, plus. . .Ahh, this wave. Set wave, an easy three feet, and I can’t help myself because I’m at the peak. I have to, I must go. It’s the steepest drop in of the week. I pump and draw a highline to make it over a section, and the next is just green glass, a shoulder just waiting to be ruined, ripped by a dick or a stick, a surf stick. On this ocean liner of a fish, I bottom turn and rip a smooth turn off of the shoulder. I hear the toss of water out of the back. So clean and nonchalant on this wave. Was this how surfing was a long time ago before the crowds took over? I mean, I get my fair share of decent waves, but barely in an environment with so much solitude. But then, there’s the guy. I feel some funky energy. Let’s just call it guilt. I head to the spot that I had initially aimed for.

     The tide slows things down, but there are still some good rides. My creative, inner longboarder (that never came into fruition) begins to come out. I’m crouching, walking the deck, and facing the wave backwards. Endless fun, until about 1115 that is. We head back, take hot showers, stop at Sonics, and hit the road. This was a one nighter, surgical-strike surf trip. It was perfect for Bri, and who cares if it was small. It was perfect for me too. It’s nice to surf small waves too sometimes, at least with the right equipment. It was also nice to just chill out, not have any expectations, and then to still score anyhow. It’s a rough drive home, completely BEACHED. My skin begs for mercy to be spared from more sun. My back muscles ache in a restless twitch, unable to shut off “paddle mode” for now. My eyes can barely stay open. I’m not thirsty but I know I need more water. I’m almost reaching Long Beach. I drink the rest of my coffee that might as well be a placebo. Only twenty more miles to go with counterfeit caffeine, relying solely on stoke afterburn. I smile at the line of cars ahead. Only a surfer knows.

SECOND DRC CAMP TRIP (part seven), SUN24MAR2013 DAY

Loc: Middles

Time: 1500-1700

Crew: Khang, J, Dais, Al, and Klaude

Conditions: 4 FT+, glassy, high-mid tide, consistent, crowded.

     Despite the onshore wind, Churches looks fun. Initially we had planned again for Uppers, but . . . that’s not gonna happen. With a stomach full of Sonics, and a long drive back, we are all about the hit-and-run session. Churches looks so fun. Not that many guys are out, and there seems to be enough waves for everyone. Cheryl joins us, but she takes a nap on the beach while we paddle out. She’s calling it a trip. 

     We paddle out just south of the main peak. J and I scratch on a couple waves, and then Khang again. Man, he just gets this special delivery, a good down-the-line ride, a four footer; it just comes right to him. He gets it, taking it all the way to shore, pretty much by where we parked.

     J is next. Dais too. I keep working my way north until I’m at the main peak. Al gets some good ones. I see him on so many, just going right, and me pulling out of the way. Even Klaude gets his share. Me . . . fuck, I’m struggling again. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

     The crowd gets thicker, and the main peak gets too much for me to handle. There is one wave though, right in the thick of it. I have to pass so many waves for the longboarders, but I draw the lucky wave. I’m on the outside with time to spare, but two guys are paddling for it too. “Go, Matt,” says Klaude. I turn and start paddling, going purposely deep. A guy is just on my outside. He’s going for it too. I can’t just give up the wave, so I kick, scrape, and pop up. I’m up, and the guy is still on it. I wait. He’s still not getting off.

     I yell, “Woooooh!” but not in a motivating manner. He kicks out, and I get my set wave of the afternoon.

     Back at the lineup, Klaude says, “Man, hungry-hungry hippos out there.”

#

     Dais, J, and I paddle towards Mons Pubis, where it is nothing but walls. I mean, solid walls, just unrideable. I get caught on the inside, facing long rows of whitewash. I’m beached, drained, frustrated. This hasn’t been the easiest of surf trips for me. For me the best thing has been the company, not the surf, but everyone else has scored, which is fine with me. I work my way towards Churches, passing Khang who’s still sitting with the pack. “You gonna call it soon?” he asks.

     I tell him that I’m going for one more. We had surfed about two hours. Back at the car, the crew leaves one by one. Embraces are exchanged. I thought everyone had a shitty session like me, but that’s not so. Guys are stoked, talking about some good ones they got. I smile back and mask my frustration. So long as my buddies score, I’m happy.

     Al and I had originally planned on sushi, but we’re more tired than we are hungry. We plan to eat somewhere in the South Bay for dinner. Khang and Dais say they’ll join. So we end up at Alejo’s on Lincoln Boulevard, chowing down. I’m so surfed out. 

#

30MAR2013 SAT

     I just saw Rick this morning. He said his brother and Gary’s son, both connected guys in the surf industry, have taken measures to keep their eyes out for the boards. Rick’s not sore. I’ve actually been worried that he may have been a little upset at me, and then again, that’s just my personality to think something stupid like that I guess. I’m happy to see that he’s okay; his bro’s gonna give him a loaner, but of course nothing will replace his beloved boards.

     This evening Al calls me. He says he looked at the pics that Hideki had posted from our surf trip. He’s so stoked. All he can talk about is how much fun we had. And when I look back. .. he’s right. I mean, yes, we did get robbed pretty much, but we did have a lot of fun. To think I was paranoid that we had too many people, that people wouldn’t get along, and everyone did just fine. Good energy, love basically. And the surf. . . Even though I had some frustrating sessions, everyone had a blast. I tell Al that I can’t wait to do it again. He can’t either. As Klaude said last trip, it’s rare, to score like we have been is rare, especially with a good crew of people. He’s right, but even if we don’t score next time, I’m happy just to be surrounded by my people with food, a campfire, and good energy. Much mahalos to everyone that helped make this trip what it was. Fuck the negative, I’ll cherish this weekend forever.

SECOND DRC CAMP TRIP (part six), SUN24MAR2013 MOR

Loc: Middles

Crew: Khang, J, Dais, Hideki, Al, and Klaude

Conditions: 4 FT+, glassy, high-mid tide, consistent, crowded.

     It’s the final morning before we have to check out. Rick and his crew head back out to O-side. I’m left awake again, waiting for everyone else to get up. Cheryl, Orlando, Tim, and Don start to head out to Old Mans. The remainder, except Seba and Boris, head out towards Middles. The new guy to our addition today is Klaude, who was fortunate enough to find to spare time to make it down.

     We pass Churches and keep going. Mons Pubis isn’t really working. The tide is still high, and Middles is kind of working, despite that it’s a little on the walled side. However, it is better here than it was yesterday morning. Some longboarders are getting decent rides, but it’s still breaking mostly in one area.

     We paddle out and sit wide, a little south, kind of by our old spot, Battle Position, which is a formation of stones resembling a machine gun nest. So this is where the story really begins.

     Blame it on me being surfed out or my shit judgment, but I struggle to find good positioning for almost the whole session. I get so tired that I sit towards the inside. Hideki snaps photos from the shore, being very selfless instead of opting to surf; he chooses his other hobby.

     I catch a wave on my knees because I can’t stand up fast enough. It was a good one too. On the inside, I get some fun little three footers, good for at least one turn, but nothing like . . . everyone else. Man, they are killing it. They all get good rides, all of them. I can’t really write much else because from my perspective, I only saw so much of them. As far as the master perspective over myself, I struggled.

#

     Back at the campsite, everyone returns at about the same time. Orlando, Rick and his boys, everyone. As I make my way out of the showers, Orlando says, “Matthew, they took my board.”

     “What?”

     “They took my favorite board. It was under my van. They took it. It’s gone.”

     Fuck. I can’t believe my ears. “No way,” I say. I’m thinking that it has to be around here somewhere. I walk around the site and tell everyone else. Then . . . Rick’s missing a fucking board too. Then so are Hideki and Fisher. Rick, that Zamora Fish and his brand new board that he just got about three weeks ago during my last camping trip, they are all gone. Five toal.

     Fuck, it killed the trip. Up until that moment we were jacking each other off, saying how much fun we all had, and now . . . stolen fuckin’ boards. We’ve never had a problem camping out here; we’ve always left our stuff out, expecting respect in the surfer’s code. No surfer would want his board stolen like this. Rick calls the police, and a report is taken. Fuck, such a bum mood. I’m upset. I mean, this happened when I was hosting the site, this was my event, an event where my friends got their boards stolen. And poor Orlando, his first time here, to have his board stolen. What a shitty impression. I’m so sorry for all of my friends.

     Seba has to leave. Everyone else stays to wait for the filing process to at least be done. We leave on a bad note, but we try to salvage what stoke we can.

     We find ourselves at Sonic’s, eating an overdue lunch. Sitting at the round table with Tim, Khang, Dais, Klaude, Al, Cheryl, J, and Hideki, they are still happy and smiling, joking around, not letting today’s thievery get to them. I dig deep and smile with them. 

SECOND DRC CAMP TRIP (part five), SAT23MAR2013 EVE

Loc: Uppers to Middles

Crew: Khang, J, Dais, Hideki, Al

Conditions: 3-4 FT+, glassy, low-mid tide, consistent.

     We are all ready to surf Churches. Al’s just about ready to paddle out right here, right now. It’s because of the walk. Uppers . . . it’s a journey.

     “Let’s check it out further,” says Dais.

     Even Khang, his other half, wants to paddle out right here at Churches. Yes, there is a little crowd here, but it is WORKING. I’m reluctant too, but . . . fuck it, why not. Al had said it was good earlier.

     North Middles is working all right. I kind of want to paddle out here too. “If Uppers is no good, we can work our way back here,” one says.

     There’s a little break between Lowers and Uppers that rarely works. I haven’t surfed this spot since the second time I came to Trestles, and it was epic that day. Today . . . it’s showing some signs of life. We stop short of Uppers. Of course, Al walks to the main peak. The low tide makes the walk out a little rough. We’re all doing the cobblestone boogaloo. I’m nervous to duckdive too deep since it’s so shallow. At the lineup, the wind isn’t a factor. I can’t believe how smooth and glassy the water’s surface is; it’s just surreal. No one else is around us either. Mental note, low tide is good here. We can see Uppers breaking, giving long, clean rights. It’s a little smaller here, but the conditions are so good, and we have it all to ourselves. I turn to J and say, “What wind?” On the way over, the onshores seemed like a problem, at least at Churches it was giving some kind of chop, but here the wind is having no effect whatsoever.

     The first set is a little walled, but then, the peaks. . . Khang is the one to draw first blood. He disappears going right and unleashes some nice spray. It’s not just him. J goes. Dais. We’re both scratching for a right. He gets it. I back off. It’s so clean and down the line. When he comes back I say, “Nostra-Daisus.” It’s a name I gave him a while back. I forget the occasion, but he always chooses the right spot where to surf.

     To describe the water today is hard. With the sun at its height, still at mid level, its reflection on the water isn’t gold yet, but more like a mustard color. The water is so glassy, and the low tide gives the wave this unmolested, perfect, shouldery shape. It’s round but not barreling, and it’s still fast. I go right and get a couple turns, but my best waves are the lefts. On one, I practice a layback snap for my finishing move. I’ve practiced it in the flats. My entry into the turn looks good, but I haven’t figured out how to get the board back under my feet to ride out from the turn, but it’s still fun.

     Unfortunately, this window is a very short one. Once the tide comes up a little, the place shuts down in the first hour. We can either go to Uppers or go south to Lowers. By now, we’re spread out. I sit just north of Lowers, hoping something will swing wide. . . Impossible. Guys connect their rides all the way from the top of the wave, but . . . it is a magnificent sight to see. I see this set, and it’s an easy six feet. Trust me, I usually hold back on my estimations, and the size at Lowers is solid.

     Guys take off on the set waves, steep, nearly dropping in vertically, and then connecting the bottom turns to pump down the line. I linger in this area but decide to side wide on the south side by Middles.

     A lot of guys are sitting here and for good reason. Some waves are swinging wide. I catch two rights. They have good shape, but by now I’m so done, just tired. I see Khang on the sand. He’s pushing out with his hand, telling me to stay in, but I’m completely gassed. I split the peak with a guy who goes right. I take the left in.

     We walk back. Dais, J, Hideki, and Al are somewhere, who knows where. At the campsite, J and Hideki are figuring out what to do for food. Khang and I take showers. When I’m done, Dais arrives. There’s still some daylight left since he had paddled out around 1600.

#

     More people show up at night. Klaude finally makes it. Cheryl brings Silverton, and they bring food with them. My buddy Dan had stopped by and dropped off eggrolls and sandwiches. My other buddy Tim arrives with two large pizzas from Costco. Boris shows up with more carne and tortillas. There is just so much food in abundance. I’m stuffed. We all are.

     We end the night sitting around the camp fire. Junk is just everywhere, littered on the picnic table; there are chairs, wetsuits, board, and surf paraphernalia. Sitting over the fire with a glazed look on my face, I’m stoked that this trip is a success.