TRESTLES--GONE WITH THE WIND: SAT 5.28.2011 MOR

Shan, the first surfer on site. This was before the winds picked up.

CREW: Shan, Klaude, Khang, Khoa, Christina, Francis, Nicole, Dais
TIME: 0800-1000?, 2 hours.
CONDITIONS: Onshore wind, choppy, inconsistent, overcast, 3 feet.

    Saturday morning began with much anticipation. Shan, surprisingly, was already minutes away when I first woke up. At 0545 I could see the morning sky illuminating my tent from the outside. Lauren still lay fast asleep while I got the coffee going. Shan told me that there was a line of cars waiting for the state park to open. As soon as he was inside, we exchanged greetings and took a look outside. The morning looked promising, as clean, scattered peaks were visible all across Old Man’s. Even the surf in front of our site looked border-line surfable. I kept pumping up my session the day before and selling Trestles to him. We took our time getting ready while we waited for the rest of our visitors.

    Klaude hit me up and told me he was just minutes away. He also made me aware that we acquired two more guests, which was a big surprise to me. If you know me, you know I hate surprises, as I’m pretty much a control freak, especially if the gathering is a creation of my own.

    Just as we were about to paddle out, Khang, Dais, Christina, and Klaude showed up. They said that Francis was right behind them. Then Khoa, Karen, Sean, and Eloisa arrived. We did the introductions, Shan and I were itching to get in the water, so we told them that we’d see them out there. Unfortunately, with everyone else’s arrival also came the arrival of the onshore winds. The winds would set off the chain of events for the next day to come. I was in denial and had foolish hopes that the conditions would get better. Shan was optimistic and said that the wind could change when it got sunny.

    It was Shan’s first time surfing San Onofre, and he still agreed that it looked better than Porto. We made it just north of the Bud Light Lime Series and paddled out. Shan was stoked to be out there, but I was in severe disappointed at the thought of how good it was the day before. Shan got the first peeling left that rolled through. Even though it was getting windy and choppy, there were still some waves with a little shape. A long boarder came in from the north and stole the next left that I had been waiting for. Shan got a nice handful of rides, but I was pretty frustrated. I got a couple insignificant waves and noticed the rest of the crew showing up. I motioned Shan out of the water, and then we joined everyone else (minus Francis and Nicole). Khang made the call to paddle out in front of the Battle Position. From the shore everything looked good. I saw a set coming in despite the wind, and it looked promising. Shan went back to his same spot, and everyone else paddled straight out.

    The conditions continued to worsen. Honestly, everyone else seemed stoked except for me. It was so hard for me to have a good time. Even though I didn’t have control over the weather, I had invited everyone over for good surf, and I was pissed that the conditions turned to shit. Watching my buddies paddle for mediocre waves during a surf weekend that was supposed to be fun really took the life out of me.

    I paddled south of Lowers in hopes to get something. The crowd was much thicker. The more I paddled the more people I found myself in the middle of. I had to sit all the way on the outside to get some for myself. This time I pulled the asshole move by inserting myself in the line up and trying to take waves early. It was just that kind of morning. I ended up paddling back by everyone else. I saw Christina catch a couple waves, which to me was a good sign that at least some of us were having fun.

    The conditions got more inconsistent, and we all left in pairs like people sneaking out of a failed party. Lauren waited for me on the shore, and I walked back feeling all grumpy.

    At the campsite the sky finally cleared, it got hot, and the sun was blazing. Francis and Nicole said that they surfed somewhere else. There was still wind, but at least the site had the feeling of summer. I hoped for the evening session to clean up. I had no idea what was really in store for us.

TRESTLES--SUNSET AT CHURCHES: FRI 5.27.2011 EVE

I made her pose like this.

CREW: Lauren on camera duty
TIME: 1900 - 1945, 45 min.
CONDITIONS: Clean, glassy, sunny, barely any wind, uncrowded, 2-3 feet, small but fun.

    After checking-in, setting up camp, and eating a late ass breakfast, Lauren finally showed up at around 1600. She helped me set up the final touches to the tent which was the rain tarp, which we will unfortunately hear about again later. I wanted to paddle out earlier, but I had to wait for the firewood delivery guy. As soon as he showed up at 1845, I changed, and Lauren accompanied me with her hand-held digital recorder.

    The Bud Light Lime Series was officially over for the day. The tents were completely vacant, save for two guys wrapping things up. The sun was already low, and only four guys were out. As much as I would’ve loved to see what Trestles was doing, the sun’s rays were already fading.

    The size went down, as the waves were only 2-3 feet but still clean for the most part. The dark cobblestones in the water sharply contrasted the low orange glow over the horizon. Desperate for waves, I caught anything that came my way. My judgment must’ve been poor because every time I finished a ride, the set waves would break on the outside, and I would miss them completely. Maybe the pressure was on because I knew Lauren was recording. I tried my best to force some good top turns for spray, but the size wasn’t there. I could only put in one top turn at best, and then I’d fall on the second one. Really, I should’ve just lightly trimmed down the line to take the waves for what they were worth. It didn’t matter; I still had a lot of fun. For that little 45 min. I had a high wave count. I only left because we still had to cook and there wasn’t much daylight left.

I may not shred at surfing, but I shred at making Smores!

    The scenery was the most captivating of all. The sun was like a giant orange ball with dead sticks, trees, and brush giving their dark silhouettes against it.

Bunny in a blanket.

     When I returned home on Monday I looked at the footage that Lauren got. Wow, what a reality check. In my mind, I looked totally awesome. On the raw footage, I saw my arms flailing, absent of balance, and looking awkward on two foot waves. The best part was Lauren filming the sun. Oh well . . . I guess I needed to see this footage to remind myself that self image is harshly different from the actual.

   

TRESTLES--WHAT DREAMS ARE MADE OF: FRI 5.27.2011 MOR

Someone once asked me, "How can you tell if someone just started surfing?"

CREW: Solo
TIME: 0800 - 1130, 3 hrs. & 30 min.
CONDITIONS: Clean, glassy, sunny, barely any wind, unusually uncrowded, 3-4 feet, occasional 5.

    I leave to Bali on June 7th. This Memorial Day camping/surf weekend was planned a month in advance. Originally, it was strictly for Lauren and me. We were to have our quality time before I would be gone for a whole month, but due to her new job, she was barely there. This weekend’s adventure would start off solo.

    I barely slept Thursday night. In fact, by the time I pre-packed my whole car with camping and surf gear, it was almost 0200. I was awoken by Rick’s call, letting me know that the 405 was gridlocked near the Redondo Beach exit. I thanked him, brushed my teeth, threw on shorts and a shirt, made a cup of coffee, kissed Lauren goodbye, and fired up the wagon. I was on the road by 0600 driving on the 105W connecting to the 110S to the 405 and such. There were pockets of traffic and free flowing movement, hard to tell whether or not the holiday crowd was still at work or already on the road. I reached San Onofre a little after 0700. I expected to see scores of campers, tents, cars, surfers, and people already on the sand. What I found was the opposite. The place was pretty desolate, or it looked like any other off season morning. I even grabbed a parking spot at the northern most point next to Churches. There were only about four guys out in the line up. At the dawn of the holiday weekend, I couldn’t understand how there was no one out there. I could see the Bud Light Lime Surf Series tents already set up. I snapped a picture before I changed. Uncrowded, I watched perfect, glassy, three foot shoulders slowly roll in one by one.

    Opting not to take my camera with me (which I now regret), I did my routine as of late: paddling out north of Churches and working my way to the south end of Lowers. Due to the lapse of time since this very morning, I can’t recall anything spectacular happening where I paddled out, but I was fully submerged by 0800.

    By the time I got to south Lowers I was in the middle of two longboarders. With uncrowded and pristine conditions, I couldn’t help but strike a conversation with one of them. His name was Tim. The guy looked like an older version of Magnum P.I. with the full-on dickbroom mustache and everything. He was in town from Long Beach, NY to see his son graduate from Cal State Long Beach. He was on a 10 foot longboard, grimacing in pain. He explained to me that his whole right arm was a conglomeration of metal rods and pins, and his wrist could no longer bend. Poor guy, I thought. He said that he could only do three strokes before the pain set in, and that a fourth stroke would cause him to be out of the water for weeks. Tim . . . I watched this guy struggle and paddle. He waited for the peaks for late take offs, gave three labored strokes, tried popping-up using his fore-arm, then either scratched out or fell while the wave rolled away. I spent a good solid hour hanging with this guy and calling him into waves. It was a strange arrangement. Two perfect strangers unobligated to each other. Every time a peak came I said, “Here you go, Tim . . . go for it!” He got a couple, but he got up so late that the section ran off, and he kept bogging out. I would get the waves in between which were still worth while.

    Combined with the clear sky, ten o’clock blazing sun, and glassy water, the ocean looked like a tropical blue. I counted the heads out at Lowers, usually the most crowded peak at Trestles. A dozen . . . there were barely a dozen heads out. If you’ve seen perfect, soft, peaks, then you know what I’m talking about. They formed in the distance. The top halves were light blue with a darker tint in the curling pocket. The rights held better, but they still approached defined and broke in A-frame quality. The shoulders were smooth and round with barely a ripple. Instead of describing each wave on that magical morning, I’ll describe the one that stands out the most in my memory. The friendship with Tim was mutual and beneficial. I saw the first wave of the set approaching.

    I paddled for it until I heard Tim in the distance saying, “Wait, wait, don’t go for that one.”

    I turned around and saw the bigger wave of the set coming. “You want it?” I said.

    “No,” He panted, squinted at the sunlight, and clutched his shoulder. “You go for it.”

    There were only three other guys about 15 yards to our south and only the Lowers crowd to our north. With a peak all to myself, I picked the perfect place to paddle into right next to the peak. White shiny light reflected from my wetsuit and the spilling water from the breaking wave. The forming shoulder was blue as an indoor pool. The surfers in the distance paddled over the building shoulder, looking my way as I made the drop. It was five foot, max, but still fast. As I bottom turned up the wave I caught site of the perfect, round, virgin, untainted shoulder. I did my best to put as much power into the turn by forcing my tail through that beautiful mound of water. I heard the spray but could not see it, as I leaned forward for a reentry. Ever since Lauren told me that I’m hacking the middle of the lip and not the top, I’ve tried to stall just a little bit longer to get it right. I can’t see what I’m doing, I can only feel it, and the force of pushing my tail through the shoulder is the most gratifying feeling in my surfing so far. I pumped twice to set up for another top turn and did it again.    

    It was already 1100. I barely surf over two hours. Usually two and a half hours is my limit, but with a brand new wetsuit my body temperature felt warmer than ever. I tried my best to call Tim into his last wave since he had to go. He scratched out towards the inside and finally paddled in towards his son who was waiting. We said our goodbyes, and I paddled just to the outside of the Lowers pack. I paddled for an outside set, but a guy with blond yellow hair on a yellow longboard dropped in on the peak. I gave him a “hoot” in recognition of his good ride, as he smiled in acknowledgement.

     He paddled up to me afterwards and said, “It’s actually fun out here.”

    “Yeah,” I said. “Nice wave, you got it right on the peak.”

    “I saw you get a nice one earlier,” he said.

    He was talking about my wave of the day, as he was one of the guys paddling over the shoulder. We talked a little bit, and he told me he recently did a night session at Trestles with some buddies during the last full moon. He said that riding at night is more about feeling the wave.

    I was getting pretty tired. I caught another right to the inside, and checked my watch. 1130. I could either paddle back out or check-in to my camping site. I turned around and headed towards the shore when my heel slipped forward off of a rock. I felt a sharp pain, and I knew that the back of my heel got vertically sliced. I didn’t even bother to look until later, for I’ve been frustrated with cutting my feet on those cobblestones.

After three and a half hours of surfing, a meal as simple as tortillas, sausage, and eggs makes for a defining moment in one's life.

    That Friday morning was a rarity. I’ve scored perfect waves there before, but never that good, and never with so few people. Tim was the real highlight of the day. Here we are taking our health for granted, and this guy’s trying to surf with an arm made out of metal that only allows him three strokes. It humbled me. I had hoped that the whole weekend would be as good, but the future couldn’t have been any more uncertain, unpredictable, and unexpected. The worst and best was yet to come.