A BARNEY IN BAJA: DAY 3 SUN 09OCT2011 NOON

            I’m so used to waking up with darkness still outside my window. Back home, it’s a must. I have to get up early so I can move lethargically through my El Segundo apartment. Take my morning piss, shit preferably. Make my coffee, pack my gear, kiss Lauren goodbye, and then hop in the wagon to beat the traffic or score free parking locally. But here in Baja, right here in a mansion on the beach, we can be picky with what window we choose to surf.

No Rush:

            It’s about 0730. I wake to the sunlight peering through the clear tiles in the wall. Jonathan’s knocked out. Kevin’s sleeping on the tiny bed in the corner. I have to take a monstrous piss, so I wake up. The house is silent as I walk up the stairs. I grab a cinnamon Pop Tart and go out to the balcony to take a look. It’s a clear day, but the sun’s still weak. The beach break in front of the house looks unappetizing. There are peaks but too many of them. They are so scattered and breaking really late. Every time there’s a shoulder, it runs away too fast. I walk to the south end of the balcony to see if there are any surfers out. I see none. I go to the living room, plop down the couch, and munch on my Pop Tart. Alan’s sleeping on the couch. He turns and mumbles in his sleep, and then he pulls the covers off of himself. He’s wearing his boxers. I’m grateful that he doesn’t have the natural motor reflexes of jacking off in his sleep. He reaches in his pants to scratch himself. I go back to my room. I figure since it’s high tide that I’ll take another look after it’s dropped a bit. 

            At 0900 I hear Kevin get up. “What time is it?” he asks. He’s the first one to go upstairs. After a couple more moments of debating what to do, I follow suit. Jay is up cooking bacon. As soon as Jonathan catches up he assists with the eggs. It’s another morning of engorging ourselves. I eat too much; I think we all do. The morning football games are on, and most of us are in front of the TV. I decide to do a little recon, so I take my sombrero and walk out to the cliff. I sit there for fifteen minutes. There are three guys out, and their rides look pretty average. Two turn at the most, maybe a partial cover-up followed by a pinch in the tube, but they’re mostly one-turn wonders. The sight is a bit disappointing. The swell has backed off, and everything looks like a mediocre beach break. I fancy the thought of glassy water, still as a lake, with only rideable waves to break the integrity of it at a consistent rate. Kind of like Churches or Sunset on an early Tuesday morning when there’s no wind and decent swell. Right here, right now, it’s consistent but with waves breaking on the inside only. It’s almost 1100, and I wonder how yesterday’s right-hand point break is looking. It’s too far to see exactly. All I can see is the white foam indicating that the wave is peeling, but I can’t see the face. I go back upstairs and tell Jonathan that I’m heading out. He says he’ll join. 

Jonathan and his ripped back

I had to hand off my camera to Jay who was nice enough to take some pics of us paddling out

            Jay decides to walk with us, not to surf, but to see how it looks. I take my camera along. The waves I was looking at earlier are actually bigger once I’m on the sand, and they look much more rideable, but the shape still isn’t that great. We three talk about last night’s adventure/misadventure. Jay says he’s not drinking today after last night. When we get to the newly discovered point break, the tide is so low that more rocks are exposed than yesterday. The waves off the point aren’t too promising. I’m trying to give the briefing on what Kevin and I experienced yesterday. A wave rolls through. The pocket is tight, and the rest of the wave down the line looks weak. Jay and Jonathan seem disinterested.

There were tons of more pics on the walk to the point, but they were a little too revealing of the location.

            I say, “It’s smaller here, but it’s consistent. We may be able to get a couple turns on a couple waves. Over there (where we just came from) the waves are a little bit bigger, but the shape’s not that great. I’m easy, man. It’s up to you.”

            Jonathan says, “Yeah . . . well we can surf here for an hour and see how we like it.”

            Alan was trailing behind us. I didn’t even now. He walks up to see what the hype has been all about. From the look on his face, he’s obviously not impressed. 

“You going out?” I ask him.

Alan pauses as he looks out with a smirk on his face. “Nah,” he says. “There’s nothing for me out there.”

Jonathan decides to walk on the rocks forming the point to jump into the deeper water. I take the lower road instead and walk parallel to the shore. I turn to Jay and say, “I’m going to try to sell it to you, but I can’t promise anything.” He smiles. 

Pic courtesy of Jay

            Because of the tide, my walk to deeper water takes forever. With my leash in my teeth, I’m losing my balance and put my hand down to save me several times. When I can finally paddle I see Jonathan jumping in the water. Fuckin’ bastard, he beat me.

 

            Jay’s still chillin’ on the rocks waiting to see if we catch anything. Jonathan and I scratch out on a couple at first. I have my doubts about the session. I draw first blood, almost fall on the pop up, regain myself, pull off a turn, and then stall. I turn to Jay who’s watching. He gives me a thumbs up. By the time I’m back by Jonathan, Jay’s already heading back to the house. Jonathan catches his first wave. It bogs out right after he drops in. “It’s pretty fun out here,” he says. Yeah, I’m thinking. It’s better than nothing.

The Baja Wave Buffet is Officially Open:

            Jonathan and I have this peak to ourselves. In what appears to be weak surf, a random rogue wave pops up and breaks past the point. I forget who catches the wave, but when we’re reunited we’re surprised at the gifts being given. After my next wave, I see Kevin waving at me from the rocks. He’s paddling out to join us. From here, it’s gets consistent. Waves are breaking off the point, just inside of it, and swinging wide just south. Some of the waves feel like they’re bogging after the drop, but we learn that if we cutback and stay in the pocket, that it reforms on the inside for a long ride. For the first hour, the three of us are just trading off waves. Jonathan even makes us get on his board so we can get some GoPro footage of ourselves. It’s almost 1300, and the wind is still light. 

            Jay now paddles out to join us, making our total number four. From here things get incredibly ridiculous. The consistency doesn’t let up, and just like a cycle, we paddle to the point, catch a wave, and as we paddle back, everyone else is catching waves. One by one, taking turns, this goes on for three straight fucking hours. Talking about the wave, it’s not huge, but it’s clean. I’m talking an easy 3-4 feet, but the shape is just short of perfection. I’ve never pulled off so many turns in one session; this is literally the day to practice turns, cutbacks, and whatever you can do on an open face. We are all scoring. We start to hoot each other on each ride, but we get so many waves that we get tired of hooting. Drop after drop, bottom turn to top turn, cut back, pump, bottom to top again, reform, do it again until it’s shallow, each “wave of the day” gets cancelled by each ride. Before long, every prior ride is replaced, erased, and forgotten because the moment keeps reproducing itself.

            I see Jonathan catch the outside bombs, and so does Kevin. Stand out surfer of the day is easily Jay. He paddles into everything. And when it seems like he’s gonna bog out, he pumps and pumps, working his way to make every section. He even goes left, getting a partial cover-up heading towards the massive rock that makes the point. When he resurfaces, I tell him he’s fuckin’ nuts. 

            Today’s rides are beyond describing because there were so many. Just imagine soft shoulders, open, lined up, and begging to be carved and gutted, nonstop. It was good training. How many times have we all gone out of our way to surf good waves, but have been forced to deal with sharing them with thirty-plus people? Today, the waves were good, and the total amount of wave time easily amounts to a weeks worth of surfing a good but crowded break.

            By 1500 the wind picks up. We’re hungry. But we mostly end the session due to the wind. Once we all make our way past the rock path, we see Paul in the distance, approaching with a beer in his hand. 

            “How was it?” Paul asks.

            Kevin fills him in on how good it was. 

            Paul says, “Yeah, when you guys didn’t come back after two hours, I had a feeling it must’ve been good.”

            Back at the house, Alan can’t believe that the surf was good. “I wouldn’t have expected it,” he says. I understand. Neither did we. 

Jay and Allen's turkey keilbasa pasta. From left, clockwise: Jay, Kevin, Alan, Paul, and Jonathan.

The rest of the late afternoon into the evening is spent splurging on more food. For lunch we actually sit down at the table together like a family: plates, utensils, drinks, food displayed, and all. Dinner is another concoction of man food. Jonathan puts together a film clip from today’s footage. I hate to admit it, but I used to laugh at people that film themselves in the water. But after today’s glory, the film clip is a great representation of the day’s events. We’re not stoked just to see how we look on the waves, but the way that Jonathan put it together. It was an experience that we all shared, and Jonathan made the memory more unforgettable by cementing it in a movie.

During lunch, Jay looked up with a mouth full of pasta and said, “We’re truly blessed.” I looked around at all of us eating, thought about the surf, listened to the ocean behind my back, and thought, what have I been doing with my life?

A BARNEY IN BAJA: DAY 2 SAT 08OCT2011 MOR

Last night I asked Jay if he wanted to paddle out at first light. “No,” he said. “It’s better to paddle out right after nine. This is a mid tide spot, the tide will be too high.” With that being said, I wake up a little after 0700. I hear the sound of food sizzling on the pan as I walk upstairs. Jay and Kevin are cooking breakfast. There’s a mountain of bacon on a plate and scrambled eggs cooking in two pans. The eggs are mixed with chopped vegetables; it looks professional.

Kevin and Jay on breakfast detail

“Orange juice?” Kevin asks, raising his own glass in offering to help myself. I thank him. The surf outside looks clean, but Jay’s right about the tide. It’s a bit too high still and breaking too late. We eat a good breakfast, all of us on the balcony scanning the water. It’s clear, there’s no wind, but the air’s a little cool. I have no doubt that this is a morning for my thicker wetsuit. After eating, we all go out to the top of the stairs. It’s a little after 0900 now, and there’s a small crowd of six surfers claiming one peak. It’s so hard to tell how big the waves are from our vantage point. We are far and sitting high on a cliff. We see their peak working, and best of all, we see guys getting slotted. These aren’t long, impeccable barrel rides, but some guys manage to pull in for partial cover up and make it out unscathed. Some other guys try and get clipped in the tube. Either way, the potential is obvious. Kevin goes on a surf recon mission further south, Jay and Jonathan suit up, but I opt to wait until the tide drops a little more. 

 Baja Time, Round 2:

Kevin returns from his surf recon mission and tells me that he discovered an empty, right-hand pointbreak. He asks if I wanna come along. I oblige. I cake on the facepaint, suit up, and head out the door. We walk past Paul who’s filming again. Once on the sand we see Jay and Jonathan. We think about signaling them to come along, but we can tell that they’re devoted to their spot. Kevin and I continue. He tells me he’s a pilot, he and Paul are roommates in Hermosa, and that he surfs all the local places that I do as well. We reach the pointbreak, and it’s really rocky. There are jagged rocks sticking out everywhere. At the point we reach a path which drops off sharply into the ocean. “We can’t jump down there,” says Kevin. We back up and scale the rocks to get down to the water. There’s one guy sitting at the top of the point. “What’s he waving at?” says Kevin. I look up, and the guy is flailing his arms. Instinctively, I assume that he’s telling us to go somewhere else, or he’s warning us not to enter there. I wave back but receive no reply. Kevin goes in first. I see him paddle and then walk because he’s still in shallow water. It takes a while for him to get out. I hear someone yelling behind me. I turn around, and it’s an older woman on the balcony; she’s yelling at the guy in the lineup. Mystery solved. 

When it’s my turn, I get hindered by the rocks. Memories of duckdiving my board into the reef in Bali crosses my mind. I need to be extra careful, for I only have one board with me, and the last thing I want is an accident during my first morning on this trip. Once I’m past the rocks, I’m in the impact zone, but the white wash isn’t “roaring” or too difficult. I’m a little uneasy at our spot. I don’t know if there are any gnarly boulders that we can’t see under us, and the big rock formations forming the point are close by. We watch the old guy by the point. He’s farther out there, and some bomb sets approach him. It just seems so sketchy. One wrong move and he’ll get bashed into the point. He’s scratching out a lot. Some of the sets swing wide. Kevin and I scratch out on our first set. It’s reminiscent of Trestles but just a little more slopey and harder to get into; we have to catch them a little late. Another set comes, and this time I’m in good position. It’s a decent sized wave. I don’t want to exaggerate, but I’ll call it at just under six feet. Once again, since it’s not a “round wave” and is more gradual, it’s an “easy” five feet, plus. I get a lot of speed on the drop, bottom turn, and top turn just under the lip. I can’t hit the actual lip because the wave is too mooshy. It’s still a fun ride. I practice my backhand cut back, redirect, and stay in the pocket. Unfortunately, it’s one of those waves that are almost too soft, where the only chance for a turn is if you stay right where the wave is crumbling. The high tide may be an issue too.

Kevin’s happy for the wave I got. On the next set he catches his first wave. From behind I see him maneuvering back and forth along the face; he’s getting some turns down. A Mexican surfer paddles out to join us. I say good morning, and he returns a greeting to confirm the good energy. So it’s just us three with the older guy at the point. The old dude gets a couple rides at the top of the wave all the way to the inside. I cheer him on every time he rides by. If his house is right there by the rocks, then he truly has local priority. After the old guy goes in, another Mexican dude shows up. I take my chances and paddle to the top of the wave. Seeing the rocks that close is a little nerve-wracking. I sit in the wrong place, and a bomb set breaks on the outside. After duckdiving it, I’m able to make the next wave. It’s one thing to catch big waves at a familiar spot. However, this point break is all brand new, and I have this wave all to myself. In a way, I realize that a crowd brings some comfort, and being all alone on this point is a little eerie. I paddle into a steep drop. When I regain myself, I see that the wave is lining up to be a long ride. I see Kevin in front of me going over the wave; he’s hooting for me as I do my first top turn. On my second one, I do it by the Mexican guy. On the way back out, the Mexican dude says, “Nice wave.” I thank him.

I paddle up to Kevin and say, “It’s funny how good, uncrowded surf is talked about like it’s some kind of myth. Yet, here we are. We have this point to ourselves with only a couple guys out. It is possible!”

There’s a problem with catching waves at the point. At the end of the ride, it leaves you in the impact zone. On my last wave at the point, it takes me forever to paddle back. My right shoulder muscle feels worn out and is getting weaker. I paddle up to Kevin and tell him that I’m gonna join the other guys. I can either wade through those sketchy rocks to get back to the path, or I can paddle around the point to the other break. I choose to paddle around. Set waves lift me as they roll by and crash against the massive rock forming the point. It actually gets slabby when it breaks close to it. It’s a long ass paddle, but I finally clear the area. I see three dots and assume that Jay and Jonathan are two of them. By the time I make it up to Jonathan, my right shoulder is worn out. He tells me that the waves there are pitchy, fast, and they’ve watched guys get clean barrels. It’s hard to imagine because it’s a lull at the moment, but that soon changes. A wave catches us by surprise. It’s already breaking on the outside, but I’m by the shoulder that’s beginning to stand. I catch it as the lip’s about to throw. Everything seems textbook, but I’m not prepared for how vertical the face is; it’s really steep. The surprise predicament throws me off balance. I’m leaning backwards, struggle to stay on the board, and I back-plant. I emerge with a look on my face that says, “Holy shit, what was that?!” Clearly, these waves here are not like the waves at the point. At the moment before falling, I was near the base of the wave and saw the face standing. I blew a potential barrel. I do my best to respect the sea and prepare for the next one. Unfortunately, the lulls are long. Now Paul joins us in the lineup. That’s the issue with this break. Big waves roll through only to break late. On the next rideable set, Jay paddles for the first wave.

“You got it?” he asks.

“Yup.”

            He could’ve taken it, but he offers it up. Thank you, Jay. It’s another steep drop, but I don’t feel the wave going hollow. I feel water from the lip hitting my deck, but I negotiate out of the section to the face. Finally, I can practice some turns. I’m pumping with a lot of speed and initiate my cutback off the top. It feels graceful, but it probably looks sloppy. Either way, my feet are positioned to set my outer rail for the motion, my arms are outstretched, cheeks puffed, and it’s one of the very few times that I feel like I pulled it off. I keep pumping, and then I pull off one more. At the end of the wave there’s a little ramp before it closes out. I’ve watched enough surf porn to know when the pros attempt their airs, and this section is asking for it. Instead I just do a body air flop without my board. Come on . . . you know I ain’t ready for airs. . . . Paul, Kev, and Jonathan acknowledge my ride. I’m feeling pretty stoked. The next set is a goddam monster. None of us are in position for it, but a lined up, long, six foot wave pops up and starts peeling. It’s a little sloppy, so it’s not perfectly hollow, but the face is so vertical while still holding shape. That would’ve been the wave of the trip right there. Today this break isn’t perfect, but again . . . potential. 

            My last wave is a left. It’s like my first one at this break, but this time I don’t fall, and I’m able to get to the open face. I see the wave standing up, but there’s a problem. The wave is connecting with another section that’s closing out. I should kick out or go straight, but I say fuck it, fade out, and pull in. It’s a milestone for me. On this foul day of our Lord, October 8^th, 2011, I’m standing up in the barrel. There’s only a slight hunch in my shoulders. There’s a marble pattern in the water. The wave is blue and white wash mixed with beige sand, but as soon as it happens, it ends. I see the sections connecting. The mean wipeout is inevitable, but I remain standing until the very end when my outer rail gets clipped, and I fall awkwardly backwards. I resurface not really realizing all that’s happened. I try to paddle out, but the next waves in the set are ferocious. I see Jonathan, Paul, and Jay on the sand, so I turn around. We wait for Kevin and walk back up. We talk about this morning’s war stories. Jonathan has blood on his feet and so does Kevin. Walking up the stairs I recollect my last wave. I do not by any means count it as a barrel, but for the first time my awareness was heightened to slow down time inside of it. I’ll never forget it, everything: my stance, seeing the building wall to my left, the closing section approaching, and the will to ride it out despite the dirty lickins. If that’s how a counterfeit barrel feels, I can only imagine what the real thing must be like. 

Taco Time:

Paul on the right

            For lunch, we head to the seafood taco stand by K38. It’s windy as hell on the highway. A giant statue of Jesus Christ looks over us, and we meet Robert the cook who’s ready to grill. We feast . . . fucking feast. I eat one fried fish taco, one fried shrimp taco, two grilled shrimp tacos, and three octopus tacos. Yes . . . octopus tacos. Friggin’ delicious. Seven seafood tacos and a soda cost me $13. 

            Back at the base, I take a short nap, then . . . it’s seafood dinner time again! We head to Puerto Nuevo looking for the elusive “fast pass” to cross over the boarder in the “fast pass” lane come Monday. Unfortunately, none of the restaurants have them anymore. 

            Now . . . I don’t want to say any names, but one guy in the group gets pretty damn drunk. We keep going from restaurant to restaurant asking for the “fast pass.” We give up and decide on one by the sea. Everyone else orders lobsters, but I opt for the shrimp dinner instead. Drunkee is a little loud. I’m uncomfortable, but I hide it. The homemade tortillas and beans are the highlight of the meal. Drunkee has been very rude and aggressive with the waiter. He’s been negotiating hard for the margaritas. By the time the bill comes, he’s making sure the waiter goes over each item step by step. I can sense the frustration in the waiter’s voice. When it’s time to pitch in, there’s some disagreement about how much everyone is paying. A couple “fuck yous” fly across the table. I’m sure we’re looking like some classy Americans at this point. These are situations that I try to avoid at all costs. After being involved with the military, I’ve gone through a lot of cultural briefings or the “don’t be an American asshole” briefings. Even when I was stationed in Germany, they put us in a two week “head start” program to make sure we knew the basics of the culture. Well, this moment in this Mexican restaurant is getting pretty ugly. Another one of our guys demands clarification over the bill. Drunkee’s counting the money. Everyone else is demanding it from him. As he slaps their hands away, he knocks his drink over and spills margarita all over the table. The poor waiter has to spring into action to clean up after us. Classy. Finally, we’re out of there. We stop at little shop that’s about to close for souvenirs, and drunkee slaps one of our guys dead in the face. A slap is returned. Hmmmmm . . . really close friends perhaps?

Lobster Village AKA Puerto Nuevo

            Now we’re back at the house. I’m with different people with a different energy. I just want to score good waves. That’s all I want.

A BARNEY IN BAJA: DAY 1 FRI 07OCT2011 EVE

Another journey:

            From the very first wave that I caught at the jetty at El Porto, I never thought that I would’ve taken surfing this far. No, I’m not talking about paddling into death slabs, getting ridiculously barreled, or even catching double overhead waves. But when I caught that tiny one-footer, I knew that I loved the sensation of being on a wave. Gradually, my stocks in surfing went up while everything else suffered. The gym, bar hopping, clubbing, going out, and wearing shoes all took a back seat while surfing rode shotgun. Not even talking about the travels, I’ve made a multitude of new friends because of surfing. I see my surfing friends more than my family or childhood friends. A day that begins with surfing for me is a day well spent. And as far as traveling I’ve taken the “bucket list” trip to Bali, and now, finally . . . I’m taking a trip south of the border to get Baja under my belt. It may not be ranked high among other locations in the world, but as a SoCal surfer, I’d be a fool not to explore the paradise in our backyard. Let the games begin.

Leading up to the trip:

            I met J AKA Jonathan G. surfing 45^th around this time last year. He actually snaked me . . . twice. I was pissed. He apologized and still gave off an aura of good energy. Feeling bad at the cold look that I returned, we started talking. From there, I always bumped into him at Porto. He’s the one that took me to Trestles for my first time. Since then, I’ve invited him to every DRC camping trip. Since this past summer, he’s been taking trips to Baja with his surf group, Santa Monica Surfers. I kept bugging him to take me along. He extended the invite back in early September. The dates were set.

The Trip:

            Everything’s been packed from the night before: two wetsuits, a towel, two pairs of underwear, my books from school, toiletries, one extra change of clothes, and one surfboard. I wish I could take my whole quiver, but J’s little car is gonna be filled to the rim with four people, so all the boards are going on the roof. On the way to J’s house, I drive along Vista Del Mar. Going down Grand Ave. I already see waves. The left is working at Hammerlands, and I can see the breaks working in front of the smoke stacks. As I drive through Manhattan Beach, I still see waves in between all the homes. It’s an awesome day for surf in the South Bay, big, clean, and consistent. I shoot the text out to let my people know that the surf is good, but instead of staying here I’m heading to Baja. 

            I climb the stairs to J’s apartment, and he’s scrambling getting his gear ready. 

            “Can you look up the address for the place we’re going?” he asks as he finishes packing.

            The spot is somewhat of a secret. There is no address online. It says to call the owner to reserve the house, and the address is attained through him verbally. We head downstairs, and his friend Alan is returning from grabbing coffee around the corner. I learn that our fourth passenger flaked out. We go through the intros and start loading our boards. Alan has surfboard straps made out of steel cables that lock. J and I are amazed. I opt to take the first leg of the trip and drive us all the way to the Cristianitos exit to grab breakfast at Café Del Sol. I’ve never been here before. It’s a Mexican café. I order the machaca for $5.75. The portions are huge for the price.

Buying Mexican food before entering Mexico. Personally, I wanted pancakes, but this was GOOOD!

          

             We stop at Camp Pendleton to do the grocery shopping. Apparently, our three-man group is tasked with providing dinner for the next three nights. My two mates are excited, pulling food off the shelf and chucking things into the cart. I don’t give much input; I don’t care. I’m not a picky eater. Besides, I don’t know the other guys that we are meeting. I figure they can make the call for what to cook. 

            We stop at Encinitas to meet Jay, Kevin, and Paul who make up the second carload. Again, more introductions. Jay says he needs to buy a headmount for his GoPro, so we stop at a shopping center before crossing the boarder.

            My long time friend Dan used to drag me to Mexico with him all the time for lobster. The last trip like this we took was in 2005. Since then, there’s nothing but bad news coming out of Mexico. Everything on the media is about drug cartel violence. Yet, here we are. Jonathan assures me that where we’re going is safe. Entering the boarder is fast, but Jay’s car gets pulled over for a random inspection. 

            Everything looks the same as the last time I crossed: same road, same shitty fence on the border, and same rundown buildings. Jay’s car catches up to us, and we’re back in convoy formation. Along the coast, we see different breaks. It’s a little past noon, so the wind’s up. As much as I want to say that I see consistent, peeling, hollow, head high surf, I don’t. I wait until we get to our location to really see what our surf break is doing. 

            Once we get to the community it takes fifteen minutes before the guard lets us in. We can either be frustrated or be grateful that their security is this strict. There’s been talk about tourists being too scared to come to Mexico, and this vacation community is a testament to it. As we pull up to our house, we realize that only a couple other families are here.

Mansion over the sea:

From left to right: Jay, Alan, Jonathan, and Kevin

           I’ve never done a surf trip like this before. I’ve camped, slept in my car, and stayed in a funky motel in Bali, but this . . . this is over the top. It’s a two story house on a cliff which has an oceanside view. There are three bedrooms downstairs, a giant living room upstairs, a huge balcony, kitchen, outdoor shower, big screen TV, internet, and much more. From our balcony we watch the surf. Unfortunately it’s windy, afternoon surf, but there are some peaks, and one SUP makes up the “crowd.”  After we settle in, we suit up.

            Jay’s wearing surf booties with his 4/3 wetsuit. The thickest one I have is 3.5/2.5. They tell me that the water’s freezing here. I risk it and put on the 3/2. We watch the surf from the balcony. The wind is making the water choppy. There’s some size. Rogue sets break toward the outside. It looks like a long paddle out, consistent, but we are overly stoked just to be here. Overall, it’s rideable. There’s a steep stairwell that leads down to the sand. Paul and Alan stay on top to film us on some waves. 

            So we’re in Baja. I’ve been amped about this trip for some time. We have to paddle out. I’m filled with nervous energy as I am with all new spots, also because it is kind of big. Some of the plus sets are close to six feet, but they are big, fat, and mooshy, so it’s a gradual six feet. I try to keep the energy right, so I let Jay lead the way since he seems like the ripper of the group. I’m right behind him. Jonathan and Kevin fall a little behind. Once in the lineup, there seem to be huge waves coming our way, but every time we try to paddle into them, they break late. This goes on for almost forty-five minutes, huge waves that don’t break until they close on the inside. The suspense is killing me at this point. I just want to catch anything, even a wipeout to mellow me out. Jonathan draws first blood and disappears behind the wave into the whitewater. I finally get into a closeout, and it’s enough to get the jitters out of me. 

            We hoot each other on waves the whole session, most of the time scratching out. I see Jay get some spray on a couple backside hacks going left. The shape is weird. I get into more waves that double up and form steep drops on the inside—really odd. One left is a long ride. I negotiate the sections, catch the reform, and pump down the line as far as I can. 

            Paul and Alan finally join us, but it takes a while for them to paddle out. Alan has a rough time and makes it last. The sun is setting. I catch my best right-hander. I get one top turn, pump, cutback, redirect back down the line, and then kick out of the wave. It feels really good. I paddle back out to Jay. Everyone else is on the sand. 

            Jay says, “I’m gonna catch one more in.”

            “I’m staying until the sun goes down.”

            Just then, another right-hander comes. It has less shape, but I kiss the lip before it closes. I turn around, and the set produces walls of whitewash. I’m tired. I break my word and catch the whitewash in. Jay follows shortly. All of us are on the sand now working our way back up the stairs. It’s been three hours.

Winding Down:

            The outdoor shower is a luxury. How nice it is to just shower off right here before entering. We walk into the house dripping wet; who cares. Wetsuits and towels hang everywhere. Boards are scattered and leaned up all over the house. Then it’s time to cook fajitas. After dinner, we all sit around the TV and watch the footage from today’s session. At first, I’m a little skeptical, but it’s actually pretty cool to watch ourselves surf. We “oooh” and “aaah” at every little thing. The wipeouts are hilarious, and scratching out on waves still brings frustration even though we’re no longer in the moment. 

View of the ocean from the kitchen

Everyone turns in early while Jonathan and I stay up to do our homework. By 2200 I’m fading. I take a shower and lay myself down on the guest bed. It’s so plush, and the pillows are so huge and fluffy. It’s not our first full day in Baja, but it’s a nice warm up for the rest of the surf to come. I just hope that we score tomorrow.