PADAWAN PT.II, FRI 27JULY2012 EVE

Location: Churches

Crew: Bri

Time: 1930-2030

Conditions: 1-3 FT, warm, light onshore, high tide, empty.

     I wanted to be in the water by 1800, but we just had to make the tent shake in broad daylight, right next to the Filipino family in the campsite next to us. There was so much condensation in the inside of the tent by the time we were done. After duckbutter depletion, what better way to put a cherry on top by way of an evening surf session?

     I normally don’t paddle out this late. The sun’s just above the horizon to the north, inland of Lowers. The wind and the high tide must have scared everyone off because the only surfers I see are the black dots at Lowers. An empty lineup is a classic sign of bad surf, but despite the small swell and high tide, some pulses push through and still break. The mooshiness brings perfect conditions for Briana. Sure, she struggles on the NSP which seems unfathomable to someone that’s gone through the fundamentals of surfing. I catch the same waves, some even smaller on my much smaller board. It makes me appreciate how far I’ve come with surfing. For Briana, she just has to pay the dues like the rest of us. Eventually her paddle will become stronger. She’ll be able to maneuver better on that log, pop up, and her timing will get better.

     Again, most of my rides are trimmers, so I focus more on Briana. There’s an open lot behind us that is booked by a large party of campers. They have a live band and Karaoke. Jazz music fills the air while we sit in the lineup amongst the dying wind and waning light. The chatter on the ocean’s surface turns into a calm blanket of gold and dark triangles, and still, it’s hard to believe that no one else wants to paddle out this evening.

     Churches is always consistent, sometimes even more consistent than Lowers and even better without the crowd. No break in the Trestles area is better than Lowers, but a good Churches’ wave is still worth its weight in stoke.

     A random bump forms in the distance. I paddle out to meet it. I’m dropping in late, but my board is angled to go down the line as soon as I pop up. As usual, the wave proves typical of its forgivable drop. I even stall on the slide, being pushed sideways but never losing the wave. I pop up and pump, noticing the section opening up for a good turn. When I take a closer look, the wave is lining up in its Churches’ ideal fashion: shouldery and down-the-line. It’s only three feet, but I bottom turn and whack the lip, backside. It feels good. Still, the section’s available, so I get a second hack before I’m too close to shore.

     I paddle back to Briana, stoked and satisfied. Even though good waves today are few and far between, all it takes is one good one to make it all worth it.

     I call Briana on another wave. Just like this morning, she’s paddling into it late. I hold my breath as it breaks, concealing her from my view. I’m waiting for the NSP to shoot up like a surface-to-air missile. It doesn’t. When the wave breaks, I see her moving forward over the whitewash towards the shore. She’s standing up.

#

     Random pulses still push through for my enjoyment. Two-turn waves are hard to come by, but I get a couple single shots. Similar to my wave of the day, some shouldery-rights come through, easy to drop into, lined-up Churches’ style for at least one decent turn.

     “It’s kind of scary,” says Briana.

     “What is?”

     She motions south over the nuclear titties. “It’s so dark over there.”

     I look at the lights at the nuclear plant then to the north towards Lowers, where the gold over the horizon is turning into a purple haze, bright enough to provide some visibility. “Don’t worry. I’ve surfed here until you can barely see the waves, to the point where you can only feel them.”

     I think about surf sessions passed. The very first time I truly scored at Trestles was on February 4^th, 2011:

http://elportosurf.blogspot.com/2011/02/path-of-urban-surf-bum-pt-2-trestles.html

     It was a solo session day, my first time going there by myself, and I scored both in the morning and evening. During that solo evening sesh, there was only one guy out with me surfing a spot just south of Uppers. Ironically, this spot has never broke for me the same again. But it was the first time I ever surfed in the dark here. I’ll never forget how the waves were that evening, barely three-feet high but lining up perfectly. Still mellow, still rippable, like a blanket of water draped over a large ball. I was on the DMS then, seeing my potential for the first time. I had never got good turns until that day. And then there were sessions with Al and Francis, both surfing Lowers so late until we could only see the wave from the whitewater crumbling on the face. This place is special, and surfing it until complete darkness brings about a sense of balance and serenity. Even though it’s been a while since I caught an epic session here, the image of the good days will always be etched in my memory, and those images will always keep me coming back. No matter how many times I’ll get skunked searching for the ideal, I’ll never be able to stay away.

#

     We’re both hungry, so we go in. On the way back, we talk about how perfect this day turned out. We shower and barbecue some pollo asada. It’s a lot of chicken, but we wrap them into large burritos, using our salad as some filler in the tortillas. Bri only has one, but I engorge myself with two. Even though I’m full, we sit around the fire and have a couple S’mores. I check my e-mail and texts to see if anyone’s coming. A couple e-mails come in; people apologize for not being able to make it. Khang and Dais say that they’re coming in the morning. It’s a no pressure situation regardless. Here at the camp fire, Bri and I just finished a solid evening sesh, our bellies our full, we’ve showered, and I’m munching on some S’mores with a Bud Lime in my hand. Flames from the fire light up and bring warmth to our faces. Bri scoots her chair closer to mine. I have everything I need.

PADAWAN PT.I, FRI 27JULY2012 MOR

Location: North Churches

Crew: Bri

Time: 1045-1230

Conditions: 1-3 FT, warm, sunny, light onshore.

Pre Blog:

     I reserved my campsite at the last minute. It was last minute because I’ve been busy, busy with both the honeymoon phase of a new relationship and busy with the preparation of a two-week military class in Massachusetts that I have coming up. Being that I’ll be gone, this camping trip is important. Either way, I love the San Onofre campsites. Small surf or not, there’s something about tenting it, surfing all day, barbecuing, and drinking beers around a bonfire that I can’t say no to. These trips are always a win-win situation.

Staycation Time:

     I sent an open invite to twenty-five plus people about my campsite. Most importantly, the other surf bloggers. Even if no one shows, it doesn’t matter. I can make do with a romantic getaway with just Bri and me, but I like to show love to the people who matter to me by making my site available to them as well.

     I’m supposed to be up at 0600 to start loading up the wagon, but I’m tired. I wake up at 0715. By the time the wagon’s fully loaded, it’s 0900. After the drive to Yorba Linda to pick up Bri, we reach San Onofre a little after 1000. I try to check in early, but I’m told that the site’s still not available. Since we have about two hours to kill, I figure there’s no better time to suit up and go for a paddle out.

     We cruise by Old Man’s first. Even though I told Bri that I wanted to take her surfing here, the crowd is so thick that I opt to go to North Churches /  South Middles instead (always less people here). We park in front of Churches and unload the boards. Churches is small but fun and consistent as always. Since there’s a little crowd at the main peak, I opt to take her further north. The late morning sun beats us down. I’m sweating as I’m putting on my Vertra. The wax is so hot that it smears when I try to put a fresh coat over it. I whip out the trunks and rashguard while Bri sticks to her wetsuit.

     The surf is inconsistent where we paddle out. In the distance, surfers split the peak at Lowers. Just to our south, the top of the wave at Churches entertains a dozen longboarders. Here, I make a small sacrifice for my surfing to help Briana get her fundamentals down.

#

     Let’s face it, surfing is a selfish art. It takes patience to teach someone how to surf. For example, my brother rips; he’s a shredder, but he didn’t teach me how to Surf. Rick did. Randy’s probably the better surfer, but Rick is the better teacher. Me? I’m selfish as hell. I’d rather spend the day going where the waves are good for my own sake than waste my time surfing where it’s small, calling waves for a buddy on a longboard. But is this really a waste? If surfing is truly something that I’d like to share with Briana then this is not a waste at all. But with the instruction comes my time. In the meanwhile, I’ll sacrifice my own soul sessions to teach my girlfriend how to surf. I only have one rule for her. For whatever advice I give her, she must take it and use it.

#

     The paddle out is easy. Bri’s getting better at the cobblestone dance, using the NSP for balance as she walks her way out. The lulls are long, but when they come, I try to give Bri the priority.

     She has a good start. Some of the waves are small, mooshy dribblers. She purls a lot, being too far in front of her board, but she is also able to arch her back in time to keep the nose out. She catches almost all of the waves on her belly and some on her knee. At this point, I’m more concerned with her getting the feeling of dropping into a wave.

     I struggle to get a decent ride. Most of the waves are too small to turn on, so they turn into trimmers. Even though I’m internally bitching about not riding bigger waves, there really isn’t much of an alternative. Everywhere is 2-3 FT across the board, and that’s only south facing beaches. The South Bay is even smaller right now. So I appreciate that surfing with Bri has brought back the natural stoke of surfing even the smallest of waves.

#

     “Right here,” I say as the set approaches.

     “This one?”

     “Yup. Go.”

     She swings her board around and starts paddling. I realize I set her up a little late. The wave curls while she’s still in front of it paddling. Her board shoots straight up unto the air. I cringe at the thought of it landing on her head. She resurfaces.

     “You all right?” I ask.

     It takes a while for her to respond. “I hit my head on a rock.”

     “Shit. Are you bleeding?”

     “No, I’m okay.”

     She’s a little rattled, understandably. I tell her to cover up when she falls and to watch out for her own board hitting her. Her mishap has her a little apprehensive to catch anything else. It’s past noon, so I figure it’s a good time to check in.

#

     Unfortunately, no one’s cancelled their beachside campsites, so Bri and I have to take a site up on the bluffs. Even though it’s just a short walk to the beach, nothing beats being on the sand with an ocean front view, but if I had to choose between this and a Netflix night at the house, I’d rather be up on the bluffs.

     It’s somewhat of a joy to set up camp. The Coleman Instatent pays for itself again, only taking minutes to set up and stake down. I’m a lucky man to have friends with camping gear who don’t camp at all. I have a Coleman propane grill, large cooler, and an inflatable full-size mattress.

     We make a run to the Commissary and PX to buy supplies. We make an active effort not to overbuy and plan to cook and eat EVERYTHING we purchase. 

     Back at the site, we open some beers, get a good buzz on, and play speed with the deck of cards that Briana suggested we buy. I haven’t played speed in years, but it’s fun and gets really competitive. Aside from the surf, this camp trip’s off to a good start.

DUES IN BARNEYVILLE, TUE 24JULY2012 MOR

Crew: Bri

Time: 0800-0945

Conditions: 1-3 FT, overcast, warm, light onshore, low tide.

Pre Blog:

     If you don’t know what DBD is, it’s Duckbutter Depletion, which basically means that my balls are drained dry of semen. Briana, who’s eleven years younger than I, has been wearing my ass out AKA fucking my dick off, yo. Geezus. . . . So June 15^th was our first date, we became official on June 24^th, so we planned to celebrate our one month (yes, I know it’s corny) anniversary by starting it with a surf sesh. I had the decision of taking her to San Onofre, but that would be a helluva drive. And then there was Sunset, that’s really beginner friendly, but there’s also a million people there. And then of course, there is Porto, where I learned to surf. 45^th Street used to be where you surfed once you’ve made it, but until then, you started off at Barneyville: the south side of the Jetty. Gradually, you’d work your way up to the smoke stacks, the tanks, and then finally you’d be able to sit outside of the 45^th Street peak where all the hardcore Porto locals would surf. . . . That was years ago, back in 2006. I believe that since then, there’s been a shift or a transformation. The sandwich shack is now the best and most crowded peak, second to Rosecrans. The bathrooms (Shitters) would be the next crowded peak at Porto followed by 45^th which takes a place at third. With that being said, everything between 45^th and the jetty is still considered Barneyville (unless the Jetty is firing in the winter), and that’s where I planned on taking Bri.

#

     Thank goodness Bri was tired last night. I fed her after she took a shower, and she was out like a rock. This came in handy since I’m on DBR status, Duckbutter Recovery. Being that the low tide is scheduled to be around 0800 again, we take our time waking up and head to Porto after they start charging for the meters.

     I try to explain to Briana the differences between the cobblestone breaks at Trestles where she first surfed and Porto’s beach break.

     We get one of the first parking stalls on the left. I stay true to the summertime ritual of boardshorts and a rashguard while Bri uses her wetsuit. Just as we’re about to walk down the steps, I see a local guy I haven’t seen in almost a year: Ray. He’s a longhaired Asian dude who drives a grey Prius. Even my brother knows him from the times he’s surfed this spot. “Ray!” I say, “what’s up, it’s Matt,” I assume he’s forgotten my name, “what’s up, man? I haven’t seen you in forever.” We shake hands.

     “I know. I injured my shoulder really bad. I’ve been out for a while.”

     I tell him that my brother asks about him and that he’s waiting for him in Bali. I introduce him to Bri.

     I tell her the story of how I got in his way one time before Ray and I were cool with each other. There was this set wave by the smoke stacks. Ray turned to paddle for it, and I was in his direct line, about to be run over. I was making my way out, and I paddled to the side of him, barely leaving a hair’s width of room. As I paddled, my arm caught his leash, stopping him in place from sliding down the face of the wave. “Fuck, I’m so sorry!” I said.

     He just glared and gave me that “motherfucker” look. It’s funny how people meet sometimes.

#

     “Be careful on the inside,” I tell her. “It’s shallow.” I go over the “hand helmet” technique and tell her to cover her head if she eats shit.

     She looks out at a walled, three foot closeout. “I’m a little nervous.”

     “Eh, you’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

     When I told Bri my true age, she had a confession of her own. She said she had never surfed a day in her life until our first date, and that she only told me she surfed to get the date with me. So basically, that last camping trip I took her out on, she caught her first wave. But this isn’t Trestles. This is Porto, a little less forgiving. I have to handle her with kid gloves.

#

     Just like the fun session I had at 26^th Street when Surfline said it was crap, this morning at Porto is actually pretty fun. It’s definitely small, but I’m still paddling into these lined-up two-footers that are good for trimming or a solid turn—single shots.

     A random three-foot rogue wave starts to form on the outside. Bri is way too deep, turning her board around to catch it. At Middles and Churches, she got away with this every time, but Porto’s different.

     “Watch out!” I say.

     She doesn’t hear me. It’s ballsy, I’ll give her that. The wave tilts her at such a sharp angle that she plummets forward into the white wash. The NSP shoots up and out from behind her, straight into the air. She resurfaces, gets back on her board, and attempts to turtle dive the next two waves, taking her lickins.

     I remember the dues I used to pay. I accepted them, but I can’t help but worry about her. I hate to say that I’m more concerned because she’s a woman, but . . . I am. I mean, who am I to say that I was a natural when I first paddled out on a longboard. One foot white wash and going straight, I felt I was a force to be reckoned with. Have I forgotten the days when I couldn’t even make it out to the lineup, when I’d end up defeated, soggy, and wet, sitting on the sand next to Rick’s nine-footer that he let me practice on? Other surfers would walk by, avoiding my eye contact, knowing I just got conquered. Is she no different than how I was?

     “Are you all right?” I ask.

     “Whew . . . yeah. I swallowed some water.”

     I don’t even want to tell her how dirty the water is here. “Did you swallow a lot?”

     “No.” She coughs. “Just a little.”

     I try to call her into waves, but the waves I select aren’t even breaking. She makes a tremendous effort to turn the NSP around but paddles for nothing. On the next wave I call out for her, she gets pitched again.

     “Yeah,” she says, “I think I’ll just try to get some on my own.

#

     It’s pure Barneyville here. I know this because there are four other guys and one chick, all struggling, scratching, and falling. They lie all too far on the rear of their boards, leaving their noses sticking high out of the water as they paddle.

     I’m trying to show Bri how easy these little waves are. Even though I’m on my 6’3 JS, my timing is on, and I’m getting these little one-to-two foot shoulders into the shallows. A random three-footer breaks on the outside. I pop-up going left. I pump, bottom turn, and get a slow sluggish carve off the lip. Blame it on the JS. I probably could’ve gotten away with the Tokoro this morning. I return to the lineup stoked, realizing that I’m having more fun that I did at HB the other day.

#

     My board’s on the sand now, and I’m lying on the tail of the NSP, trying to paddle and steer Bri into some waves. We’re going nowhere because the board is too short, and when I try to push her into a wave, the damn leash keeps getting caught on me. We look like buffoons, lying on a 7’10 longboard together. No . . . I look like the buffoon thinking that I’m actually helping.

#

     I’m back on my JS. We have about fifteen minutes left. Bri paddles into another closeout. She’s too deep. I hold my breath, but I don’t see the board shoot out. She disappears until she stands up towards the inside.

     “You got that?” I yell out.

     “Yeah,” she smiles, “I got that one on my belly.”

     Again, she does the same thing on another wave, two rides under her belt.

#

     I give her words of encouragement on the way back to the wagon. I’m proud of her, and even though surfing doesn’t define our relationship, I hope that this is something that we can share together even more in the future.

#

     The rest of the day is a blur. We go straight from El Porto to Carl’s Jr., order two country burrito meals and eat them during the matinee of The Dark Knight Rises. Only twelve bucks, I’m doing muthafuckin’ matinees for the rest of my LIFE!

     We go back to the house and do things that would make my best friend think twice before using the spatula or eating on the kitchen table. 

     I’m about to be gone for two weeks at a military school, so I want to make this first anniversary count. I take her to a nice restaurant and bar in Downtown L.A., really low key. She’s amazed. She appreciates me. That’s all that matters. Her smile glows all night. People stare at us everywhere we go. I’m not used to having someone this stunning on my arm.

#

     So this is a slice of my life, starting with surfing but extending out of the water where feet hit the pavement without sandy footprints, and where people eat three course meals with different sets of forks, knives, and spoons. I thank you for sharing this experience with me.