FIRST CAMP TRIP 2014 DAY 2, SAT 18JAN2014

Loc: Churches

Crew: Bri

Time: 1330-1615

Conditions: 1-3 FT, sunny, offshore, glassy, low tide, empty.

     We wake up to a glorious morning. It’s the only way I can describe it: waking up with the surf right in front of you, the sound of the waves, the cool ocean air, and the sun illuminating the sky while it’s still making its way over the San Onofre cliffs.

     We had originally planned to surf at first light, but I woke up early to take a piss and was taken aback by the utter silence. On the way to the porta potty, I took a look at the ocean, and it was flat as a fucking lake.

     So we take our time getting up. I boil some water, get some coffee going, and set up some chairs under a tree, watching the high-tide moosh.

     There are only a small handful of surfers out. The top of the wave at Churches has an occasional peak, and there are already ten guys huddled close together, like a rugby match on surfboards.

     Not worth it. That’s the only thing that comes to mind. I had sent out the DRC signal last night, invited Rick and his crew, even my best friend and his wife. Out of everyone I contacted, only Klaude and Christina said they’d be able to go. I couldn’t do so without giving the warning: FLAT.

     But I have so much to read to get ahead of my last semester of school that I whip out a book and chill out in the shade. Bri does too. Of course, she has to take my fucking favorite chair, the one that reclines and has a built in footrest. I’d like to push her off that thing and take it for myself. Why do I have to be stuck with the piece of shit lawn chair? Why? Because I’m a boyfriend.

CHAIR THIEF

     Thank goodness my expectations for surf were low before even driving out here, and I actually enjoy myself just reading on the sand. With the lack of surf, the beach is EMPTY. We don’t even have any neighbors camping next to us. Churches and Trestles are only this desolate when there aren’t any waves. It looks like a Tuesday instead of a Saturday.

A rare set

     By 1330, we paddle out. We have to. Instead of a double sesh, we wait for the tide to drop out, hopefully making the waves stand up more, and hopefully the new swell starts to show early . . . but it doesn’t.

     We surf Churches first. It’s a hair bigger than yesterday bug god damned inconsistent still. On the Becker I get a two-turn right. Not vicious snaps on this big thing but legit enough to be impressed in turning a board so big.

     We paddle all the way to north Churches, pretty much having the surf to ourselves. It’s that fuck-around surf: small, playful, and just happy to go down the line a little and trim.

     We get out of the water earlier than yesterday because we don’t feel like cooking in the dark. We also skip the showers, and we’re only beginning to smell a little bit like ass.

     Tortillas, eggs, sausage, green onions, and a red bell pepper. Bri mixes all these ingredients into what her dad calls a Hobo’s Breakfast. And fuckin’ A, it’s delicious. 

PORTO TO CHURCHES (double), FRI 17JAN2014

Loc: El Porto

Crew: Bri

Time: 0645-0830

Conditions: 1-2 FT, sunny, offshore, glassy, high tide, soft, crowded.

     Since I didn’t surf yesterday, I’m hell bent on surfing today. Bri leaves about five minutes ahead of me. She parks in the Porto lot while I score parking on the 45^th Street hill.

     Looking down at the beach, some small waves roll to shore. The tide is already high, but it looks like there’s a small window before it gets too swampy.

     We paddle out at the same time. Halfway to the lineup, a small, inside two-foot wave begins to peel. I turn and go, and the small wave holds enough shape for me to get two, mooshy turns before bogging out.

     Heading back to the lineup, the same thing happens again.

     Despite the mooshy waves, the lineup begins to fill with surfers. I try for waves, but the tide already has its effect on the water, and I don’t have enough board. Meanwhile, Bri is able to paddle into just about every wave rolling through.

     I’m an idiot for riding a shortboard in these conditions. I can’t say enough how much I need a fish in my quiver. Other people have made the same mistake too. A chick is out here on a shortboard as well, only going straight because she can’t even make the sections.

     When Bri leaves, I tell her to swap boards with me since she’s going to work. Now I got the NSP.

     It’s been at least a year since I had last messed around on this thing. I’m so used to shortboarding, that I misposition my body on the board, lying way too far towards the nose. Finally I find the sweet spot, and it feels so awkward having so much board in front of me. Yet, the sheer size of the NSP (7’10) feels like an ocean liner, like I can draw a straight line and paddle anywhere with speed and stability.

     Now I’m sitting at the top of the wave at 45^th. I catch a left with ease. Gliding down the line, I walk just short of the nose and turn around, trying to surf backwards, but my line’s not high enough, so I purl the nose.

     On the next left, I walk the deck again, keeping a high line, but I can’t get to the nose—I have never gotten a nose ride in my life. I still manage to surf backwards on the end section before the wave closes out.

     Back at the lineup again, I realize that a lot of people are still waiting for waves and haven’t caught shit, so I must surf differently. I’ve chastised longboarders before for not sharing, and catching waves is so easy on this thing that I don’t want to be a hypocritical wave hog.

     I paddle south towards the tanks, away from the crowd, but the waves here are inconsistent because the water’s deeper. Now I have to watch the waves break more consistently at 45^th.

     When a left does come, some guy is in my way on the inside, so I pull out. On a late take off, I try to pump the NSP to get the highline, but there’s so much rail that I can’t move the board with my feet.

     To think I’ve been critiquing Bri on how to surf this thing, and I am doing a terrible job surfing it myself. You can’t surf a longboard like a shortboard.

     On the way back out to the lineup, the chick on the shortboard is scratching for a wave. I’m on her outside, and even though the wave is walled, it looks like she wants to go right. So I try to paddle over to her inside, where the whitewash will be, but the wave is so mooshy that it holds her up when she’s about to drop in. And of course, I am directly in her fucking way!

     She pulls out. I take the wave on the head, refusing to have to turtle dive this thing. I know I fucked her and so does she. I paddle over and say, “Sorry ‘bout that.”

     “It’s okay,” she says with a frustrated grimace.

     I paddle further north where the water’s even deeper, and I stay in Barney Town for another twenty minutes before I leave.

FIRST CAMP TRIP 2014, Fri 17JAN2014

Loc: Churches

Crew: Bri

Time: 1600-1645

Conditions: 1-2 FT+, sunny, offshore, glassy, low tide, empty.

     So there are different reasons why I called a last minute camp trip. One, I’ve been looking for a transitional, seven-foot fun board for Bri, and there’s one on consignment at Trestles Surf Outlet. Two, it looks like there’s gonna be some decent swell on Sunday and Monday. Three, my homeboy Al who I went to Java with last summer, will be down south with family, and he wants to meet up.

     When Bri comes home from work, I meet her with the surprise that I’ve reserved a campsite for the whole holiday weekend. She showers and packs while I do the finishing touches with the gear.

     I call Trestles Surf Outlet to check on the 7’0 Terry Senate fun board. The girl who answers the phone puts me on hold, comes back on and says, “We just sold that board a half hour ago.”

     Disappointment and regret overwhelm me. Motherfucker. We missed it. I should have just driven there yesterday and drove back. FUCK! I should’ve, should’ve, should’ve. That board would have been perfect for Bri. I break the news to her. She’s disappointed too but says, “Don’t let that ruin our weekend, Hun. Let’s just go have fun.”

     It’s 1450, and the freeway is jam packed. I call the office at the campgrounds, and they say that their office closes at 1600. Now I’m expecting the worst. We’re not going to get there in time. The first night reservation will be a waste. We’ll end up sleeping in the fucking car.

     It’s a quarter to four and we’re just reaching Irvine. I call the office, and they tell me that we can still check in late.

     Our campsite isn’t as plush as the ones on the sand with the fire ring and electrical hookups, but we are right in front of Churches. The weather’s still warm despite the early evening and low angle of the sun. The surf is small, but there is some shape. Pretty soon it will be dark. We still need to set up camp, but we have to paddle out, even if it’s just for one wave.

     I put on my short-sleeve full, and . . . the water’s pretty fucking cold. Only a dozen longboarders are scattered across Churches. I’m on my 6’10 Becker board since the surf is tiny. And on this chunky board, I catch some small rights, pumping and drawing a good highline to milk the little, lined-up waves. I get about three waves. When the sun goes down, it’s time for us to set up camp.

     Afterwards, we go out for some Mexican food at La Tiendita and decide to call it a night. It was a long day, surfing, driving, and stressing over a missed purchase and gridlocked traffic on the way over here. Now I can let those other things go and just enjoy this weekend. 

SOFT SHOULDERS, TUE 14JAN2014

Loc: El Porto

Crew: Bri, Gary, Dave T

Time: 0645-0800

Conditions: 2-3 FT, sunny, offshore, glassy, high tide, soft, crowded.

     Bri opens the door to the bathroom, the light bulb behind her radiates around her head like an aura. I can’t see her face, but I’m blinded. Squinting, I sit up butt naked. She’s dressed and heading for the door. What the hell happened to my alarm? It’s 0615, and Bri’s ready to head out the door and hit the surf. This isn’t the way it’s supposed to be. I’m the dawn patrol master in this household, but my woman’s outdone me in wave count and popularity in the lineup over the last year.

     “Here’s your water,” she says before closing the door. I brush my teeth and start changing. On the carpet is a hot-water jug filled and ready to go.

     I have a special delivery for Gary: a box of 12 military rations or MREs. On the way to Porto, Bri calls and tells me that she had done a surf check at our other spot further south and that Porto is better.

     When I enter the lot, I pull up next to her and tell her that I have to find Gary because I have to give him the MREs. Bri’s parked near 45^th, so I know that that’s where she’ll be.

     I park next to Gary, but he’s already in the water. I skip the warm up and paddle out. I gamble with my 3/2 since yesterday was pretty hot, and it pays off.

     With the tide about to top out, the waves still have shape. Gary’s popping up into a long, three-foot right. I hoot him on as he passes me. I turn and go on a little left, but it’s smaller, and the inside mooshes out.

     Dave T. is out here too, but the lineup’s already getting much thicker.

    

     It’s a typical California summer morning, but the only thing is that it’s not summer. It’s technically still winter. The water’s glassy without any fog, and the high tide makes a fatter board the wiser choice. There are still plenty of people on shortboards though.

     I see Bri in the distance, but she’ll have to leave for work soon. By the time I would get there, she would already have to leave. I try to watch her catch some waves, but she’s with the main pack at 45^th, and it’s super crowded.

     I struggle to get a good bomb. Since the waves are softer and breaking long, I have to be in the right place. I get two more waves that moosh out again. I try to muscle in some power carves without much momentum to begin with.

     The best sets break outside, and with the overflow of surfers, it’s hard to get prime position. Somehow, Dave T. does.

     He drops in on a longboarder who’s too deep, and he takes a long, three-foot right to himself, throwing a lot of water out the back towards the inside. And then he gets another one. Two bombs for Dave.

     I paddle towards Bri and see her go right. I want to get some face time with her before she leaves, but she walks up the sand and heads to work.

     The rest of the session is a little frustrating. I haven’t minded the Porto crowd lately, but on this morning, and the way the waves are breaking, I just can’t get good positioning.

     I see another local guy from my usual spot. He tells me that it hasn’t been working over there. There’s this chick named June here too, another local from my other spot. Wow, I guess Porto is the only option for local surf. I wonder where the other vets are surfing right now: Don Kadowaki, Ross, Roy.

    

     Back at the meters, I give Gary the box of MREs. The tide is still high, but there are soft inside waves that look fun, so I whip out my credit card to pay the meter. It doesn’t accept my card. I try it again, and the fucking meter is broken. Dripping wet, I’ll have to get in my car and switch parking spots, or should I?

     Sign from God? The universe? Maybe it’s not meant for me to get that second session in. I have to be aware when the cosmos is trying to tell me something: “Don’t go out. It won’t be worth it. You have school assignments to get a head start on. Start your day early.”

     So I guess another paddle out isn’t meant to be for today. I go home, change into my house shorts, throw in a Toaster Strudel, and polish off my surf blog early. Afterwards I’ll kill off a book of poetry, maybe get some PS3 in, and then hit the gym with Bri. Either way, I’m glad I had begun the day in the water.