CREW: Klaude, Christina
FLAKES OF THE DAY: Shan & Dais
RAN INTO: No one
TIME: 0700 - 0800, 1 hr.
CONDITIONS: If there was wind, then I didn’t feel it. Head high, sloppy, riptide, fast and racy sections, very few corners, mid tide. Things actually got better once the tide rose.
Last night Klaude and Shan asked me where I’d be surfing. I told them that I would be checking out 26th St. at first light, and I’d go to Porto if it was shitty. I also sent out the mass text to everyone. Cheryl was out of town, and Dais said he’d be there around 0830.
I got to 26th at first light. I didn’t like what I saw. There were some waves, but they looked small, and the peaks didn’t seem to be lining up at all. I missed Trestles. I sent out the text that I was changing locations and drove to Porto. I was even more disappointed when I got there; I was disgusted. What a travesty it was to see the shitty Porto surf after surfing Trestles. I cursed Porto. I took a look at the clock. I almost went home, but I convinced myself to at least surf for one hour, just one hour to get wet. I can’t get better at surfing on dry land; I had to paddle out.
It was cold out. I pissed in my wetsuit, and then I paddled out at 45th. There were people in the water, but I’ve seen worse. It didn’t matter that I was in a crowd. The peaks were so unpredictable that anyone had a fair shot at a wave. I paddled to the outside of the surfers and ended up in front of the tanks. A surprise right came through, and I actually got the slide. I was off balance, but I still forced an UGLY carve off of the lip. I reentered and fell on the last top turn. Either way, I was still really surprised that I got a ridable wave in those conditions, so I was happy.
Right after that wave something weird happened. The tanks got really small in the distance, and everyone started paddling towards the shore. I thought that I was getting sucked out a little bit. I paddled, and paddled, then the water got really choppy all around; I was in a fucking rip tide. Three other surfers and I got sucked way out. I was paddling for at least ten minutes trying to get myself out of it. Miraculously, I worked my way back to my original spot.
Waves began to break on the outside, but there was no shape in them. I wiped out on a wave and went back to sit and wait. I got another surprise right. It was smaller than my first wave, but I was able to get two turns on the lip before I kicked out. It was almost 0800, so I caught a close out all the way to shore. Even though the surf was shitty, I was surprised that I got two halfway decent waves out of it.
When I checked my phone, I saw that Klaude and Christina were at 26th. I drove over there to meet up with them, and I joined Klaude on the sand to help be Christina’s cheer leader. It was barely an hour from when I ended my session, and the conditions already got better. With the higher tide the peaks started getting clean. The waves were slightly mooshy, but short boarders were paddling into them without problems. I got a little mad. Watching from the sand I saw guys getting good carves, spray, 360s, etc. I had a lot to do this morning, so I had no choice but to turn around and go home.
Just like that, the conditions changed for the better. I hope tomorrow will be just as good.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
PATH OF THE URBAN SURF BUM, PT 2, TRESTLES: FRI 2.4.2011 EVE
CREW: SOLO
FLAKES OF THE DAY: None
RAN INTO: No one
TIME: 1600 - 1730, 1 hr. & 30 min.
CONDITIONS: No wind (still), negative low tide, glassy, chest to shoulder high, soft, long, and ridable waves. Lulls were a little longer.
Shan had given me a call while I was reading. He asked if I was going to surf Porto in the evening. I told him where I was, and I had to take a moment to share how good life was. I polished off three short stories from my assigned readings, and then I took a look at my watch. It was getting close to 1530, and I knew that if I wanted a second session that I would have to leave, pronto. I hung my wetsuit, but it was still damp. I changed, grabbed my gear, and headed back to the trail.
I wanted to surf closer, but the same peaks were still crowded. The shore took on a different appearance, as rocks lay all over the exposed shore from the low tide. I mean it was really low! I saw guys walking out carefully, watching their steps over the uneven ground. Despite the low tide, there were waves. I couldn’t find my old spot; in fact I walked all the way past it and didn’t realize it until I reached the Cristianitos trail. I turned around and found a familiar branch that I put my stuff on earlier.
Just like this morning, there didn’t seem to be many waves coming through, and the crowds were still at the main peaks in both directions. Daylight was burning, so I went out again, still not expecting much. It was a long and painstaking walk to deep water. The rocks were slippery, and I probably looked physically challenged from a distance. I was worried about slipping and cracking my board. I finally made it out for enough to start paddling. There were two short boarders in the same area, and all three of us were pretty close. I didn’t like that feeling at first, but it didn’t become a problem.
I would say that the waves were maybe a tiny bit smaller from the morning, but still clean and fun. The main difference was the wait was longer. Also, some rogue sets would break on the outside without indication. I still got a lot of waves, and the evening session still blew the South Bay out of the water.
When the two guys left, a long boarder showed up, and we shared the peak for the last half of the session. My wave of the evening came in the form of a small four footer, but it was one of the best four foot right handers that I’ve ever had. The long boarder saw it, too, but I had the peak. He watched me the whole time, ready to paddle if I scratched. This wave was odd because the water was perfectly flat all around it. It was literally just poking out of the water. It looked so small, but the peak was curling, so I saw the potential in it. I didn’t think I would get it, but I dropped in and got three turns off of the lip. I kept stalling at the top after each turn, but the wave kept pushing me into each reentry. The peak was like a ball of water with a shoulder on the side. Clean waves … they’re amazing, and they sound different. I could hear the rush of the wave peeling away behind me, my rail carving into the face, the separation of water splashing back on the shoulder, and the simmer of the foam all the water to shore. They also put so much potential into small surf. My evening session was made, and it could’ve been the wave of the day for me.
I fell on some waves, and I was waiting for that “last one” before I left. I was still getting rides after the sun had set. I got my last right, and I grabbed rail just to ride it all the way to shore. I got greedy, stood up, pumped, hacked the lip, and then I slipped on the reentry. I had to call it after that because I had somewhere to be.
Staycation. Zero complaints. It was a special trip for me. I’m trying to sum up this whole experience in words, but I can’t. Actually, there is one complaint. Towards the end of the session I looked out at the sunset, and I felt alone. I wished that I had someone to share that experience with; something was missing.
I drove to Mission Viejo for sushi night at Zenko’s and met up with three of my close friends. I was starving. We put the owners in the negatives with an hour and fifty-five minutes of non stop eating. That’s all I have for now, expect more staycations.
FLAKES OF THE DAY: None
RAN INTO: No one
TIME: 1600 - 1730, 1 hr. & 30 min.
CONDITIONS: No wind (still), negative low tide, glassy, chest to shoulder high, soft, long, and ridable waves. Lulls were a little longer.
Shan had given me a call while I was reading. He asked if I was going to surf Porto in the evening. I told him where I was, and I had to take a moment to share how good life was. I polished off three short stories from my assigned readings, and then I took a look at my watch. It was getting close to 1530, and I knew that if I wanted a second session that I would have to leave, pronto. I hung my wetsuit, but it was still damp. I changed, grabbed my gear, and headed back to the trail.
I wanted to surf closer, but the same peaks were still crowded. The shore took on a different appearance, as rocks lay all over the exposed shore from the low tide. I mean it was really low! I saw guys walking out carefully, watching their steps over the uneven ground. Despite the low tide, there were waves. I couldn’t find my old spot; in fact I walked all the way past it and didn’t realize it until I reached the Cristianitos trail. I turned around and found a familiar branch that I put my stuff on earlier.
 |
| I surfed a little bit north of here. |
Just like this morning, there didn’t seem to be many waves coming through, and the crowds were still at the main peaks in both directions. Daylight was burning, so I went out again, still not expecting much. It was a long and painstaking walk to deep water. The rocks were slippery, and I probably looked physically challenged from a distance. I was worried about slipping and cracking my board. I finally made it out for enough to start paddling. There were two short boarders in the same area, and all three of us were pretty close. I didn’t like that feeling at first, but it didn’t become a problem.
I would say that the waves were maybe a tiny bit smaller from the morning, but still clean and fun. The main difference was the wait was longer. Also, some rogue sets would break on the outside without indication. I still got a lot of waves, and the evening session still blew the South Bay out of the water.
When the two guys left, a long boarder showed up, and we shared the peak for the last half of the session. My wave of the evening came in the form of a small four footer, but it was one of the best four foot right handers that I’ve ever had. The long boarder saw it, too, but I had the peak. He watched me the whole time, ready to paddle if I scratched. This wave was odd because the water was perfectly flat all around it. It was literally just poking out of the water. It looked so small, but the peak was curling, so I saw the potential in it. I didn’t think I would get it, but I dropped in and got three turns off of the lip. I kept stalling at the top after each turn, but the wave kept pushing me into each reentry. The peak was like a ball of water with a shoulder on the side. Clean waves … they’re amazing, and they sound different. I could hear the rush of the wave peeling away behind me, my rail carving into the face, the separation of water splashing back on the shoulder, and the simmer of the foam all the water to shore. They also put so much potential into small surf. My evening session was made, and it could’ve been the wave of the day for me.
I fell on some waves, and I was waiting for that “last one” before I left. I was still getting rides after the sun had set. I got my last right, and I grabbed rail just to ride it all the way to shore. I got greedy, stood up, pumped, hacked the lip, and then I slipped on the reentry. I had to call it after that because I had somewhere to be.
Staycation. Zero complaints. It was a special trip for me. I’m trying to sum up this whole experience in words, but I can’t. Actually, there is one complaint. Towards the end of the session I looked out at the sunset, and I felt alone. I wished that I had someone to share that experience with; something was missing.
I drove to Mission Viejo for sushi night at Zenko’s and met up with three of my close friends. I was starving. We put the owners in the negatives with an hour and fifty-five minutes of non stop eating. That’s all I have for now, expect more staycations.
PATH OF THE URBAN SURF BUM, PT 1, TRESTLES: FRI 2.4.2011 MOR
CREW: SOLO
FLAKES OF THE DAY: None
RAN INTO: GOD
TIME: 0950 - 1120, 1 hr. & 30 min.
CONDITIONS: No wind, sunny, extreme high tide, glassy, chest to head high, perfect, soft, long, and ridable waves.
I read an article in the 2011 JAN Surfer Magazine titled “In Defense of Going Nowhere“ by Brad Melekian. I didn’t even get to finish the whole article, but he wrote about taking a “staycation,” and that, basically, you don’t have to travel far for a little getaway. He suggested leaving your work behind, bringing some food, a beach umbrella, and only leaving of the water to eat or apply sun block. He suggested many other things to make the staycation legit, but I fell short on at least half of them. None-the-less, I had Friday designated to take a little staycation of my own. My plan was to leave at o-dark-thirty and head to Del Mar to surf the entire day. On Thursday night I bought a beach chair and umbrella. Early Friday morning I loaded two surf boards, a cooler filled with goodies, all my surf gear, and some books to read for class.
I was on the road by 0615, a little late, unfortunately. I still got to leave when it was dark. It’s really important to head out before the sun rises; that’s another reason why I like to surf early: the feeling that you’re up and out while others are sleeping, less traffic on the road, seeing the sky change from dark purple to a dull orange, and having the cool morning air numb your skin. Many thoughts came to me that morning. It was a special trip, and I didn’t even have much monologue for myself on the way, just music and the thought of surfing. My expectations were high, but I tried to quell them to save for any disappointment. My sights were on the concrete highway ahead of me, and my destination was Surf.
0800, I pulled up at Del Mar. I checked my car’s temperature gauge to see it was a ball shrinking forty-four degrees out. The cold, offshore, wind made my bare feet wrinkly and ashy, dying for warmth and lotion. I first had to take a mean ass piss. While I was pissing I felt a fart coming on. I pushed as I pissed, but I was so cold that I couldn’t feel myself. I didn’t feel the all knowing “pop” from the fart that I had, but I knew I pushed pretty hard. As I walked out to see the ocean, I felt something moist between my ass cheeks. Of course, I was in denial. The moistness then turned into a cold and wet feeling. “Please don’t tell me,” I said to myself. Sure as shit, literally, I discovered a wet spot in my boxers combined with the liquid around my ass cheeks getting cooler from the morning air; I sharted. Motherfucker, I thought, what a way to start the fucking morning. I believed it to be a bad omen. It definitely was NOT the way I wanted to start my staycation. I removed my boxers, wiped my ass, and took them with me. After all, those underwear have seen Iraq, ain’t no way I was gonna abandon them now. I walked to the sand, placed them by a volley ball court, and proceeded to the surf.
I saw an old guy watching the surf, too, his name was Brad. We talked about the conditions, and then he left to change. I watched the water … I watched it for at least twenty minutes trying to make it look good. It wasn’t. It was better than Porto but not what I packed up and drove for. The sets were inconsistent, a little racy, and the shoulders weren’t defined. It looked like Porto on an “okay” day. I could’ve given it a shot, but I’ve waited too long for soft perfect shoulders, and I wasn’t settling for less without more exploration. I turned around to get my shit stained drawers, but there were a bunch of Marines playing volleyball, and they put all of their belongings by my underwear. I felt my eyes water, for I was too embarrassed to go fetch them, and I had to leave a faithful companion behind. … Goodbye old friend.
I wiped my tears, got in the wagon, and headed to San Onofre. The beach access was closed on the base, so I had to find my way onto the post via the state park entrance. I saw droves of long boarders at Churches and Surfer Beach, but the waves looked so soft and perfect. I couldn’t park and change fast enough.
Armed with my board, glasses, sun block, digital camera, towel, and backpack, I headed out on foot. It was my first time surfing there alone, and my first time doing the hike from San O. to Trestles. I didn’t know what to expect, but I pushed forward on my pursuit for waves. The point at Churches was crowded. There was a nice long right, maybe only four feet high, but I didn’t want to compete with the bigger boards. I glanced at my potato chip DMS. Other people took notice of it, too. I wondered if the first session would end up in a debacle from being under gunned.
I walked for what seemed like miles. I saw a lot of good peaks, but they were crowded. I got frustrated and worried that the trip might end in vain. Thoughts of driving back to surf Porto crossed my mind; what a failed mission that would’ve been. I was walking through Middles when I saw the main trailhead from Cristianitos. I stopped because I knew there would be more people there, and to my south, behind me, were a pack of surfers hogging a peak. I looked out at the ocean and saw a couple small rights come rolling through. There was no one there. It looked like a good wave to me, being from the South Bay, but I couldn’t understand why no one was on it? It’s funny how the natural surfer instinct is to gather where other surfers are because “they know.” However, I took a chance and paddled out, isolated and alone for a couple hundred yards.
I didn’t expect much. I told myself that I had to be in a shitty spot. There was a clattering sound from the friction of the rocks whenever the water rushed on the shore. The water was cold but bearable. I paddled out with ease and duck dived a couple waves. There was no bump in the surface, and I thought that I must’ve looked like a fool out there. Randomly, a long peak with a right hand shoulder appeared. It didn’t look big, and I knew if I caught it late enough that I would be able to drop in. I turned, paddled, and I popped up on the shoulder as the wave broke. Never underestimate a wave. … The face opened up, mid speed, and long. I couldn’t even see the shoulder, but it wasn’t a walled up close out. The wave moved, and the open faced canvas moved with it. It was like the waves “warm welcome” to do whatever I wanted. I couldn’t believe the turns I was pulling off; I was pumped: eyebrows low and hard, cheeks puffed out with strong breaths of air, arms outstretched setting up the bottom turn to top, a crack off the lip, reentry, another puff of the cheeks, I’m going back up again, “SPLASH!” another hit, pump, going up again. … The cleanest wave since I’ve been home? It was right up there, I knew that. I paddled back stoked, but I still couldn’t believe it. There were so many endorphins rushing through my body that I was borderline nauseas. I asked myself if that really happened. My smile hadn’t even fading when a rare left came. It wasn’t as good as the right, but it was at the perfect speed where I didn’t feel rushed (mid speed). It was about shoulder high. I got some power pumps, a solid turn off the top, a little spray, hard turn with the nose pointed down, a couple more pumps, and one more top turn. That was the best left I’ve had in a while. What was great about those two moments was that for the first time I felt really good on my short board. I, and many others, doubted if I was truly ready for it. I know I’m not like my brother, in that he can surf shitty ass waves on a short board and make them look good. I, on the other hand, need really good waves to get my current potential out of my short board.
The other surfers at the crowded peaks had consistent waves all day. I, I had to wait just a little bit longer, but I had the whole fucking break to myself! I don’t think that type of thing is supposed to happen at a place like Trestles. Long story short, I got about six solid waves, consecutively, for the first part of the session. Every time I paddled back, there was another one on the way. For that first forty-five minutes, the time it took me to paddle back to the line and the time it took for the sets to come, were like clockwork. The next half hour kind of slowed down a bit, and one guy paddled close by, but that didn’t bother me at all. For the past couple months I’ve been frothing for waves that I could practice my turns on, and that’s just what I got. Going backside, I felt good on the top turns. My back foot was firmly planted on the traction pad. I felt in control and on the verge of doing more. The waves were so easy to paddle into. They looked mooshy, but they didn‘t bog out. There was no dump, but just enough power to sling you in and send you with enough momentum. I got close to a dozen waves, all good. The last fifteen minutes were slow, and I paddled back in at 1120.
I took my sweet ass time, took some pics, watched some other breaks, and then I ended the trek with an extremely lengthy hot shower (gotta love the military privileges). I drove back on base to see if I could get my military decal for my wagon. They gave me a temporary one that’s good for two months. Now I can park right on the sand without trouble from the MPs.
I found a table under a shaded area, ate my food, and read some short stories from Mark Twain. There was no need for a nap, for I would be at it again very soon.
FLAKES OF THE DAY: None
RAN INTO: GOD
TIME: 0950 - 1120, 1 hr. & 30 min.
CONDITIONS: No wind, sunny, extreme high tide, glassy, chest to head high, perfect, soft, long, and ridable waves.
I read an article in the 2011 JAN Surfer Magazine titled “In Defense of Going Nowhere“ by Brad Melekian. I didn’t even get to finish the whole article, but he wrote about taking a “staycation,” and that, basically, you don’t have to travel far for a little getaway. He suggested leaving your work behind, bringing some food, a beach umbrella, and only leaving of the water to eat or apply sun block. He suggested many other things to make the staycation legit, but I fell short on at least half of them. None-the-less, I had Friday designated to take a little staycation of my own. My plan was to leave at o-dark-thirty and head to Del Mar to surf the entire day. On Thursday night I bought a beach chair and umbrella. Early Friday morning I loaded two surf boards, a cooler filled with goodies, all my surf gear, and some books to read for class.
 |
| Subaru Outback, the perfect surf wagon. |
I was on the road by 0615, a little late, unfortunately. I still got to leave when it was dark. It’s really important to head out before the sun rises; that’s another reason why I like to surf early: the feeling that you’re up and out while others are sleeping, less traffic on the road, seeing the sky change from dark purple to a dull orange, and having the cool morning air numb your skin. Many thoughts came to me that morning. It was a special trip, and I didn’t even have much monologue for myself on the way, just music and the thought of surfing. My expectations were high, but I tried to quell them to save for any disappointment. My sights were on the concrete highway ahead of me, and my destination was Surf.
0800, I pulled up at Del Mar. I checked my car’s temperature gauge to see it was a ball shrinking forty-four degrees out. The cold, offshore, wind made my bare feet wrinkly and ashy, dying for warmth and lotion. I first had to take a mean ass piss. While I was pissing I felt a fart coming on. I pushed as I pissed, but I was so cold that I couldn’t feel myself. I didn’t feel the all knowing “pop” from the fart that I had, but I knew I pushed pretty hard. As I walked out to see the ocean, I felt something moist between my ass cheeks. Of course, I was in denial. The moistness then turned into a cold and wet feeling. “Please don’t tell me,” I said to myself. Sure as shit, literally, I discovered a wet spot in my boxers combined with the liquid around my ass cheeks getting cooler from the morning air; I sharted. Motherfucker, I thought, what a way to start the fucking morning. I believed it to be a bad omen. It definitely was NOT the way I wanted to start my staycation. I removed my boxers, wiped my ass, and took them with me. After all, those underwear have seen Iraq, ain’t no way I was gonna abandon them now. I walked to the sand, placed them by a volley ball court, and proceeded to the surf.
 |
| Sure, it looked okay, but I really wanted something cleaner. |
I saw an old guy watching the surf, too, his name was Brad. We talked about the conditions, and then he left to change. I watched the water … I watched it for at least twenty minutes trying to make it look good. It wasn’t. It was better than Porto but not what I packed up and drove for. The sets were inconsistent, a little racy, and the shoulders weren’t defined. It looked like Porto on an “okay” day. I could’ve given it a shot, but I’ve waited too long for soft perfect shoulders, and I wasn’t settling for less without more exploration. I turned around to get my shit stained drawers, but there were a bunch of Marines playing volleyball, and they put all of their belongings by my underwear. I felt my eyes water, for I was too embarrassed to go fetch them, and I had to leave a faithful companion behind. … Goodbye old friend.
I wiped my tears, got in the wagon, and headed to San Onofre. The beach access was closed on the base, so I had to find my way onto the post via the state park entrance. I saw droves of long boarders at Churches and Surfer Beach, but the waves looked so soft and perfect. I couldn’t park and change fast enough.
Armed with my board, glasses, sun block, digital camera, towel, and backpack, I headed out on foot. It was my first time surfing there alone, and my first time doing the hike from San O. to Trestles. I didn’t know what to expect, but I pushed forward on my pursuit for waves. The point at Churches was crowded. There was a nice long right, maybe only four feet high, but I didn’t want to compete with the bigger boards. I glanced at my potato chip DMS. Other people took notice of it, too. I wondered if the first session would end up in a debacle from being under gunned.
 |
| I really tried to wait for a good set to come through, but time was wasting. Without a surfer on this wave, it's hard to get any scale. |
I didn’t expect much. I told myself that I had to be in a shitty spot. There was a clattering sound from the friction of the rocks whenever the water rushed on the shore. The water was cold but bearable. I paddled out with ease and duck dived a couple waves. There was no bump in the surface, and I thought that I must’ve looked like a fool out there. Randomly, a long peak with a right hand shoulder appeared. It didn’t look big, and I knew if I caught it late enough that I would be able to drop in. I turned, paddled, and I popped up on the shoulder as the wave broke. Never underestimate a wave. … The face opened up, mid speed, and long. I couldn’t even see the shoulder, but it wasn’t a walled up close out. The wave moved, and the open faced canvas moved with it. It was like the waves “warm welcome” to do whatever I wanted. I couldn’t believe the turns I was pulling off; I was pumped: eyebrows low and hard, cheeks puffed out with strong breaths of air, arms outstretched setting up the bottom turn to top, a crack off the lip, reentry, another puff of the cheeks, I’m going back up again, “SPLASH!” another hit, pump, going up again. … The cleanest wave since I’ve been home? It was right up there, I knew that. I paddled back stoked, but I still couldn’t believe it. There were so many endorphins rushing through my body that I was borderline nauseas. I asked myself if that really happened. My smile hadn’t even fading when a rare left came. It wasn’t as good as the right, but it was at the perfect speed where I didn’t feel rushed (mid speed). It was about shoulder high. I got some power pumps, a solid turn off the top, a little spray, hard turn with the nose pointed down, a couple more pumps, and one more top turn. That was the best left I’ve had in a while. What was great about those two moments was that for the first time I felt really good on my short board. I, and many others, doubted if I was truly ready for it. I know I’m not like my brother, in that he can surf shitty ass waves on a short board and make them look good. I, on the other hand, need really good waves to get my current potential out of my short board.
The other surfers at the crowded peaks had consistent waves all day. I, I had to wait just a little bit longer, but I had the whole fucking break to myself! I don’t think that type of thing is supposed to happen at a place like Trestles. Long story short, I got about six solid waves, consecutively, for the first part of the session. Every time I paddled back, there was another one on the way. For that first forty-five minutes, the time it took me to paddle back to the line and the time it took for the sets to come, were like clockwork. The next half hour kind of slowed down a bit, and one guy paddled close by, but that didn’t bother me at all. For the past couple months I’ve been frothing for waves that I could practice my turns on, and that’s just what I got. Going backside, I felt good on the top turns. My back foot was firmly planted on the traction pad. I felt in control and on the verge of doing more. The waves were so easy to paddle into. They looked mooshy, but they didn‘t bog out. There was no dump, but just enough power to sling you in and send you with enough momentum. I got close to a dozen waves, all good. The last fifteen minutes were slow, and I paddled back in at 1120.
I took my sweet ass time, took some pics, watched some other breaks, and then I ended the trek with an extremely lengthy hot shower (gotta love the military privileges). I drove back on base to see if I could get my military decal for my wagon. They gave me a temporary one that’s good for two months. Now I can park right on the sand without trouble from the MPs.
I found a table under a shaded area, ate my food, and read some short stories from Mark Twain. There was no need for a nap, for I would be at it again very soon.
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