Crew: Frances
Time: 1730-1830, 1 hr.
Conditions: Onshore wind still, inconsistent, three feet, sunny, higher tide.
Captain Cool:
We're all watching the surf, and it doesn't look good. It's getting really hard to motivate ourselves for another paddle out. A car parks next to mine, and a huge beast of a man approaches our site. Rick asks, “Hey, are you Samoan?”
“Only at heart,” he replies. “We scored yesterday at state beach. Seven feet!”
“You paddling out?” I ask.
He looks down at me, nods his head, and says with reassurance, “Eeeeeeevery day, my friend. Every day.” He concentrates on the line up and adds, “They're sitting too far to the right. They need to sit right here.” He points out to a peak right in front of us.
So I'm thinking, okay, well . . . I guess this guy is just Mr. Awesome, right? Captain cool and shit. Billy bad ass. I watch him as he grabs his longboard and paddles out to the line. For the intro that he made, I'm expecting this guy to be some kind of Mickey Dora throwback or something. I watch him scratch out on waves until I get bored. When I glance over later, I see him doing late, unsuccessful turtle dives as tries to make it past the sets. Motherfucker. What a disappointment. It's a perfect example: let your surfing do the talking.
The Leashless Rider:
Beast's friend paddles out without a leash. This guy is more laid back and doesn't try to impose his coolness on us. All of us on the sand are critics. “I wouldn't go leashless,” says John.
“He's gonna lose his board,” says Rick.
I think it's a pretty gutsy move, but I can't tell if he's try to just show off or not. I hate to admit it, but I wanted to see this guy lose his board and swim back to shore after it. Instead, we watch this guy surf. He's fast, careful, and keeps a grip on his board after every wave. He only surfs for fifteen minutes and catches three rides. As he passes us on his way back, we all applaud. “Well done,” I tell him. “Well done.”
The Fastest Left:
So with the rising tide, there's this quick left hander that keeps teasing Frances and I. It's just to our south where no one is at. We keep talking to eachother, estimating, saying that if we sit right there as it starts to break that we'll get a fast little left. The main lineup doesn't look appetizing at all, so it's almost a joke to paddle out and try this.
“I'm changing,” I tell Frances.
“All right. Me too.”
We're smiling and laughing at eachother as we paddle out. It's ridiculous. No one wants this wave, but we're sure that others have eyed it and thought about it. Not us, we're pioneering. It looks much easier from shore, as we keep scratching out and shifting out of position from the current. Frances is the first to catch it. I expect for it to close out on him, but I later see him all the way towards the inside. I try to do the same, but it feels like I'm going to get pitched, so I back out a couple times. I finally scratch and kick my way into the drop. The wave jacks up at the last second and sends me flying into the open face. Just as the wave looks like it's going to close, it opens. It's a weird wave. I pump as far as I can to make the section, and a longboarder on shore scratches his head as he watches us. We're fools, but fools having fun on a wave all to ourselves.
I manage my way into a couple more, but Frances is the one putting on a clinic. He sees me air drop into one as I eat shit on the landing. The higher tide is making the inside bigger, and the backwash also adds some surprising lift.
We're done after an hour. The tide is so high that it's reaching the high shore line; I've never seen the tide so high at San Onofre before. We say our goodbyes to everyone, stop in San Clemente for some coffee to go, and beat the traffic back to LA. It wasn't a “surf your brains out” staycation sesh, but I was happy to see some new friendships being made. We were all brought together through surfing, and eventually we'll all be brought together again the same way.
