SOUTH OXNARD: YOU CAN ONLY SURF SO MUCH - SAT 14AUG2011 MOR

Crew: Rick, John A., Jordan, Klaude
Conditions: 3-4 ft., glassy, slight offshore wind, high tide, inconsistent, overcast, warm, fast, peaky, pitchy, brutal, round, slightly hollow.



Something Different:


    After getting skunked so much down south, I need another option for a south facing break. Rick has been telling me about his secret spots, so I try to make myself available the next time he goes. Yesterday on the drive back home, Klaude called to invite me to County Line. I told him that I’d see what Rick was doing first. Sure enough, Rick called me right after and invited me up north. Last night I told Klaude that I’d pick him up at 0615.



Your body will tell you:


    I’m up. It’s 0530. I sit up, and my upper back and shoulder muscles are aching. I make a cup of coffee and eat a banana. I have a bad feeling about this. In the back of my mind, I worry that I’m pushing myself too much and that I should take a little break from surfing. But today we’re going to a secret spot, and I have to surf it there with Rick to learn as much about it as possible.

    I text Klaude as I start the car. I’m late. He texts back: Whaaaat! Matt late! The whole world is coming to an end!

    It is a little out of my character. I pick him up, and we start our long morning drive on PCH. We pass Sunset. It’s small and crowded. Malibu is the same. County Line looks clean, but it looks kind of small and extremely crowded as well. No, not this morning. No more crowded surf, at least for today. We’re heading somewhere that I’ve never paddled out at before where no one should be at.

    We pass Rick’s vehicle on the road, but they don’t see us. When Klaude and I approach the beach, we can’t see over the big rocks, but when we climb over what we see doesn’t look too promising. There are peaks, well defined peaks. They are almost too defined. There’s a fast drop with a tapered shoulder. “Looks like mostly shore pound,” says Klaude.

    To me, he doesn’t sound stoked, but I’m optimistic. For one thing, there are only three guys out. The rides look short, but they are peaks and not walls. I can work with that. The sand bars spread the peaks out a little. Also, there’s no wind, and it’s glassy.

    Rick and company show up. They’re a little disappointed too. John says, “This is the first time I’ve seen this place so flat?” It doesn’t matter. Rick’s the first one to suit up, Klaude follows, and I take my time getting ready.

    I use my DMS potato chip for this session. Since the peaks look fast, I should have enough push to get me into the waves. We all paddle out, and the water’s so smooth that it’s hard to make out the curling lip. I eat shit on my first couple waves. They jack up so fast that as I’m popping up the lip’s already over me. It’s good, it’s a challenge. It’s a challenge and it’s rideable, a 180 compared to the last four days. It’s just before high tide, and the place just seems to turn on. Random peaks unexpectedly sprout. Sitting on the shoulder, we can see almond shaped slots when the waves pitch. Some peaks are so sharp they look like inverted Vs. Some waves transform into beasts that jack up violently and leave no room for error. I’m in awe, and today is only a four foot day on the face, maybe only three feet. Klaude turns to me and says, “I think it’s pitchier than HB.”

    “I was thinking the same thing.” Out of all of us, John makes it look the easiest. I don’t have full view, but he gets shacked on one wave. Rick paddles in to waves early with his fish and unleashes backhand hacks that spray water out the back.

    “I’m going for the barrel,” Klaude says. “It’s time to go barrel hunting.” Shit, he’s not the only one. I wouldn’t mind getting one too. I get a couple waves that moosh out after the drop. On some, the section is just too fast so I have to penetrate out the back. I do get some good rights which let me have a good top turn to end it. The waves aren’t the problem, it’s my body. Everyone fights the current to stay in place. I keep drifting north and away. Each stroke just feels tiresome. I actually welcome the lulls to catch my breath.

    One of those freak monster waves jacks up in front of Klaude. He’s paddling for it. As he pops up going left, it looks like he’s grabbing rail for a backside slot, but the lip comes down on him and pushes him towards the inside.

    A peak forms in front of me. I know it’s jacking up right away, so I turn and paddle early. I make the steep drop and look down the line. The section is building, but I’m able to pump my way around it. I see that the shoulder is standing up, and the lip is about to curl over. Rick is paddling out near the shoulder. He yells, “Yeah, Matt!” in approval. I’m feeling good. My brother told me to fade out, pull in, and check turn; I’m about to set myself up. Unfortunately, the wave’s speed has me on a collision course with Rick. He’s not over the shoulder yet. We both look at each other like deers caught in the headlights. What should I do? I should straighten out and avoid hitting my buddy, but for some reason I can’t stop my self from pulling in. Collision is inevitable at this point; I’m literally two feet away from him. The lip starts to curl, Rick starts to duckdive, and I start my leap over Rick to avoid a heavy impact with my board.

    We resurface and I say, “Fuck, Rick, I’m sooo fucking sorry! Are you all right?”

    “Yeah, Matt, I’m fine. Sorry, I had no where to go.”

    “I know, but fuck, I shouldn’t have ran over you.” We pull our boards apart.

    “It’s okay. I duckdived deep. That was a good one!”

    “I know. I couldn’t help it. I really wanted to get slotted.” My demeanor switches from that moment. God dammit I want another one just like that. I paddle closer to everyone, and we’re all hooting at the big sets that are rolling through.

    Unfortunately, the tide gets higher which causes things to get swampy. Just like that, it shuts off for a little while. The lulls are long again with a couple waves in between. Jordan’s practicing with us for her high school surf team, and despite the backwash jacking up the waves on the inside, she’s fucking charging. All morning long, she gets her fair share of waves, either ending her rides with good carves or semi floaters that she kicks out of. She makes me feel old, while the two brothers make me feel inexperienced. I struggle at this point. I’m repelling the peaks, and John seems to be scoring the most. Rick paddles up to me and says, “I got hit by my fins on the inside.”

    “What, where?”

    “On my head.”

    “Are you all right?”

    “Yeah, I’m fine.”

    “Put your head down.” He complies, and I see a small bright red square in his scalp. “Dude, your cut.” Poor Rick. He’s had concussions from snowboarding and surfing. His accident brings me back to the realization that surfing is dangerous, and we’re always one awkward wipeout away from being exposed to serious harm. A peaky left comes my way, I paddle for it, and as I’m dropping in I can see that the section is walling up. I try to penetrate out the back, but I get sucked down with the white wash. The inside is so turbulent, and that wave is pretty heavy, so it’s full weight sucks me under. The wash yanks my right arm behind me, and I feel a sharp pain from my right shoulder. I resurface laboring myself on my board. I paddle, but there’s pain in my range of motion. Every time I paddle with my right arm, something hurts in my rotator cuff. I alter my paddle to work around the pain. I think I get one more wave before Rick calls the session. It’s almost noon. Just like that, the whole morning is gone. It doesn’t even feel that we’ve surfed that long.

    On the way home I deny the pain, but I know that it’s serious enough to keep me out of the water. Coping with it is weird because surfing is a huge part of my life. I’d like to think that I just need a day of rest, but I know it will be more than that.



Aftermath:


    Sunday rolls around. I dedicate the day to Lauren. Klaude and Francis text me. It was a good morning for surf. Consistent 2-3 ft. at Parks and glassy. Just my luck. When I get injured, the surf is good. The Amador brothers were out there too. I’m missing out. My shoulder feels worse today. I’ve had partial tendon tears before, and I expect the same. I want to surf so bad, but the smart thing to do is stay out of the water this week. Lesson learned. It’s better to miss one day of surfing to give your body rest than to surf nonstop, injure yourself, and be out for a week. Damn, I miss the water.

STAYCATION SESSIONS--TRESTLES: FRI 8.13.2011 DAY

Crew: Solo
Conditions: 2-4 ft., choppy, strong onshore wind, sunny, inconsistent.


    High tide passed at around 1100, so I take a short nap to surf later when the tide drops a little. It’s a little before 1300 before I wake up. Gregory Isaac plays as I watch the surf, trying not to squint from the light. It’s bright out there, looks hot, but there aren’t any good waves. The peaks are kind of long and racy. It’s obvious that the window for excellent surf was during the morning, and now it just looks like a typical, blownout afternoon. None-the-less, my car’s warm and protecting me from the wind. The reggae music captures the moment. I nod my head in rhythm with the roots style bass, and I start to apply my sunblock. An older guy is done surfing next to me. “What you playin’?” he asks.

    “Gregory Isaacs.”

    The guy gives me a lesson on how Jimmy Cliff was the first to bring reggae to America. “Have you ever seen the movie The Harder They Come?”

    I’ve heard of it, and I have a feeling that it’s one of those classic movies that I’m missing out on. “No,” I reply.



Only One Thing Missing:


    I’m feeling so good right now. I just had a decent nap and a nice piece of chocolate. There’s nothing that can stop me from having a bad day at this point. I start making the walk past Churches into Middles. For the first time I feel Al’s absence. It was awesome spending some time with him and his family. Surfing was all we talked about in Iraq, and we actually set time aside to make it happen. It’s just too bad that the surf wasn’t great the whole time here. Well, battle buddy or not, there isn’t a cloud in the sky, the sun’s blazing down on my back, the sand and dirt trail is almost hot enough to cause discomfort, and the wind is blowing in my face. Churches has a couple waves, and Middles seems empty until Lowers, but there’s no rush. Uppers, I’m thinking. It was good this morning, it should be worth the walk now. The high angle of the mid day sun gives everything hard light. I stop and face the trestle. Green bushes sway in the wind; tiny, yellow, flowers sway along with them; even the dirt on the hills seem to have life to them. I take in this foreground with the palm trees and vegetation in the background to make it all one. Still the wind blows, the trail is empty, and I try to take in this moment for myself. People are off on the sand, so I continue my trek in case I’m weirding them out.

    There’s a Black guy walking with a small group of people towards me. He looks like the guy that hosted the Billabong XXL Global Big Wave Awards 2011. I’ve seen some pros over the last couple weeks. It could be, could not be, whatever.

    Lowers is working of course, but I want a wave to myself. I walk all the way to Uppers, but the wind has taken away the random peaks. It’s crowded too, and everyone’s sitting where it’s the most consistent. By now the walk isn’t as peaceful as it was earlier. Uppers is about a twenty minute walk, and the sun is cutting right into me. I’m thirsty. I stop south of Lowers again, but no spare sets are breaking. There are two other surfers at Middles, so I paddle out just north of them. Just a couple rideable waves with some shoulders on them, that’s all I want.

    The lull’s ridiculous. Waiting for a lower tide doesn’t seem to matter with the wind. The peaks are long. Once the wave starts breaking, the whole section becomes one long lip that crumbles away. I get a few pumps maybe but no turns. The two other guys leave, and it’s just me. I’m searching for that mellow session to end the trip right, and I’m not in the mood for competing on my last day. I let the current take me further south. At the BP I catch a couple little lefts and rights that go a distance. I even get a couple small carves. Later, the current takes me to the north peak at Churches. Here I score a couple waves, but I scratch out on a lot too. The small pack that I’m surfing with becomes more crowded. For some reason, the surf gets consistent with long clean up sets. I’m tired, and my mellow mood lets the waves get the best of me. I’m washed around a little. It wouldn’t be so bad if there was a nice peeling shoulder, but they are close outs. I drift further south, and the main peak that I was at has surfers coming down the line claiming the waves. My body feels tired, with each stroke my shoulders feel like they’re on the verge of tearing something. I have been surfing a lot, and I’ve been forcing this mid day session.

    Back at the whip, I’m unsatisfied. As much as I wanted this trip to be a nonstop wave buffet, it hasn’t. I’ve packed light. I take a hot shower and hit the freeway. In San Clemente I go to Coffee Bean and Jack in the Box to refuel for the drive. Surprisingly, most of the traffic is going southbound, while I only hit traffic through HB. Once I get home, I’m a zombie. Lauren comes home from work, she’s tired as hell too. Looking for fulfillment through surfing, ironic perhaps? Paddling out doesn’t guarantee waves, so on trips like this one I feel even emptier. I’ve surfed the last four days to find myself unfulfilled, and the hunger to feel that sensation and bottle it up in one short moment eludes me. How can I rest?

STAYCATION SESSIONS--TRESTLES: FRI 8.13.2011 MOR

Crew: Al
Met: Ecuadorian John
Conditions: 3-5 ft., clean, glassy, slight offshore, overcast, cool.



Salvation:


    My body wakes itself up at 0514. I sit up and see Al already getting his gear ready. I step outside and only feel a light offshore breeze. It’s not even first light yet, so we can’t see the waves. The plan is to meet Al’s surf mentor John at Uppers. When Al lived down south, Uppers was where he surfed most consistently. We walk off in the darkness, and one guy is already paddling out at Middles. Finally, there are scattered peaks and the water looks glassy. It’s not even 0600, and I already count fourteen heads at Lowers. When we get to Uppers, Al finds John’s bike, so we put our slippers there.

    I’ve never surfed the main Uppers peak before. It’s a really long peak that produces a long right-hander. There’s a left that breaks, but it’s mainly a right. Al warns me about the shallowness of the inside. He walks out while I warm up. The water feels a little cooler than the previous mornings, and I make my way towards Al and John. Uppers is a little crowded, but it’s much more spread out than Lowers. Clean four foot peaks form in front of us. John and Al take a party wave together to start things off. A peaky wave comes my way, but I don’t make the section, so someone on my outside takes it. They are sitting at the main take off zone, and I’m not digging the crowd. Even though it’s not Lowers, there are still a lot of people there for one wave. Out of frustration, I paddle south of the main pack, and as I do, an outside wave appears in the horizon. No one else is in position. This morning the waves are working. That classic shape that I’ve referred to before, it’s here. The wave’s about four feet high, starts off with a steep drop, and has a nice speed section. After a couple pumps I pull off a clean top turn and reenter. On my second top turn I stall on the lip and am forced to kick out. No matter. It’s the wave I’ve been dreaming of before the trip started, minus the overcast.

    On the next set, I scratch out on all the waves, so I head back to the guys to see if my luck will change there. Same thing. Every time there’s a wave, someone’s already on it. Al does much better in crowds. Back at the outside, I wait to see if I can score again. Like clockwork, a set appears, but I have to chase it down. I paddle into the wave right at the peak, as the lip’s starting to curl. Angled sharply down the face, I make the drop and feel the rush of air through my body. It’s a long right, and I’m milking it as much as I can. It’s a three turn wave which, for me, is good. I’m stoked on life again as I paddle back. The set’s not over. Another big one pops up, but there’s a chick on my outside that’s going for it too. She looks back, sees me, I pop up, and she backs out. It’s another Hail Mary of a wave. I get as many turns as I can and find myself far away from the lineup when my ride’s over.

    Al’s waiting on the sand for me. We have to cut the session short because he’s driving back up north. I fail to catch a last one, so I have to paddle in. I help them pack, see them off, and eat some sandwiches from the leftovers in the cooler. I could’ve just stayed out, but it’ll be a while before I see him again, and I have to choose his friendship over the waves, at least on this morning. Now I pack up my stuff and move closer to Churches. Double sesh?