WE’RE ENGAGED (triple sesh), SUN06SEPT2015

Loc: North Churches

Time: 0700-0900      

Crew: Hideki, Bri

Conditions: 5-6 FT, sunny, consistent, walled

Board: 6’0 Lost Mini Driver

     Hideki had shown up the night before, so we were three deep heading into North Churches. Klaude was supposed to be around for the first sesh, but he was still on the road.

     Lower Churches was looking doable. A few peaks south of the top of the wave had good rights. Just north of it, at the main peak, were a clusterfuck of longboarders, and they were getting most of the good waves. I didn’t want to compete with them.

     Unfortunately my favorite spot was not doing so well. North of the main peak going into Middles was mostly closeouts. There were barely any signature lefts that this place can produce when it’s three-to-four feet, maybe even five feet max, but something happens when there’s a big swell—this place just doesn’t hold shape. They say if you don’t learn from the past, you’ll make the same mistake in the future, but I had no choice but to be here. The swell was worth the gamble, plus I really wanted to propose to Bri here, and this weekend it had to happen. I didn’t want to wait any longer.

     The paddle out wasn’t too bad, and, surprisingly, I caught two decent lefts. The waves in between the sets were smaller but had good shape. I managed a few power carves, a layback cutback, and some floaters. Later into the session, the lefts were harder to come by.

     Hideki’s wave of the morning was a clean left. He didn’t set up for any turns, but he milked the wave for all its distance and kicked out cleanly.

     Aside from those few waves, it was hard to track everyone’s status because of the sets. Outside, huge walls would pop up with no hope for shape. Whoever wasn’t already sitting outside was instantly caught in the paddle treadmill. Even though Trestles isn’t a round wave, the stampeding whitewash it creates on big days can be hard to punch through. Duckdive after duckdive, I managed to hold onto my board, but I was getting tired. Every wave we got, a set would follow, and we’d have to pay. There wasn’t once when one of us was safe and the others were being worked. Nope. Together, we were wearing sets on our heads. Even worse, that North Churches / South Middles area offers zero channel. While guys at the top of the wave were able to sneak around the sets, the door was shut on us the whole time.

     At the two-hour mark, about 0900, we called the session. I figured we had the whole day to surf, low tide would be right before 1100, and now would be a good time to take a break.

     I let the current take me to the top of the wave, where I spotted Miles from Manhattan Beach sitting at the bottom of the wave. I tried to flag him down, but he didn’t see me.  

     I really wanted to get one of those legit bombs from the top, but competing against the longboarders was hard. I almost had one. An old bearded and weathered longboarder was side slipping while trying to scratch into a set wave. Since he was losing it, I turned to go for it, and then he swooped down just an inch past me, recovering the ride he had almost lost. “How the hell did he do that?” I said out loud. 

     “He’s on a huge log,” said the guy next to me.

     I had to let the longboarders take all the good waves. When I finally did get one, it only offered me distance but sectioned off before I could turn.

     Walking back to camp, Bri was ahead of me. Just as she walked up on the road, I spotted Klaude on the sand. He was about to paddle out.

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WE’RE ENGAGED PT.2, SUN06SEPT2015

Loc: North Churches

Time: 1000-1130      

Crew: Klaude

Conditions: 6 FT, sunny, consistent, walled

Board: 6’0 Lost Mini Driver

     I had left Hideki out by himself when I came in from the first session, so I assumed that Klaude would link up with him. I only came in for a break, so I had a banana, an orange, some water, and a cup of coffee. Hideki returned, saying that he didn’t see Klaude at all.

     After changing into shorts and my wetsuit jacket, I headed back to Mons Pubis. Hideki brought his fancy camera with telescopic lens to shoot. Once again, we ran into Klaude. “It was getting boring,” he said, “surfing out there by myself.” We went back to Mons Pubis and paddled out there, leaving Hideki and Bri on the rocks.

     I was stoked that Hideki was willing to take pics of us. I hoped to score a few good lefts like this morning. When they rolled in, I turned and went, but they just sectioned off too fast. Again, twice more, I couldn’t make it around the sections, and then . . . there were the sets. For the first time that trip, I lost my board from the power of the whitewash. They were relentless. One set had to at least be a dozen waves. Klaude and I paddled our hearts out to get back outside. When the sets were over, the ocean was so calm that what had just happened seemed like a bad memory, like it had never occurred. Oh the deception!

     My best waves were two rights, both in-between waves, but they were just too soft. I tried to sell them the best I could, thinking about Hideki burning up in this heat, waiting for us to get at least one picture-worthy shot.

     Klaude went in ahead of me. He disappeared during a set, and I couldn’t blame him. Seeing him on the sand, I ventured towards the top of the wave, but I didn’t fare much better than I had in the morning. Don’t get me wrong, there are good waves here when the swell’s on fire, but only a few spots hold: the top of Churches and Lowers. In this case, Churches was packed again. Longboard City. After a lackluster right, I went in. An hour and a half had passed. Fail. I was stoked to just go back to camp and crack open a beer with my friends.

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WE’RE ENGAGED PT.3, SUN 06SEPT2015

Loc: North Churches

Time: 1545-1715      

Crew: Klaude, Hideki, Bri

Conditions: 6 FT+, sunny, consistent, walled

Board: 6’0 Lost Mini Driver

     Before we paddled out, Miles discovered our campsite on the way back to the state beach parking. He marveled at how good the surf was. “There were plenty out there,” he said. “Even the shortboarders were getting some. The peaks would shift.” He went on and on, and . . . I think any surfer who had just had a bunch of consecutive bad sessions doesn’t want to hear how someone absolutely scored at roughly the same spot you he or she surfed.

     We drank, played pusoy dos, by the way I spanked everyone, and then we suited up for the evening session.

     The session went the same as it had earlier that day, except the swell was a hair bigger and more consistent. I didn’t catch any significant waves, and I’m not sure if my homies could say the same. There was a point when I was all alone on the inside, and I just wasn’t going anywhere. There were guys on the cliffs watching. I looked behind me and saw that I was getting closer to the rocks. It took a while, but eventually the surf did die down, and I got back out.

     Klaude and Hideki were inside after a set. I was just about ready to call the session, too. I was just fucking over it. Gotta tell ya, I fucking love this spot, but I’ve caught too many swells like this here. Too much size and no shape. It’s almost a waste. Better off when it’s smaller.

     Just as I had caught, again, another lackluster right to the inside, I was drained and exhausted, ready to walk up those cobblestones and prepare to pop the question, and that’s when I saw Bri. She was inside, too, but she wasn’t pointed towards shore. Wish a smile on her face, she was paddling back out. The whole session, I watched her get worked alongside us. She wasn’t spared. Yet, she was going back for more. Not only did I paddle back out, but Klaude paddled back out, too.

     Back at camp, I had to get the ring situation worked out. I had stashed it away in my wagon, but I couldn’t get to it without Bri seeing. The plan was to take an evening walk together, and I would pop the question then. When Bri went in the tent to grab something, I grabbed the ring and gave it to Klaude for safe keeping. He had only found out about the plan an hour earlier.

     We all walked out, Hideki with camera handy to take pics of “the sunset.” Once we cleared the beachgoers, we sat down at an isolated spot on the sand. The sun had just set. The waves looked way better than yesterday evening. Rippable rights were being sold by the shortboarders still out there. It was distracting. Where the fuck were those waves earlier?

     Klaude walked up behind me and set the ring down by my hip. It was on.

     I wanted to propose here because this was really where it all started. I taught Bri how to surf here. Our first camp trip together was here back in June of 2012, and this is where we officially became couple.

     “We have a lot of fun together, don’t we?” I asked.

     Bri said, “Yes,” with her head nuzzled up against my shoulder.

     I told her how this spot means a lot to us, and that I hoped we would still be coming here together for years to come. Motioning for us to leave, I shifted around like I was about to sit up. Bri stood up first and dusted some sand off of her. When she turned around, I was already down on one knee with the box open, and that’s when I asked her to marry me.

LABOR DAY SWELL, SAT05SEPT2015

Loc: Churches

Time: 1800-1930      

Conditions: 5 FT, high tide, swampy, sectiony

Board: Motorboat Too

     Since Bri had to work that Saturday morning, we had no choice but to head to San Onofre in the afternoon. I had packed the car before Bri got off, so we were set to hit the road as soon as she got home at 1500. Of course, while we were stopping to grab something to eat before getting on the freeway, Bri found out that she forgot her ID. We drove back home to get it, and then she realized that it had been in her purse the whole time. Women. . .

     Exiting Basilone Road, the sight of WSL tents and scaffolding was a change of scenery. The last time we had been there was before Indo, so we were long overdue for a Trestles/Churches trip. A long walled-up peak was breaking through Middles. I could already tell that the swell was too big to hold shape.

     We got upgraded from our original Churches campsite, which was a Godsend because that area was packed. Instead, we secured an RV site. As soon as we pulled in, we were greeted by our neighbors on both sides, both saying, “You made it!” Turns out, everyone was inquiring about the site, and I had no idea how Bri and I got so lucky.

     I hadn’t bothered to check the tide windows after my two days of dry-docking myself for recovery purposes, but when I checked, I saw that we had just missed a five-foot high tide.

     After changing to rush the surf, the rights coming off of Churches were disappointingly sectiony. The tide made the conditions swampy, so there was a lot of backwash. It looked like the waves wanted to peel off into long rippable shoulders, but that backwash kept running into the shoulders and forcing them to section off and stretch.

     But during times like these, we still have to paddle out no matter what, and we did. The paddle itself wasn’t too bad. Marine noobs were struggling just to make it out. I turned on my kook radar and steered clear of those obstacles, funboards and soldiers alike. At first we sat at the bottom of the wave but gradually worked our way to the top just short of North Churches AKA Mons Pubis.

     I felt undergunned on my Motorboat Too. It was hard scratching into waves, but on my first one, I felt fast and in control. I pumped and made some distance but couldn’t make the next section. Same thing on my next wave. No matter how much potential it looked like it had, another section would just bump up, and my ride would be gone.

     Bri did much better than I did. Frontside, I watched her on two rights. The first one was her best. She’s not throwing out buckets, but she got two tosses of water out the back, an indicator of her progression.

     I had trunked it with a rashguard, and the wind was making me shiver. With the sun going down and dinner in mind, we called the session after an hour and a half.

     We drove down Camino Real on the way to Denny’s, passing fancy restaurants that were jam packed. Reaching Denny’s, we were surprised that it was a ghost town there, and that’s when I realized that people in San Clemente have money. To them, Denny’s must be like McDonald’s. Yet, there we were, my girl and I, stoked on the value menu, salty and surfed out. Little did Bri know that I had planned for months to propose to her the next day.

POST BARREL PT.2, WED02SEPT2015

Loc: Manhattan Beach

Time: 0740-0920      

Conditions: 4-5 FT, low tide, racy, sideshore, current

Board: Lost Mini Driver, 5’10, quads

     Might as well call September the martyr month if this shit keeps up. I showed up to my local break a little bit later than usual. The trend of sideshore wind and light overcast stayed true, but I could tell that the water was moving north pretty fast.

     Can’t say a lot of people were out that morning. As soon as I reached the water line, Collin was coming out. “The current’s strong,” he said. “I’m gonna walk back towards Marine and paddle out there.”

     I walked a little more south, too. The Brazo douche that had ran over Bri a couple weekends ago with his Costco foamie was out. He was talking to the dark skin ripper chick who likes to paddle out in a thong. Thong Girl charged on a left, but the wave was so fast that all she could do was stick the landing and ride straight. Brazo was eating shit on his foamie. Within forty-five minutes they both left together.

     Fighting the current was a bitch. My right rotator cuff was screaming for relief. I had met a Kiwi dude in Java named Pax, and he had to stop surfing because he got to the point that he couldn’t paddle with his right arm anymore, too much pain in the rotator, and I wondered if I was doing the same.

     Even worse, it was purl city for me. I felt sluggish on every wave I was taking, and then the nose would catch. Like a bad car accident through the front windshield, I kept indo’ing end over end. I wondered what I must’ve looked like to Mike, who was sitting on The Strand at his usual bench with his morning coffee. “That guy’s eating shit,” he was probably saying.

     None of the attempts were worthy. Maybe one, at best, offered a split-second glimpse in the tube.

     Later, Toru came out. I remember him specifically because he complimented me on a left that I got a turn on, but that was just a small consolation compared to the session as a whole.

     I left defeated that morning. How had I surfed so fucking well on Monday and turned into a barnyard? The answer was simple. As much as I would have liked to think that I was some kind of surfing ironman, I wasn’t. It was time to call for a couple lay days, maybe three. At some point, everything comes to an end. I had a good streak.