Southern Comfort

We were in SoCal again over the weekend. And I am happy to report that conditions have deteriorated at Church's to the point that bodyboarders are now snaking me in the beach break.

I banged rails with a longboarder who defended his right to snake me by exclaiming, "I was up first!"

Losing my typically cool composure I exclaimed, "That doesn't f*cking matter!!! You were on the f*cking shoulder!!!"

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Won't You Take Me to Nike Town

I predict we'll see Tiger Woods swinging on the back nine in a baggy Hurley sweatshirt before we ever see a Nike Swoosh on the ASP Tour.

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Public Toilets at The Lane

Regarding those shady characters lurking around the public toilets on West Cliff...Are they participating in the illicit trade of narcotics? Or are they simply looking for love in all the wrong places?

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Health and Nutrition

I am on day 10 of my shark cartilage supplements. And I now have seagulls hovering outside of my bathroom window. They think I'm cutting bait in there!

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On The Hook's "Ambassador"

He's the guy who popularized the phrase, "Sorry, but I thought you were going behind me."

If the screenplay for the surfing epic "Big Wednesday" had been written in today's modern era of online surf forecasting, it would probably go something like this:

Matt: Hey guys, it's been flat for weeks. I need some waves pronto! What about Baja?!?!

Jack: Sorry, Matt, but I have lifeguard tryouts on Tuesday and I've got a date with Sally tonight!

Leroy: Count me in!!! Guns! Tequila! Banditos! Women!

Matt: I'm a drunk, Bear! Oh wait, sorry, I mean LET'S GO! I'll bring the Point Grinder. Jack, you can bring Sally. Leroy, you'll find a young Mexican virgin who you will promise to marry just before you deflower her, the whole time being comforted by the knowledge that she could never hope to make it into the United States to find you.

Jack: Now hold on, Matt. Before we get too excited, I'm going online to check Surfline.com. Remember the last time you wanted to hit the road? Good thing I checked Surfline.com first. Remember how they said it was "only 2-3 with occasional fun, glassy sets"? The 45 minutes of effort to drive up to Ventura would have been a complete waste of time.

Leroy: Yes, you're right. We might have driven all that way to be totally disappointed. And I wouldn't have had that bomb session of Transworld Surfing on my new PS2.

Jack: See Matt, I'm glad I checked. It says right here that we shouldn't hit the road spontaneously this week. The surf is no good. How about next week instead? They say its going to be a lot better. Oh, and check out this article on El Niño. And here's an interesting one on localism in Rosarita Beach. Did you know that Rosarita Beach is nicknamed "The Mexican Malibu"? I sure didn't.

Back in the early 90s, I experienced the very same congestion at Church's that we are experiencing today in the Pleasure Point area. Of course, being a SoCal "Tranny" myself, I must remain a casual observer on this subject without getting too worked up about it. My temporary status makes me only slightly less hated than UCSC alumni.

Traditionally, Church's had been an overlooked break. I even recall a day when me and a young Mike Parsons - we called him "Snips" back then - traded off on lonely peaks in front of the wooden lifeguard tower.

In the 80s, Church's had maintained limited isolation for three very good reasons: (1) Surfers accessing the beach via the Christianitos bicycle path would never go to all that trouble to hike in and then walk right past Lower's. You'd have to be crazy. (2) Direct access was restricted by the campground at Pendleton. Marines have always hated surfers, and while rumors abounded of confiscated boards and land mines buried just under the sand, they never gave us any trouble as long as we stayed below the high tide line. (3) Longboards were just too heavy. San Onofre was just far enough and never crowded enough to make someone want to walk all that way against a head wind with a twenty pound board.

Yes, we were all pretty happy at Church's prior to the Fletcher/Paskowitz revolution of the early 90s, but soon guys began trading in their 6'0"s for 9'0"s. They wanted to be "soul" surfers like Curren one month and "hardcore" and tattooed like Archibald the next.

Crowds at San Onofre began to swell and achieve overflow parking status on every consecutive weekend. Gone were the days of an empty wave.

I have a new surf spot that I have lovingly named "Franks and Beans". I suspect that this right-hand reef break may actually be called Scott Creek or something more appropriate, but I'll need Matt to confirm that for me, or maybe Clemm. Bank Wright may have originally called it "Stubs" based on an encounter that occurred in the parking lot between his big toe and a half-buried drainage pipe. Of course, like many of Bank's other landmarks, that pipe is no longer there, so this theory cannot be completely supported.

As I drove along East Cliff this morning, I was disappointed, but not wholly surprised to find that the expected "overhead" swell had not yet materialized. To further confirm this suspicion, I found Aric already at The Hook, checking the conditions.

His first comment: "It’s supposed to be four-to-eight today." I smiled and replied that my buoy reports were confirming the impending arrival of a long-awaited swell, but that possibly tomorrow would be the strongest day.

His reply: "I'm going to paddle out." And then under his breath, he muttered something about Tahiti, and with that he took a walk up to 38th Ave. I can only assume that he wanted to see if it was 4-to-8 up there. You never know.

I watched him walk away into the pre-dawn darkness and contemplated whether to paddle out and sit, or to go home and back to bed. After watching another "set", bed won out.

Once back in my rig, I realized that I was just too amped to go back to bed. The thought of facing another day in my cube without water time was just too much. Quickly stringing together a set of scenarios and excuses, I got on Highway 1, heading north.

So, no rain from this major low pressure system, but I awoke to some threatening clouds and a cold, offshore breeze. I decided to hit up Santa Cruz Diner for some grease to still the waters of a holiday party hangover. On the way home I drove by the Rivermouth and it was aaaaalmost happening – chest- to shoulder-high and the left was just reeling; A little too fast, but pretty; No one out. I thought if this is almost happening then I need to get my ass over to the harbor.

I swung by the house and grabbed my gear. I got there just as two guys were walking down the beach. Another guy on a bike was just pulling up also. It looked sick! The Murph Bar was boasting in a peeling left and right, glassy to offshore conditions, and shoulder- to head-high.

I paddled out; A peak to be shared by me and four others. The waves never stopped. Almost the best I'd ever seen the bar look and definitely the most challenging waves I've ever surfed at that spot. For about an hour it continued like this as the tide continued to drop. And it was just getting more and more fun. On the smaller ones I could get to my feet, scoop that fat wall with my inside arm, and tuck under the lip. On the bigger ones, I dropped in and ran like hell.

Then it started getting bigger; A lot bigger. On one of the first standout sets, another guy and I were paddling back out. We were in the channel, and safe, but 10 yards further inside two waves broke that you could have driven a bus through. It was like looking into a frigging cave. He and I were just looking at each other with pinched, uneasy smiles and eyes like saucers. We all continued to catch waves, and a few more like that came in, but no one was going for them.

In February 1997 I moved to Aptos and started surfing at The Hook and Manresa Beach. My "quiver" consisted of an Infinity 6'2" and I had been in the water on only a handful of occasions in the previous six months. I was out of shape, no longer comfortable with my board, and in cold, unfamiliar waters. I was definitely looking for inspiration.

I was at The Hook one spring morning - struggling to say the least - when a guy paddled out on what looked like a mini longboard. The shape was gorgeous and he just flowed on it. That was enough for me. I went straight to Arrow Surfboards in Capitola and picked out my first hybrid - a green-striped 7'4". I immediately loved it, rode it for a couple of years, and then rode boards similar to it for a few more years. All the while becoming slightly more performance oriented with each new shape.

I have continued to see this guy in the water and he is always a standout. He displays a quiet reserve in the water. He rides everything from retro-fish to longboards, and rides them well. There is even a memory that I have kept with me of a day when I'd walked up the stairs to find him standing there with his dog. Little did he know that day I was riding the board that he had inspired. He told me that I rode the board well and asked to see its measurements on the bottom.

Over the years, I've learned a few things about him from overheard conversations; His first name; His profession; and that he shapes his own boards.

Let's jump ahead now to this summer. I was out again at The Hook on my CS 6'5", which is better suited to more powerful waves. It's small and crowded, and again I'm struggling against the conditions. Out paddles the same guy with a fish. He paddles out and just starts picking off waves, winding his way through the crowd. So smooth…

Picture a near vertical 8-foot wave face. Maybe a little bigger; Strong offshore winds under sunny, blue skies. Friday - Arguably, THE day of the year. I had just paddled out and was sitting away from the pack when I saw THE wave.

I paddled hard to get out a bit in front of the peak as it was about to heave, but right as I was getting to my feet, the offshore wind let up a bit and the lip shifted out in front of me. My board left the water completely and I began to free-fall. Reacting to the wind blowing up the face, my board began rotating clockwise. And as I fell through space my pitch was going from nose-down to nose-up at the same time. Right there, I knew I was going down hard in front of about 30 people and 4 cameras. I was dead meat.

Divine wind...

If I had continued to rotate I would have landed completely parallel to the wave with my heel-side rail underwater - the antitheses of the desired bottom turn stance. In other words, I would have taken the Nestea Plunge, and eight feet of wave would have unloaded on my head. But by some divine action, at that exact moment a huge gust of wind blasted me right back into the wave. My tail made contact with the water and the drag gave me just enough time to stop my rotation. I landed tail first in a stalling stance; a perfectly controlled stall complete with the most ridiculously casual pose imaginable. I held the stall for about a second more when to my amazement the entire lip brushed the top of my head and then threw out in front of me. I was in a standup barrel striking this insane look of control as if I did this sort of thing everyday. I couldn't believe it!

I met the most classic character this weekend. And at the gas station of all places.

I needed to return a borrowed sander and I took it down to the Beacon station on Mission to blow off the fiberglass dust with their air compressor. I was blasting away when this little guy (he's like 5'2") cruised up to me and just started talking.

He was in torn up boot cut jeans, flip-flops, and a super faded, too-small T-shirt. His frame was compact, but well defined. I was a little nervous about being approached by this stranger, but there was something so calming about him. I smiled, told him about my sanding, and the Hansen, and my restoration job leading all the way up to why I was at the gas station that morning.

Planting himself on my tailgait, he listened intently and then related these facts over the hiss of the air hose:

Turns out he knew Hansen and Mike Doyle and surfed some of the same spots that they did in Redondo and Manhattan Beach.

He grew up in Seal Beach and started shaping surfboards in his backyard in the late 60's. He then moved up to production shaper working under a few surfboard labels - most long since forgotten. He also worked for Hansen for a short time, but said it ended "badly". He left it at that.

On a relatively small and otherwise personally un-noteworthy day of surfing in Santa Cruz, I look back upon the morning and wonder how today of all days could have produced the undisputed barrel ride of my life.

My buddy, Matt, and I paddled out into a small to medium morning session; A session that almost might not have been except for the promise of things to come in a set that fired off The Point in the last moments of an otherwise uninspiring surf check.

Hoping for more, we suited up, and went for a surf.

Walking down the stairs minutes ahead of Matt, I was greeted by a guy that I surf with in the mornings quite often. With a touch of envy, he commented, "It's really starting to come up. There was nothing for awhile, but two nice sets just came in."

He had caught one of the set waves and was reluctantly heading off to work. Matt and I paddled out and immediately lucked into another set that produced a couple of nice waves with a crowd of only about five other guys to contend with. For the next 20 minutes I picked up a few lucky ones in front of the cliff that had either been missed, or blown, by the guys sitting further outside.

Gradually, the sets began to build, and coupled with the incoming tide produced some thick, head-high and overhead peaks. The crowd thinned a bit and the point wave became a little more accessible. Another set appeared and with it went the two guys riding deepest on the peak. I moved into the vacancy and put myself in position for the next set.

My buddy, Matt, and I paddled out at lunch into small, low-tide sets at The Point. Despite the conditions, the crowd was ferocious; People beating themselves up over junk waves. I made the most of a couple of small ones, but the sets were just filled with the overly-aggressive.

After about an hour of this nonsense, Matt and I were starting to get giddy from the cold and with just how nutty it was out there. Still, people kept dropping off the cliff like lunch-hour lemmings. In frustration, Matt finally caught a small set in. And coincidentally, almost everyone seemed to go in on Matt's set. I looked around and the crowd had thinned from 20 surfers to 8 in what must have been less than five minutes. Odds improved dramatically, I figured that perhaps now I would catch something decent to go in on.

Suddenly, a relatively large set for the day appeared out of nowhere. I began scratching for a peak so much bigger than anything else we'd seen that it had already shifted to the left of where the pack was sitting. Right to where I was sitting on the inside.

A guy sitting on the edge like I was, but further outside, spun and caught the first one.