May 25, 2014 Sunday

Day 5 of the Fay Moore Memorial Trip South

Rancho Sisquoc, Firestone-Walker and bumper-to-bumper traffic

"Dad, there's a good winery near here that I have been to before, lets swing by there. It's not far and the road parallels the freeway."

Kevin and I were on the last day of our trip, traveling up Highway 101 from Montecito in Santa Barbara to Mill Valley. The adventure was not over. We had an excellent breakfast and good conversation early this morning with Greg and Della at the Summerland Cafe in Summerland, a classic place in an old wood frame house, family run that has been there for years. Their specialty was giant omelets at reasonable prices. Our first pit stop was El Refugio State Beach near Gaviota before Highway 101 turns inland. On big north swells Refugio has a good right point break, but not today. We had a long trip and with no swell on the water, we put off any thought of surfing, especially on the Sunday of Memorial Day weekend. So, at 10 am we pulled off 101 just north of Buellton at the turnoff for Los Olivos and Solvang (Highway 154).

Kevin had Map Quest up on his iPhone set to the Rancho Sisquoc Winery, our destination. "Turn left onto Zaca Station Road," the iPhone female voice chimed in. We turned onto a two lane country road with stunning scenery: rolling hills of grass and oak trees with grazing cattle interspersed with acres of grape vines with one small winery after another. After several minutes the voice came on again, "Turn right onto Foxen Canyon Road and proceed for ten miles."

 "Ten miles! I thought you said this place was close! We have already traveled eight miles and we're not even half way." I was getting a little worked up thinking about our long drive home.

"Dad, it's not far and we're paralleling the freeway."

So we pushed on. Kevin was right. We pulled into Rancho Sisquoc's visitor center, a wooded grove surrounded by cattle fields and vineyards. We tasted a few reds, and since we came all this way I had to buy a couple of bottles: a Cabernet Sauvignon and the Sisquoc River Red (their red blend). Back onto Foxen Canyon Road to Betterravia Road and within a few minutes we merged back onto 101 at the south end of Santa Maria (a town I know well, Kate and I met here in 1970).

Our next big decision was lunch. I normally stop at MacDonald's in Paso Robles, at the intersection of 101 and Highway 46. Greg's son Dana owns this restaurant and I figure to give him a little business. Kevin was ready for something better. I mentioned to Kevin that on the drive down I passed the Firestone-Walker Brewery, located next to the freeway. We figured they would have an eatery to help beer sales. Kevin quickly founded it on Map Quest and we pulled off the freeway right into their visitors' parking lot.

What a pleasant surprise. Firestone-Walker was huge – one big building for the brewery, another building for their restaurant and store and large lot containing a pyramid of 500 empty kegs. Their "Tap Room" was as big as a football field. The hostess greeted us with, "do you have a reservation?" Fortunately a small table was available outside, we took it. The food was good and so was the beer. We split a "sampler" of four of their brews. They specialize in British session beers – ones with strong hop taste and low alcohol (4 to 6%).

Kevin took over the driving from Paso Robles to Salinas. After a short Starbucks pit stop, we cut over to Highway 1 via 186 through Castroville (the Artichoke Center of the World). Traffic was heavy but moving through Santa Cruz and along the coast. At the south end of Half Moon Bay we hit stop and go traffic. Warm, sunny, holiday and thousands had traveled to the beach. Everyone was trying to get to Highway 92 to head over the hill to the peninsula and the backup stretched for miles.

Being familiar with Half Moon Bay, I decided to cut up to Main Street, which parallels Highway 1 up to Highway 92. That move worked. But then I made a major mistake; I turned onto Kelly Avenue to head for the St Francis State Beach for our last pit-stop of the trip. As soon as I crossed Highway 1 to get to the beach, I realized my error. The traffic in the other direction, coming out of the beach park (about a half mile) was bumper to bumper. Getting to the park was easy but leaving it was impossible. The traffic only moved when the light at Highway 1 turned green, and since the main traffic was the cross direction, the green light was on for three or four seconds, permitting only two or three cars to pass each time. For 30 minutes, we inched the half-mile from the St Francis State Beach to the intersection of Highway 1 and Kelly Avenue.

Once we passed Highway 92, the road opened up and it was smooth sailing all the way home. I had to cross San Francisco to drop off Kevin and then headed across the bridge to Mill Valley. It was dark by the time I arrived home, ending a long for interesting day and as well as five adventurous days. 

May 24, 2014 Saturday

Ventura	Surfers' Point (C Street)
1:20 pm to 2:30 pm	3' to 4', sets head high
Low upcoming tide	West cross wind
Sunny with high clouds	Fun session

Day 4 of the Fay Moore Memorial Trip South

We finally did it!

For three years, my good friend Jay the architect from Manhattan Beach and I have been talking about getting together for a surf session at C Street in Ventura. Jay and his family lived across the street from us in Manhattan Beach before we moved to Mill Valley, and our children grew up together. Several times in the past twenty years we have surfed together whenever I was traveling down south. His daughter Julie (same age as my daughter Allison) married Brandon, an avid surfer, and moved to Ventura three years ago. Since then we have talked about meeting in Ventura when I was coming to Los Angeles and he was visiting Julie. And today we finally did it.

Pulling it off wasn't easy. I called Jay before heading south for my mother's memorial celebration tell him that there was a possibility of us getting together Saturday, the day after the service, when Kevin and I would be driving back up the coast with our surfboards strapped to the top of the car.

Next day Jay called back with a suggestion. His wife Nancy wanted to visit with Kate. Original plan was Kate and Allison would fly down the morning of the service, spend the night at the Portofino Inn in Redondo Beach and fly back the next day. Kevin and I would drive Kate and Allison to the airport and continue on north, surfing somewhere on the way and spend Saturday night with my friend Greg in Montecito. Jay suggested that all of us come over to their house in the morning so that Kate and Nancy could visit and that Nancy would drive Kate and Allison to the airport before continuing on to visit her daughter Julie in Ventura. Meanwhile, Jay would load his board on my car and all three of us would head to Ventura and surf there. Good suggestion, but it didn't happen that way.

There wasn't enough time for Kate to visit with Nancy. She and Allison had to be at the airport at 8 am for their 9:30 flight. So Jay suggested that we meet at C Street at 1 pm.

"Jay, good plan. If the surf isn't any good, at least we can have lunch together."

With a gruff voice he abruptly said, "We're surfing!" And that was what we did.

Kate and Allison took an Uber cab to the airport and Kevin and I drove to Manhattan Beach (our old town) to walk on the pier, get cash, coffee from Peet's and bagels from Noah's. We drove up the coast (Highway 1) checking the waves. The Manhattan Beach Pier had good four-foot peaks, Topanga Canyon had nice three-foot lines with thirty guys out and Malibu looked good and had at least a 100 surfers in the water. We made a stop at Leo Carrillo State Beach where the waves were big overhead closeouts with just a few people out.

We rolled into the parking lot at C Street and found Jay and his son-in-law Brandon suited up and ready to go. We paid $2 to park in the north parking lot (can you believe it's only cost $2 to park all day at the beach in Ventura?). We quickly changed and went right out in front of our car. When paddling out I gave Jay a high-five because we had finally met for a surf session at C Street.

The waves were just my size – consistent 3 to 4 feet with sets head high, gentle "no fear" waves. All four of us had good sessions. Brandon connected on a head high wall, planted his rail mid-swell, stepped to the middle of the board and hummed across a continuous right peeling curl. Jay did the same, screaming across the bottom of the wave just ahead of the fast breaking curl. Kevin took off on a big one. I paddled over the swell and looked back to see Kevin's head disappear and then re-appear further down the line barely ahead of the breaking part of the wave. I managed to connect on two long ones. The rides at Surfers' Point can be long. Given the right takeoff point with the right swell direction, the waves continuously keep reforming and curling into the cove. I did it twice today and twice made that long paddle back out to the line-up.

The wind was picking up and my arms were feeling it, and we had to connect with Greg in Santa Barbara between 4 and 5 pm. After an hour it was time to go in.

Julie, who I hadn't seen since she moved to Ventura, was on the beach with her three children – two boys (3 1/2 and 2 years) and her 3 month old daughter who Nancy was holding. How impressive, I've known Julie all her life and now she is a mother of three. We chatted on the beach, and Jay and I vowed to do it again – to connect at C Street.

Kevin and I quickly changed, packed up the car and headed off for our next adventure, that of visiting my world travelling, life-long friend Greg. That's him in the photo above with Kevin and I. Greg and I grew up together in Palos Verdes, and knew each other's families. Both of us had lost our parents in the last two years. At Greg and Della's favorite Italian restaurant in Montecito, we reminisced about our parents and their slow health declines, something we too will face soon. A good meal and visit with old friends was the perfect ending to this long and interesting day. 

May 23, 2014 Friday

Day 3 of the Fay Moore Memorial Trip South

Plan B – The One Man Paddleout

Today was the memorial service for my mother at the Neighborhood Church in Palos Verdes. That's it in the photo, the building sitting on the cliff. It's the old Haggerty Estate, built in the 20's. The family donated the property to the United Church of Christ in the 50's. It's a beautiful location and building, stone walls and red tile roof sitting right on the water with an incredible view of the Los Angeles coastline. For you surfers, that's Haggerty's the famous surf spot, a fabulous left point break during big north swells, as shown in the photo above that I found on Google Images. Typical of this time of year, the surf was flat and June gloom had its lock on the afternoon with dark threatening clouds, fog and a stiff onshore wind that put a rough texture on the surface.

The service went well, the turnout was modest and three granddaughters (Lisa, brother Dean's eldest daughter, Allison, my daughter and Michele, who grew up next door and whom my mother treated as a granddaughter) gave moving remembrances. The reception after the formal service was a big success. The extended family was together and enjoyed seeing one another and relating stories about my mother.

My brother Dean had organized the day according to my mother's wishes. He showed me a letter she had written years ago regarding her last rites –

One, she wanted to be cremated – done.

Two, she wanted a memorial service in her honor at the Neighborhood Church, the church that she had attended for 40 years – done.

Three, she wanted us to spread her ashes over the sea near her house in Palos Verdes. In 1968, my parents had stretched to purchase a house on the cliff above the south point of the Palos Verdes Cove. For you surfers the cove is Bluff Cove and the south point is the Indicator.

Plan A was to rent a boat, pilot it outside of the Indicator where Dean, Carl and I would spread her ashes. Dean was having problems obtaining a suitable boat. They were expensive, none were available and they were time consuming. King Harbor in Redondo Beach was the closest harbor – a good 45 minutes to an hour boat ride.

"Dean, here's Plan B," I mentioned to him a few days before the service, "I'm bringing down Kevin's and my surfboards and wetsuits. We could paddle out and spread mom's ashes."

"Good idea. I'll get back to you on that."

Two days later I called him. "What's happening with the boat?"

"Oh it's Plan B. You've got it. Sorry about not telling you sooner."

Wow, the pressure was on, "I'm doing it." Several questions raced through my head –

Would Kevin be back in time? He was returning from Stockholm that afternoon. I had to assume he wasn't available.

Can I carry my board and mom's ashes down that goat trail that zigs and zags down a 300-foot cliff to the Indicator? My first thought was to spread her ashes at the point closest to her house. I had visions of me falling spread-eagle down the cliff and spilling the ashes on the rocks below. Second thought was to spread the ashes near the church, at Haggerty's. There is a service road from the parking lot to the rocks at the bottom of the cliff. I could walk down the service road, eliminating the fear of the narrow goat trail, walk across the rocks in front of the Palos Verdes Swim Club (the pool where I learned to swim as a small boy) to the rocks below the Church and paddle out to the Haggerty's break and spread the ashes there. I chose the Haggerty's option, and Dean agreed.

Where were the ashes and who had them? They were in an urn at the mortuary in San Diego and my niece Lisa would retrieve them and bring them to the service.

How would I carry the ashes during my paddle? Due to a weak knee from a high school football injury, I can only paddle lying down, thus I couldn't have the ashes loose on the deck of the board. How big is the urn? – 4" x 4" by 8" according to Dean. Solution was to put the urn in a backpack, strap it tightly to my middle and paddle out lying down. On the Monday before the service I purchased a nylon "day-pack" at REI in Corte Madera. It wasn't cheap, $55, but now I have a good backpack for hiking.

How did the urn open? I didn't want to be in the water unable to open it. I would practice opening it before entering the water.

Where would I change into my wetsuit? I could use the restroom in the church. Towards the end of the reception, I would slide out to the restroom and suit up.

Thus we had a plan – I would strap my board to the top of the car, put my surf gear in the back and drive Kate, Allison and I from the hotel to the service. Lisa would deliver the ashes. Towards the end of the reception I would use to restroom of the church to change into my wetsuit. I would test opening the urn. My brother Carl would assist me down the road and across the rocks, and I would paddle out to the Haggerty's break and spread the ashes.

I had surfed Haggerty's several times when I was in high school, and Kevin and I surfed there once in the early 90's. In the 60's, the three sets of pilings of the old Haggerty's fishing pier were still standing. The break was right at the outside set. All of the pilings are gone now, but I remember more or less where they stood. The last set was visible from the main auditorium of the church and that would be the perfect spot to spread the ashes. That was my goal.

Well, best made plans – right! It didn't quite happen that way. The reception was a big success. The extended family was together and enjoyed seeing one another and thus it lasted longer than expected. At 4:30 the pastor, church staff and the volunteers began packing everything up. Changing in the church restroom was now out of the question. They asked us to move our cars onto the street because they had to lock the gate of the parking lot. Kevin had just texted us, he had landed and was in a cab on his way to the church, and we responded that we would wait for him. At 5 pm Dean was hurrying everybody up because our reservation for the big family dinner at the Cheesecake Factory in King Harbor was for 6 pm.

"Loren, time to do it!"

I changed on the street. Kate held up a towel as I slipped out of my suit and wiggled into my wetsuit. Kevin arrived while I putting on my walking shoes – I brought them for walking over the rocks. I would put on my booties just before entering the water.

Lisa handed me the urn. "Open it up Loren. Make sure you can open it out in the water." The urn was a plastic box with a lid that easily popped off. The ashes were in a heavy plastic bag that was tightly sealed by a nylon plastic collar. With my pocketknife, which I always carry on me, I cut the nylon collar and could touch the ashes. I twisted the bag shut, put the ashes back in the urn and strapped the urn inside my backpack.

Kevin and I marched down the service road, I carried my board and Kevin had the backpack, my booties and a beach towel. I had forgotten how big the boulders were along the base of the cliff. I slowly made my way past the swim club and about half way to the Haggerty's Point Kevin said, "Dad that's far enough." I could see my brothers on the cliff waving at me to go out.

With Kevin's help I put on my booties and strapped on the backpack. I slowly stepped over the rocks to the water. Only small shore break waves were coming in. When a small set wave came in I shoved my board over it and jumped on. There was a stiff breeze and texture on the water, but not enough to impede my paddling. Once in deeper water, I slipped over side into the water to strap on my surfboard leash. I was surprised by how warm the water was – 60 to 65 degrees was my guess. Now I was off and confidently stroking to Haggerty's. A seal popped up close to me to observe what was going on. I took that as a good omen.

About 50 yards offshore, only half way to the outside pilings, Dean, Carl and Kevin were shouting at me to "do it!" So I pulled up, tested the direction of the wind to make sure my back was to it, slipped off the backpack, pulled out the urn, opened it, grabbed the bag with the ashes, said a brief prayer, turned the bag over and dumped the ashes into the water.

I quickly reversed my actions, bag into urn, urn back into backpack, backpack strapped back on, turned towards shore and paddled in. Dean and Carl gave me the thumbs up and Kevin was applauding. As I struggled over the rocks, a small wave caused me to slip backwards and fall on my tail. The wetsuit provided sufficient padding to prevent any bruises. In the fall the backpack slipped off and the urn and plastic bag hit the water and floated off. I jumped back into the water to retrieve them.

From shore I looked back to view the ashes, I expected to see them floating on the surface. They weren't there because they had immediately sunk like stones. Later my friend Marty, a biologist, explained to me that human remains are dense and do not float.

My brothers were impressed and congratulated me, so did Kevin, Allison and Kate. We had fulfilled my mother's wishes. I changed and off we went to the family dinner at the Cheesecake Factory. Fifteen people of the extended family had a great time. I'm sure my Mother would agree that this was the perfect way to celebrate her life. 

May 22, 2014 Thursday

Leo Carrillo State Beach	Inside the south rock
11:00 am to 12:30 pm	3' to 4', sets overhead
Low upcoming tide	Slight NW breeze
High patchy clouds to overcast	Fun session

Day 2 of the Fay Moore Memorial Trip South

What a great day. Left Joan and Larry's at 8 am, went straight to Corrales' for a chorizo, egg, potato, beans and rice breakfast burrito, onto Starbucks for a tall regular coffee, and out to Surfers' Point to enjoy my breakfast watching the local surfers in action. Small wind waves lapped onto the rocks at C Street, not at all inviting.

My destination today was the Portofino Inn in Redondo Beach, where we had a two-night reservation. Plan was to get one surf session in, here or at Leo Carrillo, a favorite spot of Kevin and I. Since Surfers' Point was sloppy I decided to head to Leo Carrillo, taking the chance of passing up rideable waves in hope of better ones further south.

First I took a thirty-minute walk along the Surfers' Point's neatly groomed path for walkers, joggers, surfers and bicyclists. A few years ago Ventura launched a cobblestone beach restoration project. Last year I heard a talk at the Surfrider Conference about the city's efforts to combat erosion and restore beach sand. And guess what? It's working. Ventura had restored ten feet of beach from the Ventura River mouth to the pier, and this year the city is spending $300,000 to dump additional tons of cobblestone and sand along the beachfront.

At Leo Carrillo the waves were infrequent, small, rideable and only three surfers were out. Some nice mellow waves came in by the big rock – remember this is where the movie Gidget was filmed and the rock played a prominent part of the scenery. I was puzzled as to why the surfers were not at the rock. They were further south and inside. A set came through that peaked were the surfers were. Two of them connected on head-high waves and screamed across fast right peeling waves. That did it – I was going out.

The low tide produced some ten yards of exposed rocks between the sandy beach and the water. I gingerly picked my way over the rocks and cautiously paddled through the shallow water and thick kelp out to the big rock. My strategy was to go for the mellow waves between the big sets, but it never happened. While stroking hard for my first wave I felt my wedding ring sliding off my finger. "Damn I forgot to take off my ring!" I always remove it before going out. Thus I paddled in, catching white water, cautiously stepped over the rocks, walked back to my car, took off my ring and returned back to the big rock – burning twenty minutes in the process.

I tried for several waves and missed them all; the kelp was too thick. My hands became entangled every time I dipped them into the water. It also wrapped around my skeg, impeding movement. No wonder the other guys were south and inside. They were outside of the kelp beds. So I moved in and joined them. Later chatting with one of them, he stated that at low tide the kelp was on the surface and one has to wait for the tide to come up to catch the waves at the big rock.

I didn't catch many waves, but when I did they were fast and smooth. I used my knee technique – jump up to me knees, shoot through the initial section and then stand-up. All the waves closed out on the small rocks near the shore. But I could fly down the faces a long ways before they folded over in small walls of water.

Three or less surfers were in the water during my entire session, adding to today's ideal conditions – smooth as glass surface, fast peeling right waves and no crowd. It was a good session, just what I needed to burn off the anxiety and nervous energy over my mother's memorial. I obtained that surfer calm for facing the slow drive down PCH (Highway 1) through Malibu, Santa Monica, the bumper-to-bumper traffic on Lincoln Blvd through Venice to Marina del Rey, and the slow crawl through Manhattan Beach and Hermosa Beach to the Portofino Inn in Redondo Beach. 

May 21, 2014 Wednesday

Santa Cruz	The Hook - 41st Street
11:30 am to 12:40 am	4' to 5', sets overhead
Low upcoming tide	Slight cross breeze
Bright sun with high fluffy clouds	Fun session

Day 1 of the Fay Moore Memorial Trip South

Today was the start of my five-day adventure/surf safari to my mother's memorial service – two days down to Los Angeles, one day for the service and two days back. The memorial would be Friday May 23rd at the Neighborhood Church in Palos Verdes, which is the old Haggerty's Estate, situated on the cliff above the famous Haggerty's surf break, a clean left point break during big north swells. My itinerary was: Day 1 Mill Valley to Ventura to spend the night with Kate's sister Joan and her husband Larry; Day 2 Ventura to Redondo Beach to spend two nights at the Portofino Inn; Day 3 memorial service at the Neighborhood Church and a family dinner at the Cheesecake Factory at King Harbor in Redondo Beach (a favorite spot of my mother's); Day 4 Redondo Beach to Montecito in Santa Barbara to visit my life long friend Greg; and Day 5 Santa Barbara to Mill Valley.

Getting the family together was complicated. Kate and my daughter Allison would fly down the morning of the service, spend the night at the Portofino Inn and fly back the next day. My role was to meet them at the airport, get them to the church and take them to the airport Saturday morning. Son Kevin, who was on a consulting assignment in Stockholm, Sweden, planned to fly into LAX Friday afternoon and take a cab to the church. He would ride back to the Bay Area with me. We hoped to catch some waves Saturday and Sunday.

I took off this morning at 8 am with a fully loaded car – two surfboards (which fit inside the car), two wetsuits and related surf gear, one laptop computer that contained 129 photo slide show of my mother, one iPod with 4000 of my favorite tunes, one iPad, one iPhone, clothes for five days, and a garment bag with one old suit that I had not worn in six years, a dress shirt and one tie.

The surf coming down the coast didn't look good. Ocean Beach was wind blown and junky, so was Linda Mar, Montara was big and ill formed and Kelly Ave in Half Moon Bay was huge, rough and scary with no one out. But Santa Cruz was perfect. The Santa Cruz Mountains cast a huge wind shadow over the water and the kelp beds hold the chop down. At the Hook (the end of 41st Street) the waves were beautiful. Far at sea you could see white caps, but close to shore it was glassy smooth.

When coming into Santa Cruz I did what I always wanted to do but couldn't with the family in the car. I headed down Swift Ave (2nd light on the north side of town) to Doug Haut's surf shop. The place hasn't changed in twenty years. I gawked at the beautiful new boards (I'm currently on my third Haut board) and ended up purchasing a new T-shirt, which I immediately put on.

One look at the Hook and I suited up. Twenty surfers were at the main peak. On the west side of the peak (the beach faces due south) one could go left as well as right. I decided to head out there. The crowd was mellow. Santa Cruz has that reputation of mean localism, but the guys in the water helped me out. The waves were intimidating – especially after several months of tame Bolinas waves. Wave selection was tough given the size of the waves and the number of bodies in the water. I paddled for several of them, missed them all and then scratched over several big set waves.

One of the better surfers noticed that I was having troubles catching the waves. He was next to me when a sizeable swell peaked in front of us. "It's yours, paddle hard!" We both started stroking for it. The wave picked me up and I pushed over the edge, jumped to my knees and flew through the first section. The lip was right over my head; I hung high in the curl and "smoosh" trimmed across a fast and smooth face. I stood up, stalled for an instant to drop into the next section, shot down another steep curl and straightened out as the wave closed out near shore. I looked back to see my companion; he was thirty yards behind me with his fist raised, as if to say, "nice ride."

From there I paddled out to the next peak down the beach where the waves were smaller and less people in the water. Again another guy encouraged me into a wave. We both turned to go for a set wave. "Go, go, go!" he said. Digging hard I was into it, jumped up, climbed high in the curl through the first section, worked it into the inside and hummed along a second fast and steep section. I caught a few more, but those two waves made my day. I was jacked up and pumped with that surfer's glow that lasted all the way to Ventura.

"Don't you guys get spoiled riding these perfect waves?" I said to an older surfer in a 1950 Chevy panel truck parked next to me.

"Yes we do," was his response.

As I pulling away, "any good burrito places nearby?"

"Yes, just down 41st. I forgot the name. It's on the left across from the bike place."

I found it – Vallarta's and he was right. I bought a delicious chorizo breakfast burrito with beans and rice and horchata for the road. I took off wearing my new T-shirt with a towel in my lap to protect against spills and nibbled on my burrito all the way to Salinas. I had a great time in Santa Cruz, but it was 2 pm when I left and I was facing a four to five hour drive to Ventura. At 6:30 pm I made a pit stop at El Refugio State Beach north of Santa Barbara and called my sister-in-law Joan. "You'll be here at 7:30," and she was right. It was a long day, but a good one that ended with lots of family talk with Joan and brother-in-law Larry. 

May 19, 2014 Monday

Bolinas	Patch
9:30 am to 10:30 am	2' to 4', sets to 5'
Low tide (-0.9 ft)	Stiff NW cross wind
Air temp: 64 degrees	Water temp: 51 degrees
Sunny, clear and breezy	Frustrating session

Humbled again by the ocean!

I had high expectations of good waves, but it didn't happen. NOAA weather radio reported 4 ft 17 seconds south swells. Per Stormsurf today's swell was the second pulse of three south swells aimed at California. The first happened last week, the second arrived last Friday and will fade tomorrow and the third will arrive Friday (May 23). However, two negative conditions prevailed: low tide and high winds. A minus 0.9 ft low tide had the waves breaking 30 yards beyond the outside rock and strong winds yesterday, last night and this morning put a texture on the surface and white caps out at sea.

When I pulled up, Scott who only surfs on Wednesdays was putting on a dress shirt and freshly pressed slacks after his session. He is a child psychologist and was getting in a surf session before this day's appointments. Scott, who proudly admits that surfing is an important part of his mental health, had switched to a short board a couple of years ago. So there he was with a board that was several inches shorter than his 6' 2" frame. He went out at Seadrift near the recently set channel buoy. The same spot I was at last Thursday. Scott reported the waves were fast breaking lines, difficult to catch, but when he did connect, they were fast and clean.

Stand-up guys Frank and Russ said earlier the waves were good and clean at the Patch. Mary walked up the ramp as I passed by with my board in hand and stated the waves were good and that I would have a good time. Hank exited the water when I reached the Patch. He too had a good session. "Typical south swell," he said. "They come every ten minutes or so but there are four to five waves in every set." He was at the far peak, 30 yards beyond the outside rock.

Five positive reports from friends and I was looking at these small clean lines breaking way out there, but it just didn't happen for me.

Today I really missed my bigger board. I was on my 9' 2" Haut, which is heavier than my 9' 4" Becker. It took me ten minutes to paddle out to the line-up (that was a long time). I had problems catching waves. The take offs were weak and flat. Everyone around me was easily catching the waves, but I just couldn't push into them. Taking the white water was my solution – catch set waves that had broken, go straight until they reformed on the inside. This strategy only worked once when I managed to connect on one good long ride.

Next I tried moving way inside to go for the shore break waves. Again, I only got one good one. Most of the time I paddled around looking for the right takeoff point. After an hour I caught a reformed set wave, jumped to my knees and milked it all the way to the sand. Being a few feet from the beach, I called it quits and went in.

After changing I walked to the 2-Mile Surf Shop to chat with Jaime, who related a good story about how quickly he was able to sell his classic Gordon & Smith 1964 longboard. I then made a stop at the Lunch Box in Stinson Beach to treat myself to one of their outstanding BLT sandwiches, which I enjoyed with a beer in the sunshine on my deck in Mill Valley.

Of course it was another beautiful morning in Marin. 

May 12, 2014 Monday

Pacifica	Linda Mar
9:00 am to 10:00 am	3' to 4', sets to 6'
Mid upcoming tide	NW onshore breeze
Air temp - 52 degrees	Water temp - 51 degrees
Clear, sunny and warm - start of a heat wave	Fun session

As soon as I saw the two lanes of bumper-to-bumper traffic heading north towards San Francisco on Highway 1 at Rockaway Beach I knew I was going out at Linda Mar. Regardless on conditions there was no way I would turn around and head north through that traffic. The typical rush hour commute from Pacifica is horrible – reminding me of my old commuting nightmares in Los Angeles when I was first married.

I was meeting my son Kevin at Linda Mar for a morning session. Why we chose this morning was a long story, but here goes:

On Thursday May 1st my 94-year-old mother passed away and the family was busy preparing for a memorial service for her on May 23rd in Palos Verdes in Southern California. I was planning to drive down a day early to insure arrangements at the church were in place, and Kate and daughter Allison would fly to Los Angeles early on the day of the service and fly back the next day. 

For me, this would be an opportunity to get in some surfing and visit old friends. I wanted to take my 9' 2" Haut which barely fits into my Jeep Liberty surf vehicle and allows me to safely lock it inside the car. Son Kevin had borrowed it seven months ago for his girlfriend to use. Since then I had been using my friend Brad's 9' 4" Becker, which I have to strap to the top of the car because it doesn't fit inside.

Here's another complication: Kevin was leaving on a ten day consulting job in Stockholm, Sweden with the return being the day of my mother's memorial service. He changed his reservation to return to Los Angeles in order to attend. If all flights were on time he could arrive in time.

"Kevin, I need my Haut back for the trip south."

"Dad, I have a good idea. Why don't I ride back with you and we'll surf somewhere along the way home. Can you take my board and gear? I'll bring both boards over on Mothers' Day when we come for brunch."

Great, we had a plan. But he forgot to bring the boards over Sunday morning. I was ready to drive into the city after the brunch to pick them up.

"Dad, I have a better idea. Let's go surfing tomorrow morning (Monday) at Linda Mar. I'll meet you there and bring both boards." That was what we did and that was why I was here at 8 am commenting on the northbound traffic at Rockaway. So there we were with lousy surf and a traffic jam to go home. Of course we went out.

The waves were all over the place – a 5 ft. wind swell at 8 seconds, a textured choppy surface and only a few people in the water. We headed to the south end for the mellow waves. But they were bigger than they looked and all the set waves closed out. After a few bumpy rides Kevin suggested that we head north. We rode white water to the shore and walked north to the channel in front of the main bathrooms. The waves were a little better there, but not by much – the big ones were still close outs.

The challenge for me was riding my smaller Haut board, which I hadn't used in seven months. The Becker is bigger, paddles faster and catches waves easier. But I surprised myself – I did fine on the Haut. It paddled well and maneuvered better in the waves. By lying close to the nose, I was able to push into the waves. A couple of more times on this board I will be back into my old form. After an hour we headed in.

"Dad let's head to Starbuck's for a coffee, they have Wi-Fi there." We stuffed both boards into my car and caravanned across the highway to the Linda Mar shopping center. We said our good-byes. The next time I would see him would be in ten days at my mother's memorial service. As I drove off, he was sitting by the window, cafe latte in hand, laptop opened and participating in a conference call. Good luck Kevin.