September 26, 2008 Friday

Ventura	Surfers Point
7:55 am to 9:30 am	3' to 4', sets to 6'
High upcoming tide	Slight offshore breeze
Bright sunny morning	Fun session

Classic longboard peaks greeted me when I pulled into the parking lot at Surfers Point. Beautiful waves, bright sun, glassy smooth, graceful long slides down delightful swells. This was the fifth and last day of my surf safari south. Yesterday I had planned to surf here in the late afternoon with my niece Heather, but the wind was howling, white caps everywhere and non-existent surf. This morning conditions were ideal. “How was it?” I asked an older surfer as he exited the water. “Great, but the tide is coming up now,” he replied. All the locals know what this means. The high tide pushes the water up the steep berm of rocks and causes the waves to die.

I had visions of myself cruising down these graceful peaks, but it didn’t happen. After a frustrating hour I finally figured this place out. At first I went straight out from my parked car, carefully stepped over the big rocks, stroked out between two peaks during a lull without getting my hair wet. I went over to the south peak where there were less people. The waves were thick and difficult to catch. I had to wait until the waves were breaking, paddle like mad and push myself into them. I caught four waves within a short period. First one was head-high and broke in front of me. I tried to go under the white water but didn’t make it; the rocks approached and I dove off. The second wave was similar but this time I made it under the white water, climbed back into the swell and rode it a long ways. Now I was in front of the outcropping of the rocks of the small point where I lined up last Tuesday. The peak here was empty. Good maybe I can connect with some waves here. Next two waves, like last Tuesday, were big drops into flat water.

I paddled north where two other surfers were and waited. The waves died. The incoming tide had caused the waves to all but disappear. I waited, others waited; I paddled further north and waited. Surfers who were sitting outside drifted in and everyone waited.

I thought about following my surf rules. Rule 1: study the white water. There was no white water. Due to the long lull all the foam had dissipated. Rule 2: watch what the locals do. This one worked. Sitting north and way, way inside was a local surfer that I saw earlier in the parking lot smoking a cigarette and joking with the other regulars. I remembered seeing this guy last February when I was here. He was one of the C Street Crew who hang out at the beach everyday. He was an older guy, late fifties, leathery brown tan and the hard facial lines of a heavy drinker. I watched him; he got rides. He took off on waves that broke way inside close to the rocks, but he made the waves, got good rides and pulled out before slamming into the rocks.

“I can do that,” I said to myself. I paddled over near him and waited. In came a set of waves, first one was a big wall of water that looked like it was going to break way out there. It didn’t. It just kept coming; I turned and stroked into a big fast inside curl that held up. I cut back and turned into steep inside section and rode it until I saw the water boiling around the rocks. What a great ride. This was the trick, connect with inside waves right at the point where they first break, scream along the inside bowl and pull over the top before hitting the rocks. I caught three good ones back to back. Then I caught three more over the next fifteen minutes. Six great waves in my last thirty minutes, what a good session.

I paddled over to this local and commented that he had the technique. He warned me about the rocks and related a personal horror story of being sliced by a razor sharp piece of rebar sticking out of one of the concrete boulders. Years ago to suppress erosion, the city of Ventura lined the coastline with tons of boulders. Many of them are concrete blocks from old freeway overpasses and are filled with steel rebar. Fortunately I avoided the rocks.

It was a beautiful morning. Surfers Point faces south, surfers are facing north when they catch the waves, then when they swing right (all the waves break to the right), they turn east and look directly into the morning sun. It’s an incredible slight. The sunlight shines through the swells turning them emerald green and dances and sparkles on the sway coming off the tops of the curls.

After changing and warming up in the sun, I headed into town for a breakfast burrito of chorizo and egg at Corrales, the inexpensive and excellent Mexican hole in the wall restaurant. At 11:00 am I hit the road for the trip home.

September 24, 2008 Wednesday

Manhattan Beach	38th Street
9:00 am to 10:30 am	2' to 3', occasional 4'
High tide	Slight onshore breeze
Fog, hazy sunshine, warm	So - So session

Fog! Pea soup London fog greeted me this morning when I awoke in Palos Verdes. I hadn’t seen thick fog like this since I was a little kid. While driving to Manhattan Beach to meet my friend Brad, my mind flashed back to elementary school at Valmonte on foggy days like this. We used to kick kick-balls straight up in the air. They would disappear in the fog and then suddenly reappear a few feet above our heads. It was great sport with twenty kids milling around trying to catch the balls descending out of the fog.

Brad was outside waiting for me at his daughter’s house. We strapped his board on top of the car and headed for El Porto, which is the north end of Manhattan Beach. The surf was small but there were plenty of people in the water. We drove to the south end of the parking lot to avoid the crowd. Bunches of surfers, five to ten, were grouped along various peaks. There didn’t appear to be any difference in the quality of the waves. So why the bunches? Was it herd instinct or locals who truly knew where the peaks were?

We went out in front of the lifeguard tower at 38th Street, a couple of blocks north of Rosecrans Ave because no one was there. The fog was lifting, the surface was glassy and the waves were two to three foot walls. I was surprised on my first wave I caught a good, fast, long left. The waves were more makeable than they looked. Brad too got a good right curl right away. Now we were into it, catching small walls one after another, with occasional long lulls between sets.

We discussed the economic meltdown out in the water. The Secretary of the Treasury had proposed a $700 billion bailout and Congress was debating the issue. Brad and I agreed that the crisis was due to years of risky loans by mortgage brokers and that the house of cards of millions of bad loans was collapsing before our eyes. What to do? Both of us were impacted, worried and agreed that the best course of action was to hang tight. Don’t do anything, neither buy nor sell, let things stabilize first. Brad emphasized that my wife should keep working for at least another five years. I had heard a comparison between today’s crisis and the economic meltdown in Japan in the early nineties. Both involved massive bad real estate loans. The commentator stated that after fifteen years Japan’s economy has finally rid itself of all the bad debt, and it may take that long for the US economy also.

Heady talk, lousy waves, the onshore wind had picked up, the waves became mushy, and we knew we had seen the best of it. “Brad, remember when we were kids, the onshore wind always came in at 10:00 am. Well it’s 10 o’clock and the wind is here.” After an hour and a half we played the “one more wave” game and went in.

We carried on our discussion through breakfast at the Kettle restaurant in downtown Manhattan Beach.

“How are the Indian casinos doing?” I asked Brad. “One would think with this economy, less disposable income and the high price of gas that the casinos would be hurting.” Brad lives in New Mexico and knows a great deal about this charade of the “sovereign nations.”

“They are doing great. You don’t know human nature,” Brad replied. “In tough times people are more apt to take a chance on the dream that will instantly solve their problems. The casinos are booming.” The tribe near him in Los Alamos had just opened a second casino, a big $280 million palace. This is a tribe of two hundred members and you don’t see any Indians working there.

“I once asked one of the employees, a collage age white kid, for something and he didn’t speak English,” Brad continued. “I later found out most of the help were Lithuanians on some sort of temporary work visas. So much for providing jobs for the local economy. These kids save their money and take it with them when they go home. Nobody talks about this aspect of the business.”

We then got onto immigration, another one of my favorite topics. But all in all we had fun in the surf, a good breakfast and a stimulating conversation. We planned to do it again tomorrow.

September 23, 2008 Tuesday

Ventura	Surfers Point
9:00 am to 10:30 am	1' to 2', sets to 3'
High out-going tide	Offshore breeze, turned onshore at 10 am
High fog, overcast	So - So session

I ended up at the little point that I lined up with the last time I was here in February. Then the surf was six to eight foot boomers, the prime peak for fast long curls; today it was a gentle one to two feet. There’s an outcropping of big boulders at a slight bend in the land forming a small point. The waves peaked here and slowly broke to the right. I ended up here to separate myself from the crowd. I was the only one there.

I’m on day two of my five-day surf safari to Manhattan Beach and Palos Verdes. The plan was to connect with my life-long friend Brad. Brad and I grew up in Palos Verdes and learned to surf together in 1958. We roomed together at UCSB for four years in the sixties. He lives in Los Alamos, New Mexico and his daughter and grand children live in Manhattan Beach. Brad keeps a board there and calls me whenever he is in town. It’s also an opportunity for me to visit my mother who still lives in Palos Verdes and to ride some waves outside of Bolinas. Unfortunately we picked a bad week for surf. The good south swells we have enjoyed for the past two weeks were over, no new swells were coming in until Friday, and we were in for four days of “local wind swell.”

Yesterday I planned to surf at Santa Cruz and then continue south to Ventura. At Santa Cruz, the Hook and Pleasure Point were beautiful, bright sun, blue water, glassy conditions and no waves. All the surf spots down the coast were flat: Pismo Beach pier, Gaviota, Refugio, El Capitan, Santa Barbara Sand Spit, Rincon, Ventura Overhead and Surfers Point.

I spend the night at the home of my brother and sister-in-law, Larry and Joan, and re-connected with my niece Heather who is an excellent surfer. Heather, who is working on a teachers credential, had to teach a class of fourth graders in the morning and couldn’t join me at Surfers Point.

When I pulled into the parking lot at Surfers Point, two guys were surfing out front and another five were at the next peak south. With only seven people out at popular Surfers Point meant the surf is down. I had to go out. I hadn’t surfed since last Friday, it was a beautiful morning, the water was warm, the surface was tabletop smooth, there was no fear factor, knee-high curls were coming through and I had all the time in the world. I paddled straight out from the parking lot and caught a couple of small, slow, closed out walls. No one was ripping it up. An older woman, my age, caught most of the waves. More guys paddled out, thus I moved south to the little point to avoid the crowd. I lined up with the boulders of the point, just like I did last February, with some success. I had the peak to myself, but the waves had no punch. I would drop down decent curls, swing right, and the waves would die. I would work them hoping the swells would reform on the inside but they never did and would end up close to the rocks that protect the bike path from erosion.

After an hour and a half, I kissed it off, chatted briefly with a couple of other surfers who were out there with me, warmed myself up in the sun and headed for Main Street to go to one of those great diners in downtown Ventura for breakfast. I found a good one, Cajun Kitchen Café, ordered the Cajun veggie omelet with hash browns and grits, a real bowl of grits, and wrote up this morning’s session. It was great.

I was off to a good start on this trip.

September 19, 2008 Friday

Bolinas	Channel and Groin
9:00 am to 10:30 am	3' to 4'
Low upcoming tide	Onshore breeze - south wind
Sunny with hazy skies	So - So session

“Regrets. Don’t have any regrets,” Barry advised me while we were toweling off after our morning’s session.

Expectations were high but the surf was disappointing. The south swell was still running however a stiff south breeze put an ugly chop on the water. Barry had pulled up next to me while I was suiting up. We entered the water together and headed out to the furthest peak at the Channel. We caught a few crumbly, slow walls. As the tide came up we drifted towards the peak of the Groin. After an hour, only this peak was breaking and the waves had improved. The deeper water caused the small wind swells to pile up to form solid waves. With luck we could travel a long ways before they would close out. For the last half hour, Barry and I scored a few decent, fast waves.

Between sets Barry asked, “So what are you doing this afternoon?” He knew that I’m retired.

“I’m going to a memorial service for an older friend who recently passed away,” I replied. “I’m hesitating about whether to say a few words at the service or not.” Barry is a motivational counselor who gives training sessions to corporation staffs on teamwork and working together. His program involves considerable outdoor activity working in teams. He contracts with a local company that has perfected this program. His work takes him all over the country giving two to three day training sessions.

Back in the parking lot, Barry paused, looked me in the eye, turned serious and said, “I do a lot of public speaking, and I often stumble and things don’t go smoothly. But I have learned it’s important to always make your point. Regrets. Don’t have any regrets.”

That’s just the little shove I needed to get me over my hesitation. Barry was right; he had a good point. My friend Rocky’s health had been declining for months and I had considerable time to think about my relationship with him. That afternoon at the service, his son asked if anyone would like to say a few words. I jumped up; I was the first person outside the planned service to speak. I fumbled with the microphone, I stumbled, and my sentences were choppy. At first I was disappointed because there were several other points I intended to make. But Rocky’s wife gave me a hug, his son and daughters shook my hand and several of his close friends thanked me for my words. I felt good about doing it. I had no regrets.

Thanks Barry.

September 17, 2008 Wednesday

Montara	Old Chart House
8:45 am to 9:30 am	Consistent 4', sets 6' to overhead
Low upcoming tide	Onshore cross breeze
Overcast, cool, textured surface	Brief, thrilling session

At 7:45 am I was standing at the wall at Linda Mar in Pacifica watching the waves and waiting for my son Kevin to go surfing before work. Several surfers were at the north peak going for two to three footers. Everyone was there because the middle and south peaks were flat. The wind was from the southwest putting a small chop on the water but not impacting the shape. Great, knee-high curls, my kind of wave.

Kevin and his friend Eric showed up. “Let’s go check Montara,” Kevin greeted me. “We were there Saturday and had a great time.”

“What’s wrong with this?” I responded. “Besides the wind will be all wrong at Montara, and if Montara isn’t any good you’ll want to go to Kelly Ave in Half Moon Bay.”

“Come on, let’s check it out,” Kevin said. “We can always come back. It only takes four minutes to get there.”

“So here’s my son again pushing me into bigger waves,” I replied.

“Yes, that’s the point.” So off we went. Somehow I knew we weren’t coming back here.

We pulled up to the south end of Montara in the parking lot of the old Chart House Restaurant. The surf looked good, small with a definite left peak at the point. Montara sits at the base of Devil Slide. It’s a mile long cove of low bluffs and a wide sandy beach. At the south end the land rises into a small point with an outcrop of large rocks that extend twenty yards out into the water. A good left peak formed off the rocks and another left peak broke in front of the restaurant. A southwest wind blew onshore and put a chop on the water.

“What time do you have to take off for work?” I asked them. “9:30,” Kevin replied. It was 8:45, another short forty-five minute session with Kevin. I can handle that. “Let’s go,” I said.

From the bluff, looking down caused the waves to look smaller than they actually were. They appeared a lot bigger when laying prone looking up at them. The small waves were four feet, set waves were six feet and occasionally a huge overhead wave would come through. At Montara the water piles up onto a steep beach forming thick hard breaking waves. Paddling out, the waves reminded me of Kelly Ave in Half Moon Bay: thick waves, big drops and fast breaking walls of water. I paddled into a well-formed left wave, dropped down a steep face, turned at the bottom, pulled into a big section, hummed across it and pulled out near the shore. Good ride.

Unlike Bolinas, it was difficult to see the big swells coming. I was calmly sitting there and all the sudden a huge eight-foot wall of water appeared that was about to break on me. I scratched to get over it. The wave began to break, white water was sliding down from the top of the peak, and I attempted my half-ass longboard duck dive. I got my chest over the nose of the board, pushed it down as far as I could and plowed into the turbulence of the white water. The wave picked me up and pushed me back. The strategy of paddling out is to always keep moving forward. When hit by white water, put your hands and arms into the water to impede the wave’s momentum that is pushing you towards shore and start paddling as soon as possible. I quickly put my arms down but the push of the wave kept shoving me towards the shore. I was afraid it was going to suck me over the falls. The wave pushed me several yards backwards before it passed under me. I was now inside and another wave was approaching. Fortunately I managed to scratch over this one and there wasn’t another one.

Kevin and I were positioned at the peak when the next set came through. The first wave had a good left shape to it. We both turned to go for it. “Kevin, take it,” I shouted to him. Kevin took off late and dropped into it. While paddling over the next wave I looked back and saw Kevin’s head just in front of the breaking part of the curl. On and on he went, always just ahead of the feathering lip of the wave, right up to the shore. A great ride.

A smaller well-formed wave approached. I went for it and caught the peak. The take off was flat, I had to initially go straight to get into the wave, my momentum carried me over the edge, I dropped into a well-formed left curl, positioned myself in the middle of swell and cruised through a fast section right up to the shore break. The tide was coming up and the backwash off the steep beach was becoming more pronounced causing the waves to jump up. We had to judge the impact of the backwash when positioning for a wave. A big left wave approached and the backwash caused it to leap up. I stroked into it, dropped into a head-high wave, turned at the bottom, climbed back up to mid-swell, stepped to the middle of the board and shot through a long section. I pulled out four feet from shore. “That’s it for me,” I said. Kevin and Eric were jockeying around for one final wave. I ran across the beach to the car to retrieve my camera to get one shot of them before they got out. The above photo is Kevin on his last wave.

In forty-five minutes I caught three waves, all of them good. I had a feeling of satisfaction having handled these thick hard breaking waves. Kevin and Eric quickly changed and headed for work. The retired one here drove to Denny’s at Linda Mar and Highway 1 for breakfast and to write up this morning’s adventure. Life is tough.

September 15, 2008 Monday

Bolinas	Channel
9:00 am to 10:30 am	2', sets to 3'
Mid upcoming tide	Offshore breeze, later no wind, glassy
High fog, overcast, sunny after 10 am	Fair session, good exercise

Five of us stood at the seawall watching Mr. Throwback, with no wetsuit nor booties, and another young surfer riding small waves at the Groin trying to decide whether to go out. Marty and Mary arrived first and were waiting for conditions to improve. Hans joined them. I arrived with camera ready. A good set of waves came through, “Why are you standing here?” I asked. They didn’t have a good reason. Mark the archaeologist arrived. Marty, Mary, Hans, Mark and I stood there undecided for a long time.

“If we all went out there we would create a crowd,” Mark commented. But he had come to surf so he left to suit up. The rest of us finally decided to go. We were here, the water was warm, the surface was super glassy and every five minutes a decent set would come through. As the others suited up I went up to the overlook to take some pictures. I watched several good in rights come through the far side of the Channel. I’ll go over there and spread the crowd out. I’ll head to the peak where Mr. Throwback is and then work myself south.

Once out there, I greeted him and inquired about the waves and if he had scored any surf last week.

“Yes, I went to Hawaii and caught the biggest waves of the summer,” he said. The south swell we enjoyed last week hit Hawaii also.

“Where in Hawaii did you go?”

“Oahu and Maui,” he answered.

A couple of years ago I spent a week surfing in Maui. “Where in Maui did you surf?” I asked.

“Lahaina Harbor,” he stated. “It was four to five feet.” Having surfed there, four to five foot Lahaina means long beautiful rides.

“I also surfed Ala Moana. It was ten feet,” he proudly stated. Ten foot Ala Moana is huge. Situated at the entrance of the Ala Wai Yacht Harbor in Waikiki, Ala Moana breaks in top to bottom tubes similar to Pipeline. Also localism is rampant there, the Hawaiians own it and are very protective about who surfs there. I was impressed. This hard-ass sixty year old was out there dropping into hard breaking tubes with the likes of Sonny Garcia and now here he was back into the gentle two footers of Bolinas.

I paddled further south to get on the rights. I caught a three footer that held up and went on and on. What a good ride. Now I was in the middle of the Channel, I paddled straight out and looked around. Here I was again far out at the Channel, a hundred yards from anyone else, all by myself in the middle of shark season. Oh well, I crossed my fingers. Let’s hope.

I caught another good right and noticed someone else had paddled out from Seadrift. I went over to him and asked if he had checked the waves over at Seadrift. He said it didn’t look good so he had come over to the Channel. He added how beautiful this was. He was doing a job at Seadrift, brought a board to sneak out for some waves and that he was new at surfing but loves it.

“You’ve come to the right place to learn. Gentle good waves and no fear factor,” I said. “The only concern here is sharks.”

“You know what I think about that?” He responded. “There is an interesting statistic. Since 1927 there have only been twelve shark attacks in Marin and none have been fatal. At those odds I’m willing to take a chance.”

“Yes, but each attack may not have been fatal but they certainly were gory,” I commented.

He continued, “If it wasn’t for the cold water and the threat of sharks, this place would be deeming with surfers.” He was right about that. Here we were on this beautiful morning and there were only six surfers out spread across three peaks. It was a dream.

September 12, 2008 Friday

Bolinas	Channel
9:00 am to 10:45 am	2' to 3', sets 4'
High upcoming tide	Slight offshore breeze
High fog, overcast, gray	Another fun session

It is well known that September is the best month for surf in Northern California and this year September is off to a great start. Last week was heat wave conditions, sunny and hot with little or no wind and warm water. This week the high fog has returned, but yesterday and today there was no wind producing glassy conditions. Thus far, the surf gods have delivered constant south swells, beautiful well-formed ground swells that come right into Bolinas. Today the good blessings continued: glassy conditions and a good left peak at the Channel. The waves were inconsistent, long lulls between sets, but with patience every ten minutes another set of four to five sizeable waves would come through.

Jim was suiting up when I arrive. Jim, who is learning to surf, recently retired and is into jazz. Yesterday his combo performed at an outdoor mall in Santa Rosa that went well. The crowd was into their bossa-nova while little kids danced. Tonight they will play at a big Italian restaurant in Napa. I checked out the surf with John, one of the owners of the 2-Mile Surf Shop, who had just returned from two trade shows; one in Salt Lake City and the other in Southern California where John scored good waves at Swami’s and Moonlight State Beach in Encinitas. At 8:30 am Doug was just ending his session he started at 6:15 am. He reported he connected with several good lefts at the Channel and was coming in early because he and his partner are in the middle of a remodel.

I entered the water at the Channel. Marty was getting out to move down to the Patch where Mary and Cathy were. Good move. He caught some sizeable lefts that allowed him to maneuver up and down the swell. He stayed out there until the high tide caused the waves to die. I asked Cathy, who lives in the Russian River area, about Salmon Creek. With a good south swell and no wind, Salmon Creek had to be good. She said it was glassy with good lines of swell creating eight to ten foot boomers, a little bigger than she cared to handle.

Out at the Channel I paused and looked around. Here I am again in this beautiful setting, glassy smooth surface, good waves and only three of us out there: Jim, another guy and myself. Like yesterday, I lined up with the white house at the end of Wharf Road and caught several long lefts. After a half hour, the crowd increased to ten. I drifted more towards the center of the Channel to separate myself from the others. Ann, a passionate surfer who I use to see in the water every weekend, was out there. I mentioned to her that I hadn’t seen her because I’m retired and don’t surf on the weekends. Here she is on a Friday. She had taken the day off to catch the good south swell.

Ken was out at the Channel. “You’re back to get the good waves,” he said.

“Yes, I had to,” I responded. “This is five days in a row for you. Your arms must be tired.”

“Naw, when the waves are good there’s no problem,” he stated.

“What gives you the opportunity to surf five days in a row?” I asked.

“I work graveyard shifts. I come home, take the kids to school and head for the beach,” Ken, who must be in his mid-thirties, stated.

“When do you sleep?”

“Later,” he shouted and moved to catch a wave. I take it he doesn’t get much sleep.

Like yesterday the set waves looked walled but the sandbar forced them to continuously break left. I would take off late as the wave was feathering, turn sharply left, lock just under the lip of the wave, crouch down to push my weight forward, travel a long ways until encountering the breaking part of the wave from the peak straight out from the Groin wall. I caught one after another and totally exhausted myself. My arms were feeling the strain of four days of surfing this week. After an hour and a half I was completely spent. I worked my way north of the Groin wall and rode white water into the beach. Thoroughly satisfied with a week of great surf, I vowed to connect with all of the excellent surf days of September.