And one more sleep later, I was on my way down the PCH. That’s the Pacific Coast Highway or Highway 1 for you non California folks… I finally got away in the afternoon. (I’ve blanked out of my mind:
a) the ungodly number of emails that I had to send and
b) the work that I had to do that morning just to feel okay about “going off the grid” for two weeks.)
Anyway, I’m on my way up the PCH. Heading up north to a campground about 4 hours away. Along the way, I paused at a couple of surfing breaks to check out the waves. My beloved Malibu being one of them. But I didn’t stop. Until I hit Ventura, about an hour north of LA. And I couldn’t resist. I pulled off the board and climbed in. And I caught my first rides of the trip. Nothing spectacular. But hell, I got up for a few and caught a couple of so-so waves. Which was not bad considering it had been two years since I’d been on a board. And almost that long since I’d done any exercise more strenuous than lifting a fork to my mouth…
Needless to say, I didn’t last too long before my paddling arms gave out and I had to call it quits. I got back in the car, only stopping to scout out a few more potential surf breaks on the way up.
About an hour later, I hit one of my fave towns – Santa Barbara.
Took a drive down by the boardwalk and checked out Leadbetter beach. And then jetted off up the cost. I still had an hour and a half to get to my campsite. And it was already getting late.
I got to Montana de Oro State Park in the dark. And let me tell you, it was pretty freaky. This is what the trees look like in the daytime.
Imagine them in pitch darkness. Yes. Imagine folks. Imagine. My fun/funky/cool camera can only do so much for you. As you can see from these dashboard shots, you can’t see the trees.
So IMAGINE! NOW!
Done imagining? Okay… Let’s move on.
This is where I woke up…
And spent four days.
Well, four nights, anyway. During the day I was often driving around to surf sites or to pick up supplies.
My second surf spot was Pismo Beach.
And let me tell you something. If you don’t know what 52 degree Fahrenheit feels like, I’ll tell you. The FUCKING ARCTIC. I had thought the water in Ventura was chilly. I was in for a major surprise. The water near Montana de Oro was FRIGID. I barely lasted an hour before I was freezing my ass off here in Pismo.
Blue lipped and unable to feel my toes or my thumbs, I climbed out of the water, having caught no ‘good’ rides, but a few fun white water washes (a white water ride is where you ride along with a wave in the white water, after it has curled over and broken). I climbed back into my ride and headed an hour south to get a late lunch and try some warmer water at Refugio State Beach.
Refugio was fun. It looks small here – and it was. But it was a fun little wave. This old British dude with a board about three feet longer than mine (mine was 8’ long) was having a grand old time. He was catching everything. And since he rides there regularly, he knows the waves like the back of his hand. I was catching about 10% of what he was, but it was still pretty great. Freezing fucking cold, but pretty great.
For those of you not in the surfing ‘know’, the longer your board the easier it is to catch and ride small waves. But you can’t do a lot of fast, funky turns on a longboard. For that you need a shortboard – like around 6’. I usually ride a ‘fun-board’ which is somewhere in between. Of course, often that means that I get fucked, because I can’t catch any of the small waves and I tend to get killed on any really big waves… Ah… zen and the art of surfing….
Back to the freezing fucking cold for a second. Or maybe I should say “back to my general thick headedness”. So… I’ve mentioned a few times how cold it was out there. And it was. It really was. Anywhere north of Ventura, I was wearing booties, gloves and sometimes even a hoodie.
But I was also wearing the cheapest, piece of shit wetsuit around.
That was FOURTEEN years old.
For some reason, I failed to remember my previous “frigid” water experience during my very first surf vacation — in the summer of 1992, with my partner in crime (in more ways than one…) Bob Lamond. When you go north of LA, the water gets COLD. Damned cold.
I didn’t really think about this when I planned my trip. And packed my fourteen year old wetsuit. And fourteen year old gloves. And fourteen year old booties. And couldn’t find my fourteen year old hoodie.
So when I was out in the waves, frigid water leaking into all of the busted seams the decaying neoprene and yes, even open holes, I was fucking cold. And fucking stupid.
So after about 3 days of freezing my ass off… I bought myself a new wetsuit.
‘Cause, to be honest, after three days of near hypothermia, I wasn’t all that excited about surfing anymore. It’s hard enough getting the crap kicked out of you by big, surly waves whose only goal in life seems to be to make your lungs burst. It’s really hard when each time it happens you feel like you’re being dunked naked in a bathtub full of ice…
And let me tell you all a little something. If you ever decide to go surfing in Central or Northern California. Or (god forbid) Oregon (which I’ve done), Washington or even BC (for the completely mental). Buy yourself a good wetsuit. It makes ALL THE DIFFERENCE IN THE WORLD.
The first day that I went out with my brand new wetsuit. Brand new booties. And brand new gloves. I. Was. Positively. Roasting.
I had to get off my board, open up my zipper, and let some of the fucking frigid water down my back. Because I was so fucking hot.
It was awesome.
And made the rest of the surfing a fucking dream in comparison.
Plus, my new O’Neil digs look pretty cool. Even for a nerd like me…
