Good Clean Fun

The waves were disorganized, my rides were short, I had some spectacular wipeouts and got about a gallon of seawater pushed up my nose. But it was fun!

Sunny Day

The forecast called for the marine layer to linger through mid-morning, but the sun had just climbed into a cloudless blue sky as I pedaled toward the beach. The swell was down from yesterday and I had an easier time getting to the main peak by the pier, where I wished a cheery good morning to bodyboarder David and shortboarder Roger, who is now sporting a beard.

The tide was rising fast and I chased a few waves to the inside, ending up where I'd seen a shortboarder jumping on waist- to chest-high lefts. I got my best wave there, though it ran out of juice well before the shallows. The crowd rose with the tide and I ended up in a sea of grommets, soon joined by Roger and David, who was cursing the king tide. I caught a wave in with them, although David let it wash him all the way up onto the wet sand in true frog style.

Buddy Surf

Yesterday Luke texted me that he was in town and wanted to meet up for a sunset surf. Tourmaline did not inspire either of us, so we deferred until this morning for better conditions.

Tourmaline before sunset yesterday

I biked over and met Luke at the Pier just as he finished his walk from the Banana Bungalow hostel. I'd brought my fish since the tide was falling off a 5' high, hoping it would get me into more of the soft waves than my shortboard. The waves were clean and up to head-high. Although Luke was longboarding and had a blast, my sorry streak continued. I caught a few closeouts and one what-the-hell reform (a decent ride almost to the beach), but on the only shoulder I found, the fish slid out from under me on my backside. I'm starting to think I may need a different board for my home break on a higher tide, something that is floaty enough to get me into soft waves but also able to hold a steep face when they start to jack up. At Rincon, Alice was riding a Firewire Sweet Potato and catching as many waves as the longboarders. She says she loves the board and rides it in all sorts of conditions. I'm going to try to demo one, although the longest cheaper Grom size is a 4'10" (eek!).

Impatience

The lulls were interminable at Bird Rock and a couple guys were dominating the few-wave sets that came through infrequently. I caught a right but needed another stroke or two to get fully into it on my shortboard.

A third dude in the lineup said it was better earlier and he'd been waiting a really long time for his last wave. Steve lamented that he should've brought a book. Tired of bobbing in the chop, I paddled in after nearly an hour - which of course brought a set on my heels.

But There Were Dolphins

Lulls punctuated by closeouts on the fast-falling tide - should've been there earlier. I think the lazy river will be more fun later today at Harrah's Rincon (which is actually nowhere near Rincon). But there were dolphins!

Sharing the Stoke at Rincon

Every year, the San Diego Surf Ladies send a delegation to the Rincon Invitational, a most unusual surf contest held at the famous break just south of Santa Barbara. Last year, I bailed out when I saw the miserable surf forecast, viewing the infamous traffic of Los Angeles as a hurdle 2-foot waves could not induce me to overcome. This year, SDSL allocated the 10 slots based on length of club membership, and I was second on the alternates list. Only a few days before the contest, I got notice that a space was available. The forecast was equally miserable but I'm trying to live by the adage that you will regret more the things you did not do, than the things you did do, so I said yes.

As I traverse Orange County and then LA, the 405 freeway swells at times to 14 lanes wide with random bouts of stop-and-go traffic. I'm traveling not only in space but back in time, past exit signs that conjure memories of jobs including my first after college, lingering shudders over law school, the ghosts of exes and "where are they now" thoughts about friends vanished into the mists of an era before social networking. Only one of my few remaining LA-area friends is free to meet me for lunch, and we catch up over delicious vegan plates at Santa Monica's Native Foods. Then it's back on the road for another hour, up to my hotel in Ventura.

The hotel is divided from the beach by the elevated freeway, and after I check in, I drive under the rushing cars to get a look at the surf. It's as small as I feared, even at C-Street aka Surfers' Point. Rising tide and a breeze have scuttled the conditions so even the longboarders struggle to ride the knee-high waves. 

I decide it's not worth putting on a wetsuit, and instead walk along the paved coastal path, past kiteboarders furling their sails, the loud buzzing of race cars at the adjacent speedway, and a mentally ill woman who is yelling random curses at the kiters and race car drivers in turn.

Lake Ventura

Well before sunset, I drive 20 more minutes north to the Carpinteria State Beach campground where one of the Ladies has pitched a tent and others plan to sleep in their cars. I'm quietly glad I joined too late to get a spot in their campsite, which is completely devoid of privacy and lacks any sense of a wilderness experience or view of the ocean, hidden behind dunes. Team captain Stephanie tells me C-Street was "awesome" a few hours before I arrived, but she's a longboarder, so I take that with a grain of salt. The other campers - Eva, Suzanne, Emy and her boyfriend Jeff - have walked into town and I join them on the patio of a Mexican cafe, drinking wine from a plastic cup while munching tortilla chips and guacamole. As darkness falls, we return to the campsite, where Katie has the fire burning warmly to ward off the evening chill. We chat over snacks and more drinks as Jeff burns sausages and carrots over the firepit. Jeff says, "I'm not very good at finding things. That's why I became an archaeologist." I call it a night and cross the dark campground to my car in the day-use lot, finally finding a bit of wilderness above in the awe-inspiring blanket of stars flung across the night sky.

Driving north again the next morning, I see Rincon from the 101 freeway, a group of contestants bobbing like corks in flat water. Ah, no. Sigh. A few of the Ladies are in the parking lot and we walk down the dirt trail to find the others already on the beach. The surf looks as disappointing as I'd feared. Eva, Suzanne and I suit up and get back to the beach just in time to pull on yellow contest jerseys and paddle out behind the others, taking the long way around per instruction. There are patchy sheens of oil on the water near shore, and a bit father out, Eva holds up her hand, covered in tar that has glommed onto her longboard. I've picked up a little too, on one of Rocket's rails and in the wax on the deck. The latter become unfortunate brown spots on the butt of my wetsuit. Just to the south of Rincon is a pier that leads to a small island. I've heard it's used to offload oil from the platforms that dot the sea in this area, and that palm trees were added after locals complained about the industrial look of the facility.

One-foot Rincon

Our hour of alone time at Rincon has begun. It's just the 10 of us plus Jeff, who's taking photos with a GoPro. There are seven longboarders and two other shortboarders, Suzanne and Alice. 

A few of the Ladies sometimes forget that the waves are meant to be shared, but most happily accommodate drops-ins. I catch a surprising number of waves on my 6'2", often straightening out to let someone else join me. 

The waves are breaking shallow over the cobblestones, and I starfish when I fall, trying not to ding body or board. Lisa and Allison hold hands while they ride side-by-side. Emy tries a headstand; she doesn't make it, but we cheer her anyway. 

My internal frown turns upside down and I'm smiling, surprised at how much fun I'm having on tiny gutless waves because we're all surfing with a true spirit of aloha, sharing and giving. Then the hour is over, and we pick our way back to the beach over rocks and seagrass while the red-jersey team takes the peak.

Me, Michelle, Eva, Alice, Emy, Stephanie, Allison, Lisa, Katie and Suzanne (photo by Jeff)

Still dripping in my wetsuit, I speak with Glenn Hening of the Groundswell Society, who's been organizing this event for 17 years and is also a founder of Surfrider. "We wanted to reverse field on the typical surf contest," he tells me. The contest was originally run like any other and was used as a fundraiser to bring sewer service to the houses fronting the break, but after 10 years it became all about sharing the stoke. And conditions have been better before. A few years ago, Glenn recounts, "Shaun Tomson rode a beautiful 5-footer" all the way down the point, by himself. "That was one point. One surfer, one wave, one point." In the next heat, "we had a whole family sharing a wave. Eight surfers, eight points." It's not about what you do on the wave, he posits, so I ask, "No points for Emy's headstand attempt?" He thinks for a moment and says maybe they'll have to add a rule for next year to acknowledge that. "We want people to have fun!" 

While there wasn't anyone else interested in surfing tiny weak waves at the iconic peak on Sunday, at future Invitationals with better conditions, Glenn envisions sending "playground monitors" out with contestants to make sure everyone is having a good time. And that's partly ensured by the nature of the participants he invites. Everybody wants to surf uncrowded Rincon, Glenn states, but he asks the groups that apply "what have you done for anyone lately?" and rejects those that don't have a recent history of public service. Rincon is the reward for sharing aloha in and out of the water.

Top o' the path, which is much shorter than the one to Trestles

That's some sticker collection

San Diego Surf Ladies and friends

Hey, little doggie! Didn't you read the sign? You're not supposed to be here...

Eva and Suzanne

Sharing Surfers (Total surfers on the shared waves)
1 – Rincon Pit Crew – Team Heeley
2 – Black Surfers Collective
3 – San Diego Surf Ladies