After the storm, we were blessed with a strange, now apexing, string of waves. The forecasts and buoys dictated that Wednesday morning would be the absolute best of it. Because of the funky tide, I took my bike to Wisconsin Street and shaved twelve minutes off my morning commute thanks to a serendipitous string of coincidences, starting with the old school full-size pickup which let me draft behind it to and through the 101 with only slight slowdown as we coasted to the light for just a couple.
The surf looked robust from the train tracks and I was licking my chops. I cruised down the Strand, Oceanside's beachfront road as I checked the waves. I saw a pretty sick A-Frame break and I locked up the bike at a lamppost vacation rental complex called Land's End. I didn't know if that was a no-no, but I had to get my surf on.
I paddled out to the completely empty peak and was joined less than ten minutes later by a squatty dude. I gave him a "What's up, man?", which he ignored completely, even though he was less than twenty feet away. Then three more guys paddled out, two of which he apparently had made plans to surf with, and the guy could not stop talking.
We were both paddling for a sick one, Mr. Selectively Talkative with priority, and he caught (and I pulled back from) what I'll call the wave of the session and got to his feet a little late. The thing looked like it was going to be a makeable, thick barrel. I looked from the back and was trying to see if I'd see that telltale bulge and/or color change towards the top of the wave when a guy is pitted. Just as I'd started to look for it the guy's head popped through. He'd bailed! If he pussed out on a wave another guy could've gone on, he's a morph.
I decided I'd had enough of Mr. ST Morph and paddled to the north, against the current, but away from he and his buddies. I stopped paddling once his musings were merely a murmur.
No waves of note came for thirty minutes. It was Closeout Central. Eventually, I caught a left which looked like it was going to line up very well for me. As I got to my feet, I pumped up and down as much as I could and saw a section ten or fifteen feet from me spilling over. I crashed up into it, and came back down with so much speed but was immediately slowed to a crawl by a lack of wave slope. I had big plans for that wave...
After being out close to ninety minutes, I caught a small right and did a couple of flickier-than-I'd-like pumps. I managed to outmaneuver the spilling section and did a solid smash off the whitewash, projecting onto the flats with speed.
I bailed shortly thereafter.
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