Wave of the Day, the Trip, My Life

Three days ago, after the hurricane passed, we discovered La Bocana, a rivermouth break only 10 minutes from our house. We read in the Surfer's Guide to Baja that the beachbreak only works after summer hurricanes pass through, causing San Jose Del Cabo's estuary to overflow into the sea. The influx of water and dirt (mud) causes sandbars to form that catch the hurricane swell. The book described the break as beefy, peaky, and hollow.

When we parked at the Presidente Hotel and walked to the beach at around 8:30 AM, we passed some surfers who had just finished their dawn patrol. We asked how it was, and the first guy told us that it sucked. A second guy told us it was firing and that we'd "love it." In fifteen minutes, we'd find who was lying.

As we approached the break, sparkling like crumpled tin foil in the morning light, a set bowled in, as if on cue. There were four surfers silhouetted in against the bright water and one slipped right into the pocket, the offshore mist creating a backlight contrast for his black crouched form. This was a perfect A-frame peak, shoulder high, by far the most powerful and perfect we had seen on our adventure. We paddled out quickly and barely avoided a set wave that would have tested the depth of my duckdiving skills (or the strength of my thin "performance" leash). The second surfer had told the truth.

My first wave was The One. Two surfers exited the water as we got to the lineup, and I parked on the left side of the peak, wanting to go frontside on my first few. No sooner had I caught my breath than another big swell rose from the horizon line and approached quickly. I was right in the perfect place - maybe a little deep - but OS hooted at me and I spun and went. Two strokes and the bottom half of the wave was already dropping out. I was totally committed, starting my speedy descent, and there was no way to go but down. I popped up and turned left, seeing a big section of the wall already bending out in front of me. I instinctively faced the wave and set my line as high as I could, skeptical that I would make the section at all. It looked like a big closeout to me...

But then my board took off like a bullet and I just hung on, clearing the critical section. I had no idea a surfboard could fly that fast. When I reached the softer-sloping shoulder, I was high on the wave and I banked back down to the bottom, repeating the drop and bracing myself for another walled section inside. Again, my yellow fish bolted and I absorbed the chatter with my knees. By this time, I was dangerously close to the shorepound and I skipped off the back of the turbulent lip, my arms extended like a bird. I was dumbstruck as I finally slowed down and the surfboard sunk under me. I lowered myself to my belly and started paddling back out to where the guys were. Smiling, OS asked how the wave was. He had seen the first half of the ride.

"Oh. My. God," was all I could muster.

Having that much of nature's power under my feet was a new experience for me. I was buzzing from adrenaline and dizzy with a combination stoke and fear. I even considered leaving the water and calling it a session right there, but came to my senses and caught several more when I realized that I only had two more days left in paradise.

Grooverider - Rainbows of Colour

Chubasco Sauce

Down in Baja Sur in the summer, surfers rely on southern hurricane action, called chubascos for the best swells. Sunday night we noticed that Hurricane Emilia was starting to reveal herself a little early, so we headed down to Acapulquito for an evening sesh. At first, the waves seemed pretty tame, maybe shoulder high sets rolling through every 15 minutes. But as the orange sun dropped toward the Baja range the waves began to increase in size. Coincidentally, the lineup cleared around the same time, as if the weekend crowd was all surfed out. No sooner did our Oregon crew notice that we were the only four guys in the water, than a set of three head high waves rolled in. Gee snagged a long right on a 7'10" spoon-nose board we rented. I grabbed a left on my fish that walled up and shot me across the inside boils known as "Mike's Hole." Our buddy, Markarita, as goofy as me, snagged a left as well. As soon as the next set rolled in - another triplet of head high bombs - a guy paddled out to join us on a board with a Billabong logo on it. He ripped a long right immediately.

We stayed out until the sun was gone and it became difficult to see the sets on the horizon. Two other guys on long boards paddled out when they noticed the hurricane swell had arrived. At last, when it was almost pitch black save for the lights of the hotel and cars leaving the parking lot, I turned to catch a wave in. That final wave seemed to take forever coming, so I began to paddle inside, to a channel I knew didn't break as hard on the sand. Glancing back over my shoulder, I noticed a dark shadow closing, and on its peak, some white resembling a snowcap on a faraway mountain. On the left side of that peak there was a streak like the exhaust from a jet. It was OS, who I had lost sight of in the darkness, dropping in on the biggest wave of the night. The memory I have reminds me of old surf photos: The stocky OS (in stark contrast to the whispy pro who joined us earlier), muscling his way into the wave despite his bum shoulder. His standing up with rigid legs and almost facing straight forward, wearing plaid boardshorts and a five-o-clock shadow. I watched him until he passed me by and then noticed him break through the roiling whitewater behind the wave. He may have only been up for five seconds, but it's an image I'll never forget. I'm sure it's a drop he'll remember for a long time as well.







The next day, we woke up with the wind whipping and the sea angry. Gee got a morning session in, but he noted that it was large and sloppier that the previous night - and that there were 25 guys out, hoping to catch some of the chubasco juice. OS and I drove to the turnout that overlooks three breaks (Zippers, The Rock, and Acapulcuito) and watched the storm roll in. Already, strong winds were pushing us around on that cliff. There were only 4 guys left out in the ocean now. Then, right in front of our eyes, the hurricane charged in from the Southeast. Massive swells marched toward the cliffs, reminding me of elementry school, when we would shake a parachute and send patterns of waves to the other side. The rain hit at the same time, diagonal, in our face like a persistant wet machine gun fire. We jumped in the car and very carefully drove back home through the rivers of rainwater that were now traversing Highway 1.

The brutal storm kept us indoors for two days of our vacation. The sea resembled Oregon in the dead of winter - worse, actually. The natural phenomenon that gave us surf bliss left us surf-starved, but gave me time to finish my book, Tijuana Straits.

The Clash - Armagideon Time

Fishing in Cerritos

Friday we took a field trip to Todos Santos, a quaint little town forty miles up the Pacific coast from Cabo San Lucas. We had some amazing tacos and tortas (sandwiches) in the artsy village and paid the open-air chef a few bucks to watch our cars and boards as we strolled through town. I found a set of dried shark teeth at a souvenir shop that I wanted, but realized it might be difficult to pack the fragile jaws on our flight back home.

On our way back to Los Cabos we checked a few surf spots, including a beach break with a rocky point called Cerritos. It actually looked pretty good - the waves appeared to have more power than Old Man's - so we quickly paddled out in the rip next to the point. The sets were overhead, with rights and lefts typical of a more open beachie. The first wave I caught was a right that caught me by surprise. I did a bottom turn and skipped down the line, trying to keep my fish from bouncing too much or sliding out. There were some really good surfers out, smacking lips and doing extended floaters over sections that were five feet tall. I grabbed a couple lefts, a few rights, got pitched and tweaked my neck, and decided to paddle in, sparing the non-surfers in our party the agony of sitting in the heat any longer.

On my way in I grabbed a perfectly formed left inside and Gee managed to capture it from the rocky point. The wave rolled forever and planted me right on the beach in front of our group, who cheered me on from under their umbrellas. They encouraged me to go back out and I caught a couple more. It was a really great day - the first great session of our trip.









The Doors - Light My Fire

Everybody Up!

We spent our first several sessions at Acapulquito, aka "Old Man's," getting our sea legs. It is a really soft-breaking right on most swells, making it a perfect place to warm up for two weeks of surfing. The only drawback is that it may be the most crowded break in Baja, if not all of Mexico. Also, there are some big, bony rocks that rear their urchin-infested heads when the tide drops. Best time to surf here is in the morning and at dusk, when there is less wind and there are less beginners taking classes inside.

Speaking of classes, my wife and OS's gal took some surf lessons and got some rides on their first day! We have all made up new surf nicknames for eachother... and here they are:

"Chino," aka "Chingaro," aka "Release," (as in Catch & Release).

Gee, aka "Croucho Marx," aka "Mangostein," aka "Roach."

She, aka "Catch," (as in Catch & Release).

OS, aka "Out Sider," aka "Injured Reserve."

Yours Truly, aka "Chum," aka "The Sandy Dego," aka "Chook Norris."

Donavan "Colours"

Trunkin' It

There's nothing like trunking it for the first time after a season surfing in thick neoprene. The sensation starts as you walk down the beach, as I did tonight in Baja Sur, toward your first session at a tropical break. The grains of sand bounce off your calves, catpulted by your flip flops. There's the breeze against your exposed skin as you sit at the water's edge scoping the swells and deciding where to paddle out. You attach the leash around your bare ankle, stretch a little (but not too much since it gets dark sooner so far south), and take your first steps into th aqua sea. The water is warmer than you remember. You propel yourself forward in land on your stomach and as you start to paddle, you notice immediately how light you are. There's no rubber to weigh you down, or to make you float too much when you duckdive. You can see your arm muscles working as you scratch for the outside. And when you catch your first wave, the one that will set the tone for the rest of your vacation, you can actually feel the beads of newly applied tropical wax under the soles of your feet. Sex without latex comes to mind...

Fischerspooner - Emerge (DFA Remix)

Mexico Otra Vez

I finally developed my water camera pictures from Mexico a year ago, just in time to get my stoke up to a full inferno for this year's trip. In a little over a week, we're heading back to San Jose Del Cabo again. This time we are going with a group of friends and renting a house near Zippers. I just peeked at the surf report for Costa Azul next week and it looks promising: 5 feet at 14 seconds!

Looking at these pictures from last year, I'm flooded with emotion. My wife the smiling Buddha, warm waters, Mike Doyle (barely in the shot), Donavan F., tacos at Hangman's, sore ribs, sunburns, micheladas, sand in my ears. I can't wait to do it all over again with my best friends. This time we'll explore a little. I'll stick to my new fish (and eat more fish too).

I'm bringing a stack of surf literature, including Doyle's "Morning Glass" which is just perfect for falling to sleep to by the pool after sessions. Here are my original posts from the last vacation down south: 8 at 16, Smiley Smile, Surfyland, Hola Olas

Kings of Convenience "Gold in the Air of Summer'

Pop-outs vs. Poop-outs

I am not a militant pop-out surfboard hater, but I was amused the other day when I was taking a leak and noticed the logo below written on a toilet.


At first, I couldn't think of what it reminded me of, but by the time I finished peeing I remembered where I had seen it before...


I rode a few of the epoxy sandwiches in the picture below and had a great time, but next time I go to Cabo, I'm bringing a hand-shaped board.



Swearing at Motorists "Cuando Nos Veramos"

LA Daze

Some random shots of my recent LA trip. The guy above was playing music in front of the Roxy. I intended to dawn patrol with Whiffleboy or Patch the next morning, but they were calling for a 4:30 wake-up time in order to reach the 'Bu or Zeros by 5:00. I didn't get home until 3:30, so I pretty much blew my chance to hook up with the authors of "Confessions of a Novice Surfer" and "Patchies Hideout." Next time.

I did, however, make it to Venice by 9:00. The conditions actually looked fun (see below), so I pulled my parents' nice Volvo convertible into a parking space on Washington St. Just when I put my foot on the brake, a guy backed into the side of the car. Ding! Dang! By the time we exchanged insurance info (1 hr later), the wind picked up and the tide went out.

I still got a surf in, the lowlight of which was a large closeout that the other surfers hooted me into. I was too late on the drop and pearled, flying on my stomach down the face of the heaving wave. I could actually heared a few people on the pier go, "EEEEEEWWWW!" as I skipped along, before the whole thing ate me.






The Decemberists "Los Angeles, I'm Yours"

Pier Pleasure

When I got to San Diego a couple weeks ago, there was a surf contest going on directly in front of our hotel. It was the Sun Diego Pro/Am, I guess the last pro/am contest of the season. Anyway, the waves at Ocean Beach were somehow reminiscent of Oregon: lumpy, bumpy, and thumpy. But it was really good to watch the way these guys handled the conditions. We need more piers to paddle out next to up here...






!!! "Space Island"

Bear Flag Soul

On my way to Southern California, I read an article in the latest Surfer's Journal about surfboards called "Stubbies" and the San Diego County scene from where they emerged. In the appendix, the editor mentioned something called "bear flag soul" in reference to the cool characters who the story was about. It was a term that I didn't really understand at the time, but one that would be demonstrated to me throughout the week I spent down south.



I was invited to go surfing with a couple great guys from LA surf blogs, but due to some schedule conflicts (read hangovers and fender-benders) I couldn't get out early enough. But in San Diego on Sunday morning, I hooked up with Jeff from the Instant Boulder Kit blog. And Jeff hooked me up! On the phone the night before he asked me if I needed a board - I said I did. "No problem." Then he asked if I had wetsuit - I said I had my 4/3. "No problem. You can use my springsuit." At 6AM the next morning, he picked me up at my hotel.

We headed to a spot called Tourmoline, a longboarder haven located between Pacific Beach and La Jolla. On the way, Jeff told me that this was kind of a legendary beach where local heroes (shapers and riders) meet up on the weekends to surf and shoot the shit. "It's more of a social thing," he said as we pulled into the lot. He also said that there would probably be some swell left over from the south that had rolled through and that I should be able to get some decent rides on his 7'0" Nectar single fin that he brought for me.

When I eased the bright yellow board out of its bag, admiring the pintail, long Tudor fin, up wings, and bright pinlines, I was nonplused. It had an incredibly hefty resin tint glass job and the widepoint was closer to the nose. I'd heard of Nectar but had no idea that they were still making retro boards like this. I asked how much this jewel set him back - it looked new. "You'll never believe it," he said. "I got it for $150 bucks from a guy who needed to get rid of it. It just sat in his garage for 30 years!" I made Jeff an offer, which he kindly refused.



On our way through the parking lot Jeff introduced me to a guy who used to ride for the Nectar team in the 70s. The guy had stringy blond hair and leathery skin. He examined the board under my arm with eyes that looked like he was staring into a campfire. He said he'd be watching me out in the line-up. As we started paddling out, Jeff explained that all the old dudes watch from the embankment overlooking the break and if you screwed up, they would give you shit on your way back in. Great.

Jeff was paddling out on his flawless Harbour longboard (leashless, natch) and he soon left me in his wake. Before I could even make it outside, I saw him dropping into a chest-high peak and head dipping under the lip. He caught back up to me as I finally made it outside.

There were about 45-50 guys out, mostly on longboards, and they all seemed to know eachother. "Hey Mike, how's the wife and kids," and "I just got my AARP card in the mail yesterday," and "Are you that old?" etc. were some of the exchanges I overheard. Lots of jabs about being too old, even though most of these guys paddled like Olympians.

It took me a little while to get used to the beefy board I was on. For some reason it didn't paddle well as I had expected. I ended up catching a couple of lefts that slipped through the cracks and rode them to the inside, crouching low and doing my best '70s surf poster pose. Jeff gave me a thumbs up and then told me to watch out for a big rock on the inside. I forget the name of it now... "Grimace" or something...

Anyway, I stayed out for about 2-3 hours and Jeff checked in with me periodically to see how I was getting along. The crowd got more and more dense, and I just spent most of my time watching the skilled longboarders drop in and make amazing bottom turns. Great to have a front row seat. Later, I found out that a couple pros were out there: Kevin Connelly and Eric Summer.




Back in the parking lot, after the surf, I met a couple other guys who were also named Richard. We joked about being the "three swinging dicks" and watched the chicks in bikinis walk by. Man, it was a perfect California day. Thanks to the PB Surf Club gang for making a real "hodad" feel right at home. Come up to Oregon any time and let us return the favor - I have an extra 5 mil you can borrow!

Tom Waits "San Diego Serenade"

Hollywood, Here I Come!

Tomorrow I'm heading down to LA and then San Diego for my sister's graduation. I'll be in LA until Saturday morning and rolling down to SD (staying at Ocean Beach Hotel) on Saturday and Sunday nights. Back to LA on Monday and Tuesday.

I'm not positive what my schedule will be, but I'm packing my 4/3 and hoping to slip a few sessions in. I have a couple surfing aquaintances in LA and SD, but if anybody wants to show an Oregon surfer the ropes, let me know!

X "Los Angeles"

Squiggly Lives

The new website for my art licensing company, Squiggly Studios, is up and running! For the last year, my next-door neighbor and I have been working toward attending an art Licensing Show in NYC. The show happens at the Javits center from June 19-23. The idea is that we've drawn hundreds of amazing, stunning, mind-boggling, genius, clever, brilliant, unique pictures that companies will want for their products. After meeting us in New York next month, they'll buy the rights for the pictures, stick them on their merchandise, and we'll watch the royalties come rolling in.

Then it's like: "What we gonna do with all the cash? Smoke hash!"
(Kidding, mom.)

Tenacious D "Kyle Quit the Band"

Spring Cleaning

After the long, cold winter it's time to take the strata of dirty wax off your sticks. Yesterday I put my two Hammers in the sun and the cold-water parafin liquified in a matter of minutes. A few paper towels later, my boards were clean enough to eat off of. This is always a good time to check for dings and cracks that may have resulted from beach break beatings taken all season. I only noticed a few new pressure dings (that have webs of spider cracks under the glass) but other than that, I think they're ready for the mellow sessions of spring and summer.

These have been my go-to surfboards for the past two years:

Blue Hammer Speed Egg: 7' x 21.2" x 2.8" (with extra tail rocker)
Green Hammer Evolution: 6'6" x 20" x 2.35" (swallow tail)

Destroyer "The Bad Arts"

Built to Swill

Have you tried the new Built to Spill album yet, You in Reverse? It's really great, especially on headphones as you're riding your bicycle in the sunshine. Doug's voice sounds like shandy tastes: sweet, slightly sour, malty, a little fizzy, and sure to give you a quick buzz.

Built to Spill "Liar"