It’s currently 10PM on a Sunday as we drive along Highway
One. Heading inland to reach the main freeway, we are shrouded by heavy fog as
we twist and turn through the redwood forest. Navigating the road with
expertise, my friend at the wheel is focused on making good time to Berkeley.
“Dude, we are going to score.”
Tall, with short, curly, dirty blonde hair, my high school
friend Alex is well built from years of working in Alaska on fishing vessels.
Contacting me the night before, he asked if I wanted to head South to chase a swell to
Santa Barbara. Looking at the swell forecast for Northern California, the
charts were dark red indicating that abnormally large waves were on the way.
Looking at the individual buoys along the coast, some were reading thirty-seven
feet at seventeen seconds. However, down the coast the waves were forecasted to
be perfect and well groomed due to protection from the Channel Islands. How
could I say no?
Reaching Alex’s sister’s house in Berkeley at midnight, we shuffle up the steps and unlock the front door. Walking into the upstairs unit, the burnt red cedar
floors aged with footsteps creek as we walk on them. Making our way into the living room, the décor
is fit for an Urban Outfitters catalog. The antique crème yellow gas stove
boils water in the corner while a Van Morrison LP spins on a record player in
the background. Too tired to explore my new surroundings I begin to doze listening to Van Morrison and the housemates talk about their PhDs in art
history. It’s a hipster’s paradise.
With the IPhone alarm ringing in my ear at 4:30AM, I try to
ignore it as long as possible. Shutting it off, I whisper over to Alex, “we are
going to regret not getting up right now. “ Climbing out of our sleeping bags,
we pack them up and shuffle down the cedar staircase in darkness. Not seeing
the fixie at the front of the door, I trip over it on the way out.
Reaching Rincon in the early afternoon, we pull into the
massive parking lot. Every space is taken in the parking lot and all of the
street parking is nonexistent. After some shuffling we find a spot in the
overflow parking lot.
Looking at Alex I say, “Seems like we aren’t the only ones looking forward to the swell arriving today. I think all of Santa Barbara
and Ventura called in sick.”
“Just keep your head down and look mean when you're paddling for waves.”
“I think we should get a honorary award for driving almost
the entire coast of California to surf this swell.”
Suiting up, we grab our boards and head to the beach in
search of a few waves with far too many people. Mentally and physically
preparing, Alex and I paddle out into the subtropical water with two hundred
other people looking for the same thing. It’s what we
do for a few perfect waves.
Check out the last trip to Santa Barbara California
