Nothing says Christmas like the Cliffs

I spent Christmas in San Diego at my parents’ house. My brother Kevin had arrived from Hawaii, and had joined me for a day of surfing in Huntington before we headed down the coast for the holiday.

After the ceremonies of Christmas morning, my brother and I snuck off to surf. We visited at a place called “no surf” by a big rock, apparently christened the “bird shit crescent”, at sunset cliffs. Access to the water is by walking down a series of rock platforms to a ledge five feet above the water’s surface, throwing your board into the water, and jumping in after it. Once in the water, we were several hundred yards from the break, and had to paddle south. I stopped mid paddle to put on my leash. It was the early afternoon. The water was crisp and bit my face with its cool teeth. The sun was warm but the air was completely devoid of wind. The surface of the water was clam like glass. Sets of waves rolled into the reef and broke on cue.

A peak closer to the entry point was a popular longboard spot called “ospray”, which was to our right as we paddled. A lone surfer on a longboard paddled around the wave, occasionally catching a ride. By the time we left the water, he would be joined by a crowd of twenty five.

From where we entered the water, the face of the rock cliffs curved and formed a crescent arch, which was the north curve of a cove. In the center of the crescent, a large and ominous rock protruded forty feet from the water. It was an angled and chiseled monolith, covered with the white paint of bird droppings. At the inside of the cove, a soft sand beach laid below forty feet of sheer rock cliff.

On Christmas day, the break at the rock was working very well. Sets were head high. There was a right and a left. I caught one decent left, and quite a few very fun rights.

At Sunset Cliffs, there are locals in lawn chairs that sit atop the cliffs, drink beer, and watch the surf. In the water, many guys know each other. Some act like locals. Locals like to talk to each other and call each other by name loudly. This is the way they announce to strangers that they are on a first name basis with the other surfers, and therefore have certain rights at the spot.

One guy in particular was hilarious. He yelled at both Kevin and I in the course of the afternoon. I don’t remember what he yelled at me for, but Kevin was paddling up over a peak and this guy turned around to try to catch it, only to find Kevin right in his way. He could have gone left, but was clearly thinking about the right. Of course, with everyone crowded at the peak, there was nothing either of them could do. With ten people on one wave, it was bound to happen. But he let out a long “oh, come oooooooon” as if Kevin had just farted in an elevator. He turned and paddled away, expressing his discontent. With the right state of mind, one can find happiness in the most sordid of places. Conversely, with an opposite state of mind, one can be discontented and irritable in the most beautiful of settings: in the midst of consistently beautiful waves on a warm and clear afternoon in the cool blue and green waters over the pristine reef and swaying seaweed against a backdrop of leveled rock cliffs and playful birds.

The next day, we returned to the same spot. It was low tide in another windless afternoon. The sun was less bright, obscured by the incoming cloud cover of a storm that would drench the area in rain the day following. The surf had backed down as well. The peak waves of the sets had good size, but were inconsistent. Between sets, currents dragged the group of surfers in various directions, leaving the group to guess where they sat relative to where the next wave would break. A set of waves came every after a wait of three or twenty minutes, often catching everyone off guard.

Still was fun, but I had to switch Kevin or the funboard to catch some good rights.

More later

Copyright 2004 Travis English