Sunrise Hadj 06-10-05

Leaving my house in the dark felt like winter, but the temperature of the air was warm. I packed my mid-size funboard into the back of my truck and quietly drove past the sleeping houses of my apartment complex. It was 4:30 in the morning.

I had quit caffeine some two weeks earlier, the resolution based on my tendency to tiredness in the early afternoon. I had developed a habit of walking in zombie fashion to the coffee pot at two in the afternoon, and had finally decided to separate myself from caffeine once and for all.

So, for my morning drive at 4:30 in the darkness, I would have but water to help keep my eyelids sharp.

I was amazed how quickly I could drive across LA before the sun rose. Freeway after freeway, each that I'd never seen moving over snail speeds, passed by like quiet open country roads.

The idea for this trip had not even been mine. My boss deserved the credit.
"So, where are you at tomorrow?" he had asked me the afternoon prior.

"I have a 9:30 in Woodland Hills." I told him. "Which pretty much kills the whole day."
Our office only works until noon on Fridays, and the drive to Woodland Hills, to the north of LA, could take me well over two hours in morning traffic, and probably over an hour getting back.
"Are you even coming back here, then?" he asked.
"No. I'm leaving for Mexico at noon."
"What are you doing in Mexico?" he queried.
"Just a quick surfing trip. We're doing one night in a little campsite we know, and surfing there on Saturday morning."
He nodded.
"You know- " he offered "You should make it a whole surfing adventure day. You could go up early and surf at Zuma beach or somewhere up there, and then drive straight to Mexico afterwards..."
"Hmmm...."

The nearest beach to my meeting, on a map, was Topanga State Beach, at the bottom of Topanga Canyon Road, the easternmost edge of the city of Malibu. To get there would be an hour's drive or more. To get from the beach to my meeting would be thirty to forty minutes, via Topanga Canyon Road. I checked out my plan with a co-worker who had lived in the area.

"Be careful of that road." He warned me. "If there's fog, it's really dangerous."

But dangerous curved roads wouldn't stop this plan, nor would the time planning stage, when I realized just how early I would be getting up to start this adventure.

Malibu. Just saying the name was exciting and frightening. It brought up images of Gidget, Malibu Barbie, Big Wednesday, the Surf Naztis, nasty locals, huge crowds, the Beach Boys, the coffee cup throwing cop from "The Big Lebowski" ("aw, you fuckin; fascist!"), and long, endless point right point breaks where beuatiful longboards showed classic style. This south facing streatch of coastline was something of a Mecca of California surfing. And, I was making my first trip to pilgramage.

I arrived at Topanga State Beach at 5:30 in the morning. A dim twilight showered the green Malibu hills. I parked in the "pay" parking lot, showing the attendant my State Park Pass. I would later confirm that Topanga State beach is not a part of the Spate Park system. But, neither of us knew that my pass was no good, so I showed it, and he let me use it. He also asked if I knew where he could get some pot. I didn't, but felt sure that he was in the right place.

Topanga is a right breaking point break. From the parking lot, there is a concrete stairway down to a small sand plateau, primarily occupied by a white restroom and lifeguard building with green wooden trim and a red tile roof. The sand ended before the shoreline, giving way to smooth moss covered rocks, exposed by the low tide. The floor of the spot is all rock, with some fairly healthy kelp stalks grown sporadically throughout.

I watched the wave for a while from my truck. The sets were inconsistent, but the biggest waves were shoulder high or slightly better. It was low tide. It was defiantly a point break. The wave pitched up in a defined spot every time, and peeled off in one direction ad infinitum. The swell wasn't big enough to produce really long rides, but it was clear that on a better day one could catch a wave and ride off for a good distance.

There was a crowd of eight or ten people in the water, huddled around the peak. I would later be told by one of the locals that this was a very light crowd, even for dawn patrol on a small weekday.

"Dawn patrol is usually civilized" he told me. "But, you come here on any weekend, and it's a zoo. Wall to wall boards, and lots of attitude."

I walked over the rocks to the water and paddled into the line up. I let a few waves go by and took a waist high breaker, just to prove to the watching eyes that I could surf in turn, and then eased into the morning.

At the peak, there were about sixteen people in the water, shortboards and longboards. The difference between shortboard and longboard take off position was not too much, so the waves were rationed out pretty well amongst the crowd. I dropped in on one guy, but had plenty of time to get out of his way before I did any harm to his ride. As karmic payback, one of the shortboarders jumped into my way on a set wave later in the morning.

The locals were amenable. Once a few of them figured out that I had a watch on, they asked me the time every third set. The one girl in the water was apparently in a time crunch, with a final exam happening later in the morning. She got driving route advise from one of the older locals, after which I asked him to estimate how long my drive would be.

"Over the hill?" he asked. "I'd allow 45 minutes, plus time for getting out of the water and changing and stuff."

The road advisor and the girl were the two best surfers in the water. Both rode high performance shortboards, and knew the power spots of the wave very well. Watching either get a ride was a pleasure, as they found their way into some really fast sections.

I tried to learn from their rides, modeling my take off after them, and finding that the key to the first section was to turn fast and sharp and stay high on the face like a tube rider before dropping down to do anything else.
There was also a guy on a huge green fish board. He was an older fellow, looked Latino, slightly balding and moved in quick, chunky, graceless motions. He caught lots of waves, though, and some good ones, too.

The surf was good up until the tide hit the low at 6:50 am. Within twenty minutes of the low, the waves had lost most of their power. The crowd had also thinned to about six people. I still had time to spare, so I paddled down the point to a second take off spot where two longboarders were riding an inside section of wave. I caught two waves there, and got out.

Fun morning, all told. The drive through the canyon was interesting. It was the kind of road that you'd expect to find on the way to a campsite, not in a heavily populated urban area.

Now, the really fun part of the story is that I did make it to Mex that evening, and surfed a small weak windswell at Salsipuedes as the sun went down.

Malibu in the morning, Salsipuedes at night. Not bad for a day's work. When the sun went Brett and I sat in camp chars at a small fire listening to the sound of small waves on the Mexican cliffs.

But, salsipuedes, as reliable as it's reputation is, let Brett and I down on Saturday morning, unable to break on the extreme low tide.

We searched the coast and finally paid $11 US to surf at Alistos, or La Fonda, or K58, or whatever you want to call that damn place with the hellish paddle that takes twenty minutes of every thing your arms have and then - well, that's another story entirely.

And, I do have another meeting in Woodland Hills this week - right around the time that south swell should be winding down.