12-23-05 The Prison Tower

Thursday was our office's last day of work. We traditionally close between Christmas and New Year's every year. And since Christmas Eve was on a Saturday, they gave us Friday off.

I woke up early and looked at the reports. The swell was still very much active at the beaches. But, it had died down substantially from the mess of Wednesday, and looked like there might be waves I could surf. The buoy charts showed six to eight foot seas coming in to Huntington and Bolsa Chica. I waited for the tide to rise, and went at noon.

My wife was at home, and decided to come to the beach with me, a rare treat. We tried to get the video camera working, but neither of the batteries had any juice. We loaded up the mini van with Gwen's beach toys, and drove off.

Of course, being the holidays, we were rushed for time. Jenn's mother was en route from Vegas, so Jenn was on the cell phone most of the way too the beach. My wife is no fun when she is late for anything. She panics into a very high stress mode which I've never understood. So, the trip had to be time conscious.

We arrived at Bolsa Chica and pulled in south of the prison tower. I stood up on the lip of a fire ring, with my daughter on my hip, and looked out at the breakers. They were still head and a half high, and there was a lot of white foam to swim through. Still, there looked to be sections where I could make it.
My wife showed her inexperience. "This looks good". She said immediately. "Those don't look too big. Just go here."

I raised my eyebrows, and told her to look closer. "Look at the wave relative to the size of that guy that's out there."

There was a surfer dropping into a big section. He didn't make it, but it was clearly head and a half high.

"Oh," she said. "Wow. Those are big."

I watched it for a few minutes more, and got the fears.

"Let's go to Seal Beach." I told Jenn. "It will be a bit smaller." Of course, I've never actually surfed Seal Beach, but I've heard that it does pretty well on these winter storms.

She agreed, complaining about the time, but acquiescing. I lead footed the minivan over to the pier at Seal Beach an pulled into the parking lot. Jenn got out and paid $3 to the parking machine. I walked to shore to look at the waves.

Crap. Total crap. Waist high close outs with about sixty surfers paddleling for each.

I was a little bummed, but knew we were pressed for time. I could probably handle the crowd, having learned crowd skills in Huntington in the summer. I started to suit up behind the van. Jenn had walked to the beach and came back over.

"This looks lame" she said.
"Yea. I should have stayed at Bolsa."
She thought about it. "I think we have time."
"Are you sure."
"Yes." She said. "I'm sure. We have time."

Half dressed in a wetsuit up to the waist, I pushed my board into the van and jumped back in the driver's seat. We high-tailed it back to the prison tower, where I quickly got Jenn and Gwen's toys and chairs out onto the sand. I walked the shore for a short stretch, sensing a southbound current, and jumped out.

The paddle out was not too bad, tiring for me, but I made it pretty quickly. While the big sets churned on the outside, I had to simply wait and take the abuse. But, there were lulls enough to make the paddle. Once outside, I lined up with the other surfers. There were six or seven of us lined up at a fairly consistent peak north of the tower, and another ten or fifteen guys at a larger section south of the tower.

I caught my first wave early on. It was an overhead right, but it stayed open for a pretty long ride. My wife saw it from shore, she told me later. She said it was big. She said that I didn't make any turns, but just stood there. That sounded right. Hell, I wasn't looking to win any contests, I was just looking at the peak of the thing up over my head and trying to keep out of the way of it. But, for a big day at Bolsa, it was a long ride for me. I wound up having to paddle all the way back out, this time through the impact zone during a set.

Once I made it back to the outside, my shoulder gave me pain signals. I paddled through them. A set of monster waves came in that all the surfers had to paddle out to. I paddled up the face of one that was almost twice the length of my 7'-6" board and slapped burst over the top just before the break, slapping down on the back side. They next wave was even bigger, and I paddled as hard as I could to make it. Nearing the top, it became obvious that I was not going to make it so I committed my sin: I ditched my board and dove through the peak to the daylight on the other side, then took a deep breath and turned around to see if my leash was going to drag me in. Fortunately, my board popped up over the breaking curl. I grabbed it and got back on. There wasn't a third wave.

The second ride I got was also a right. It was the second wave of a good sized set. On the first set wave, another surfer failed to take it on the inside of me. He looked like he could have made it, but pulled out. In my mind I cursed him. It's funny how easy it is to mock another surfer for not going when, given the same situation, I also would have backed down nine waves out of ten. Perhaps it was this brief feeling of superiority that compelled my to commit to the next wave. Of course, once I was committed, I did the right thing. I got to my feet and dropped.

The drop was big. It gave me a second of that stomach feeling like when you're falling on a roller coaster, when you become aware of your weightlessness in the absence of force between your feet and your body. Then my feet dug in, my knees bent, and I looked up in front of me to see where I needed to turn. The options were: go straight, or get screwed. I chose to go straight. I was probably a board's length ahead of the foam when it crashed down behind me. I even managed to stay on my feet for a second or two after the impact. Then it ate me.

I paddled back out to look for a third wave. But, my wife's chair was gone from the beach. I remembered the time situation. I knew there was trouble. I looked out at the swell, seeing if there would be a good wave soon. It was a lull. To wait for a third, and select it just right, would take me another quarter hour or better. I paddled in.

We were late. Jenn's mom was waiting for us at our house when we got home. Fortunately, we'd been dumb enough to leave the front door unlocked.