Pet Cobra

The Late Drop

Circumstances allowed for some extra time this morning, so I found myself pushing the Xterra hard, doing 90 up the 5, racing the rising tide. San-O or bust. The drive is about 20 minutes from my house, assuming no traffic or Imperial entanglements. I had some cash for parking - briefly thought about swinging by the ATM, just in case, but the stack of one's in my wallet would certainly suffice. I pulled up to the ranger shack. "$10", I was told. I had $8. (Hello, Surfline? Update your increasingly fucking worthless site. Thanks!)

No time to dwell on my misfortune. I turned around and headed back south, jumping off the freeway at Carlsbad Village Drive. Pulled off at the northern sector of Terramar; looked decent enough, and relatively uncrowded - a handful of surfers, along with two guys on kayaks. The PCM in all its 9'6" glory is a dream to paddle; I quickly got outside and waited for the waves.

The session started out as a frustrating one; chalk it up to still being pissed about the failure at San-O, or the fact that my last couple of paddle-outs have been on the considerably shorter Hog, but my timing was waaaay off. The board does not like late takeoffs. I managed to get my head right after a while; stroked into a decent left that I rode to the shore, even edging my way to the nose at one point. (My next attempt at a noseride resulted in me going ass over teakettle; I'm sure that the PCM looked lovely as it cartwheeled majestically through the Carlsbad sky, but the thought of getting beaned in the skull by that monster was slightly unnerving.) By that point I was beat, and withdrew. Every session that teaches you something is a good one, I suppose. Lessons learned today: get into the wave early, and always bring a ten-spot with you.

Nothing To See Here

Been, as they might have said in San Francisco in 1992, hella busy. A trip to Morro Bay for my cousin's wedding last weekend (I'll let Beth tell you all about it), subsequent visit by my parents the week that followed. For those following my surfing adventures, I managed a two-session day on Friday (the entire clan had a beach day, and made camp in the hinterlands between Grandview and the Ponto jetty - shifty waves that kept backing off, two - two! - surf schools in the water...well, at least it was warm). For those interested in philosophical, musical, political, or literary musings, I have none. Oh - Harry Potter 7 was actually pretty damn good. And you know those guys that walk around the mall wearing their Bluetooth earpieces? Even though both hands are free? And they don't appear to actually be engged in conversation with anyone? Jackasses.

Things To Do While Not Surfing

Seems that everyone is experiencing Day Old Coke conditions - warm and flat. Even the PCM, in all her 9' 6" glory, has been useless. Some recommendations for you to pass the time:

Soon I Will Be Invincible, by Austin Grossman. The Traveler, by John Twelve Hawks (if you like it, the second book in the series, The Dark River, just hit the stores. Ratatouille. Transformers. Anything by Sector 9. Or by Joe Bark. And of course, pray to whatever God you believe in for surf.

Goin' South

Without revealing too much, I will say that I've been hitting a new break...eh, who am I kidding. I'm referring to the stretch of coastline between Cardiff and Swami's, 50 million served since '64. I'd been eyeing the San Elijo stretch for weeks, during the lengthy waiting period for the new board. From the road and the pedestrian path, it looks fantastic - in the late afternoons, at least. Not too many people, some lengthy rides on clean-looking waves, ample parking.

Well. I've paddled out a few times on the PCM, and the dawn patrols have been less than stellar. First, the crowds - yesterday, for example, there were some 40 guys floating on top of one another, struggling for one peak. I paddled out a ways north, where there were no people, and, oh yeah, no waves. This morning's drive-by showed more of the same - dense pockets of humanity fighting over the occasional set.

I've said it before, but it bears repeating - I hate crowds. I'd rather surf shitty waves with no one around than great waves with several dozen fellows. Down the road a ways, at another semi-secret spot, there was my idea of bliss - one lone longboarder, catching the occasional waist-high roller, no one there to witness but himself and me. I didn't even consider impeding on him.