When I pulled into the dirt parking lot on the south end of the pier this morning, it seemed like the masses were approaching the Holy Lands. So many people were there, moving slowly, all eyes turned to the east, to the ocean. No one was running, hippety-hopping to get out there, like when we get a fun "little" swell. Everyone knew this was the real deal. Word was out about last night's surf. I could hear a guy on his cell phone saying,"It's big, and it's good, but it's not as big as last night."
There were only two guys out. But, on the beach, there were probably thirty of us, sizing it up, wondering where we should go. It was still big. It was hard to tell how big, with no one catching any of them. We knew we didn't want to go to Matanzas, because every beef-jerky-eating skillet-licker would be there. We would let Bob have it, and maybe, just maybe, he would luck out.
The crowds, there at the pier, made my decision. I was going into the park, ride in on the bike, to find some uncrowded spot. Andy and Mark agreed, so we were off to Bruce and Karen's, and we rode in on our bikes...
Once in the park, it looked alternately manageable, then spooky. "Wow! Look at that set!" we'd say as we rode. Then some one would take off on one, and we knew. There was still plenty of juice. It was definitely overhead, and the current looked like it was whipping down the beach. We parked our bikes way up near the dunes, since high tide would be in two hours. Just then, some guy came walking up the beach with a broken surfboard in his hand. Yep, plenty of juice out there...
We all walked out into the surf and, whoa! the current pulled at our legs like a river. The water temps had dropped, too. Eeek, I squealed. I was having doubts about my ability to get out there, at first, watching some of the ledgier ones unload on the first sandbar. But, I made it, not as quickly as Hermosa stud Andy, but Mark said later that he couldn't even get out on his first try. He said he watched so many guys try and fail, walking up the beach over and over, trying to get out. I haven't seen waves like that since the big Costa Rica swell.
My first wave was probably my best. I was way outside, and saw a set coming. The dark swells moving brought on a few butterflies. I saw the wall looming up, intimidating, but it had a nice shoulder, so I just stroked as hard as I could. The thing hit the sandbar and seemed to drain it, and I really felt like I was going to be launched. But, the sleek 6'8" just slid down the face, and that was when I realized the difference between big and little waves. I was prepared to do a bottom turn and cover some ground on the face, but this was not to be. I saw the steep wall jacking up over my head. All I had to do was stand there, the board chattering under my feet. It was the perfect combination, no need to race it or pump it like I did later on most of them, but just stand there, as it peeled perfectly all the way to the inside. I was almost out of my mind when I cut out on the inside. It was so perfect, just standing in the pocket, not crouching, but STANDING, fully erect, and seeing that massive wall of water, feeling all that energy under my feet.
That was the thing I really noticed today, the sound. There was so much energy out there that when the waves would close, there was this incredibly loud WHOMP sound, that is unusual for here. It felt like the waves were made of cement today, if that conveys anything. Andy and Mark got their share of bombs, but we never saw each other, hardly, while we were surfing, due to the drift. We all were frothing on the ride back, stoked out of our minds at the waves we had witnessed. I saw some of the roundest tubes I have ever seen here in decades.
By afternoon, I had gotten the scoop on Matanzas from Bob: Great waves, but you had to share them with approximately 60 people. Add to that a pro jet ski team of nine guys who proceeded to invade the break doing El Rollos, Blasts off the top, and actually getting barreled. Bob flipped one of them off, and the guy returned the gesture. Everyone in the water was angry at them for rippling the water, being forced to breathe their fumes, and being subjected to the sounds of their engines. Brian's report about Summerhaven: Cars double parked along the entire length of the road, kooks everywhere, with cops blocking off the road.
What a good call to go into the park.
Karen, Andy, and I went back into the park at four in the afternoon. Andy was jaded, as the waves had dropped to merely head high or so. Sigh. He didn't stay out long. But Karen and I stayed until almost dark. The waves seemed to get better and better as the tide filled in. My last one was the best of this session. A sizable one rolled in, and I could see it had a tapering wall that looked too perfect. It steepened up, and I pumped the board all the way to the inside, hooting about it all the way in. I was so happy I didn't care who heard me. Karen said she was laughing her ass off, watching it all. I went in on that one, it was just too perfect.
I waited on the beach for her, just looking at the sky, which had cleared, and feeling the warm sun on my skin. Meanwhile, Karen noticed a dolphin swimming around her, the one with the seaweed, or whatever, on its dorsal fin. It circled, and then when she caught her last wave, there it was, right in front of her, riding the wave with her! As we walked back to the bikes, a rainbow appeared in the sky. Okay, seriously, how much better can it get? Okay, I'll tell you. The bottom shot is of Andy. This is what you get when the buoys read eleven feet at seventeen seconds. SCORE!
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