Matt's surf report

Above Jalama California below Richard Catherine Justin and Taylor











Point Arena, Northern California.

Surfing in this area is spiced up a little by it's location in the heart of the “red triangle” (zone frequented heavily by Great Whites). We were fortunate to be here before our boards arrived at San Francisco docks, they having been shipped out from the UK by Sea Mail. This meant I was not even tempted by the 4-6ft glassy conditions off the point at this lovely beach; and therefore spared the stress of sitting out in the lineup alone with only seals, otters and the men-in-grey-suits for company.


On the subject of shipping boards, we thought this would be a good solution to the problem of lugging piles of heavy and cumbersome kit around airports etc. We had a quote from a UK company for $180.00 sterling to take a 3m x 600mm x 600mm box from home to San Francisco. This would be enough for the five surfboards we had then plus all the wetsuits, hats, boots, gloves; and, weight not being an issue, as many school books as we could fit in.

It all seemed like an excellent idea, particularly when the lorry arrived at the farm and we simply lifted the box on with the tractor-loader, knowing that the next time we saw it we'd be unpacking it in California! The cost was an issue- but many airlines charge $20 or more to carry a single board these days. We also were now able to take a coach all the way from South Molton to Heathrow with rucksacks, saving the cost of driving, parking, renting a bigger car at the US end and thinking about what to do with the car in England for the next year.

As it turned out nothing is ever as simple as our optimistic plans would have it. There were hefty fees for warehousing in the US ($150). In logistical terms the shipping time of three weeks was extended to five by innefficiencies at the US end. In order to collect the shipment in San Francisco we had to mail a hard copy of the bill of lading to Los Angeles, with payment. They would then send a release document back for us to present to the office in San Francisco. No credit cards were accepted in the LA office so we either had to go to a bank, and buy a money order to post with the bill of lading, or pay in advance at the office in San Francisco and then wait for the release document before going back to the office in San Francisco for the box itself! Phew.

This was all symptomatic of the incredible innefficiencies latent in the US commercial system. For such an advanced economy, in one of the most high tech regions in the world, it is ludicrous that it would eventually take nearly as long to pay for and process the paperwork for the shipping as it did for the shipment itself to go by lorry from Devon to Felixtowe, by ship across the Atlantic, through the Panama canal to LA and then by lorry again to San Francisco. Particulary irritating given that we had paid (so we thought) for the shipping in England, in advance; and all the more so that we were staying, during this two week delay, within 5 minutes of Pacific surf in Montara!



Bolinas, central California

Still without boards we were pissed- off not to have them here. Great sandy beaches with miles of surf, peeling and long-boardable, with outside reefs to get the shortboards going. The children combed the tidal flats at low tide and were entranced by the numerous starfish: there seemed to be many different colours of these- bright oranges, greens, purples and as we watched, we became aware of occasional spurts of sea water, switching on and off like little fountains, in the broad sweep of soft reef around them. Every now and again, hilariously, one would fire right up a shorts-leg, provoking squeals of shock.

Eventually we tracked the source of the onslaught down to an anenome like creature, buried in the sand. Why they were shooting water in the air has never been properly explained to me, but I like the idea that they were having a great laugh at our expense.

This rates as a really excellent family spot with restaurants in the village and all relatively off the beaten track (the locals have ripped down the signs to the village to keep people away and the authorities have given up putting them back, so if you haven't got a map its easy to miss this place). No hassle at all despite this obvious attempt by locals to keep it quiet. Very mellow, artsy little town.

Montara

Fast and powerful beach break, with a tendency to close out- however this break produces barrels consistently for a short but fun ride. It was the nearest (5 minutes) break to Richard & Katherine's place where we were staying for our first month. I surfed it early in the morning with glorious sunshine, zero wind and only a couple of hooting locals in the water. The sea was a bit rippy & heavy for the kids, buton the beach they found a whole load of starfish which were a huge success.


Princeton (Half Moon Bay)

This is a good spot for everyone. The inside break is quite mellow for the children/ learners and there's a long stretch of sand to play on, a popular place for families to come and while away the afternoons. This was the first place the kids surfed in California and they were surprised by the power of the waves.

The sheer size of the Pacific means that the wave length and period (time between the waves) is consistently greater than that on the Atlantic coasts of the UK. The result is that a small looking swell can contain much more energy than it's height suggests-spread out over a longer distance. It all looks gentle, until the swell hits the shelving beach- and the energy is compressed. The wave that develops has nowhere to go but up- and over. The children took a long time to adjust to this after the slow and mellow waves back home at Saunton Sands.

When it's on, this break can produce long rides down the harbour breakwater over a sand bottom, so it gets quite crowded, but everyone seemed very friendly. There is additional interest here in that Princeton harbour is the launch spot for the jetskis which tow surfers out to Mavericks, California's most famous big wave spot. Mavs is off the point which protects Princeton harbour from the winter NW swells and on the few days per year when conditions are right, traffic clogs the lane out to the point and thousands gather to watch hell-men charging the mountainous waves.


Davenport Landing

We stopped here on an evening when the sun had been lurking behind cloud all day and suddenly burst out beneath the clouds as it set into the Pacific, bathing the beach and cliffs in a bright orange-pink glow. The waves were backlit, so that when paddling out between rides one could see surfers riding in, silhouetted in the fiery sunset developing to the West. The water around the take-off zone boiled continuously with the surges and eddies of current over the kelp and reef below; seals and sea otters popped up randomly in the lineup, and all-in-all it was a very dramatic scene indeed.

This beach boasts two great breaks- a long right coming off the point to the north of the beach and a right/left A-frame reef point to the south. It makes for plenty of waves to spread the locals out, and this, together with it's reputation as a Great White hangout helps to keep the atmosphere in the lineup friendly- everyone needs company out there!

Incredibly Davenport Landing is a mere 15 miles to the north of that Mecca of Californian surfing, Santa Cruz, yet despite a decent swell and light winds, the atmosphere was unexpectedly low key and mellow. Perhaps we just got lucky.


Santa Cruz

We spent quite a bit of time in the Santa Cruz area. It was near here in Scotts Valley that we eventually bought our bus, but before deciding on the vehicle we scoured the area for alternatives, following up ads in the local press, visiting dealers.

It was an opportunity to see something of this colourful town, and we loved the relaxed, creative atmosphere; charming wooden houses, set in leafy streets running down to the Pacific; and the healthy variety of independent shops competing in the centre with the usual chainstores.

At times it seemed as though everyone here had some connection with the surf scene- not just the many small shops directly selling surf gear, and the mirror-glassed, revolving-doored offices of the heavyweight multinationals: O'neill, Billabong... Wherever we went, whatever we tried to do, it was impossible not to be drawn into conversation about the prospects for the next swell, analysis of the last swell, current conditions... and when these subjects were exhausted, well, there were always last years' epic swells to consider, and the year before's!

We found ourselves driving slowly along streets behind a phalanx of wetsuited cyclists, some riding one- handed with a board tucked under the free arm, others sporting custom made surf bikes with special arms welded to the frames to carry boards. And what boards! Beaten up old malibus, fetid with wax, competed for attention with gleaming works of art, solid balsa constructions inlaid with mother of pearl and ebony. Each had their place in the lineup, whether in the sea or at the traffic lights. Skateboarders were almost as numerous as the surfing cyclists, zipping in and out of the traffic.

Numerous legendary surf breaks grace the city's rocky, indented shoreline. Capitola, Pleasure point, The slow, pure longboard wave at Mullin's, many others; most famous of all, Steamer Lane. So called because the low bluffs overlooking the break were also the point from which steamers arriving from the North were first seen. The Lane, on it's day produces a fast, long wall on which highly charged locals carve smooth lines, duck under feather- fine crests, pull into heavy, barrelling tube rides. The cliff running along the point juts out at such an angle, that knowledgeable spectators are provided with a fine vantage point from which to criticise, whoop and shoot the breeze.

We were lucky enough to park unmolested by the police, overnight, in a quiet street within a hundred yards of the point; and although the swell was small, the Lane was ridable. Dawn revealed perfect, glassy waves running down the point. This was to be a pilgrimage fulfilled: just for a short time, to be a part of this place with all it's hype and mystique, to glide over the rock and kelp, in the wake of so many legendary figures. Localism? Crowds? Well maybe it exists, but not when we were there.

Morro Strand

A 300ft high sugar-loaf shaped rock, jutting unexpectedly from the sea provides a dramatic backdrop to the beach here. Humans have attempted to steal the show with an even larger power station on the beach. Viewed from the sea the two are neatly juxtaposed against one another: the beautiful and all powerful forces which thrust this edifice of rock out of the sea, the ugliness and incongruity of the smokestacks, high tension lines, concrete service buildings. One, gleaming and proud in the filtered sunlight, a home for thousands of sea birds, reef dwelling fish, the kelp forest; the other brooding and surly, devoid of movement and life, save for the smouldering chimneys, dirty and grey

Perversely, nature has taken advantage of man's attempts to ruin the local environment. Cooling water pumped from the sea through the heat exchangers in the generating plant, comes back to the beach several degrees warmer than when it left, making for a chaotic scene in the water, fish school around the blooms of plankton and algae, pelicans dive from above; marine mammals circle enthusiastically.

Surfing here was great entertainment as a result- porpoises flew in on the waves, somersaulting high into the air, scornful of the humans floundering on their synthetic boards, in their artificial skins- no contest there. Seals popped their inquisitive, whiskered noses out of the water within yards of the surf line.

The waves were fast and powerful - no shortage of swell in this exposed place. Motels and campsites along the beach front cater to holidaymakers.

Jalama Beach/ Cracks/ Tarantulas



We had long held this area in our sights, because the map showed a 20 mile, tortuous access route, with no way out but back again: a combination guaranteed to filter out the bulk of travellers on highway one. This was also the last public access road to the coast before Point Conception, where the cliffs turn ninety degrees, the coastline shifts it's aspect from West to South; and softens into the beaches around Santa Barbara. By now we were into October and early Northern hemisphere swells, too late for the bulk of the Souths. This area had to be a good bet for waves.

Having ignored the sign (thoughtfully, with fourteen miles still to go) indicating that the campsite was full, optimism on this occasion paid off: as we approached the gate, the state parks officer grinned broadly, “you guys just lucked out!” They had had a cancellation for the weekend in the last 5 minutes- the spot was ours, a pitch overlooking the beach.

It turned out to be our favourite coastal campsite in California. The swell was just beginning to pick up as we pitched camp, and the sun set over the sea. All night we were woken by the rumble of waves, occasionally interspersed with rumbling trains, which roll along the coast here.

Dawn revealed a panoramic view of the bay stretching to the north of the campsite. To the south surfers were stumbling out of tents and vehicles, pulling on wetsuits. Pelicans were beginning their ariel assault on the fry in the protected zone inside the kelp forest. The kelp itself, gleaming yellows,greens & browns in the early morning sun, rose and fell gently on the swell. Sea otters and seals lazing and rolling in the fronds, safe in the knowledge that this was their place, their home.

There are three main breaks within walking distance of the campsite: the beach, closest, making for a fast barrelling ride and a favourite with the air-show experts. When we were tired of playing in the sea ourselves, just watching some of these young chargers flying off the waves six, eight feet into the air was great entertainment.

Cracks is half a mile to the south, a reef below the cliffs forming rights and lefts with channels on each side. My favourite break here, however, was Tarantulas. This epic reef point a mile along the beach, south of the campsite was the least crowded (only four out for the few days we were there), held a bigger, better shaped wave, produced a short barrelling left; and the rights ran for a good hundred yards into the channel south of the reef. We had double overhead days and perfect glassy conditions from dawn till noon for much of our stay here. Needless to say exhaustion was the prime factor in motivating us to leave.

I began to get a feel for the way in which discipline is managed in the lineup on these prized California breaks. One morning at Tarantulas I had joined a couple of grizzled locals and we had been sharing waves happily for a half hour or so before the next surfer paddled out. A young lad from Santa Barbara, long blonde hair, he was a good surfer and obviously used to the cut and thrust atmosphere of more crowded breaks further south. A couple of sets after he joined us he took off inside one of the wise old men of the point, called sharply to enforce his clear priority on the wave, and set off down the line.

I knew at once that the peaceful atmosphere of the morning had been shattered: this may have been a correct priority call, but it wasn't his turn . There was no need for such an aggressive call: there were plenty of waves, few of us.

As he returned to the lineup the young pretender was given a straight forward, old fashioned dressing down: “Listen buddy, if you want to surf out here, you watch your manners”. The words were clear and sharp in the calm, still air of this lovely morning. No swearing, no kicking and screaming, nothing much more was said. It was enough. Eventually, chastened, the lad paddled off to Cracks, a few hundred yards north. I felt a little sorry for him, but I feel that the principle of insisting on respect and good manners over “rules” was the right one.

I was to come across this calm and straightforward approach to the sharing of waves again in Baja, where many of the older Californian surfers have chosen to spend their winters. Most of these knowledgeable waveriders have seen a lot of the ocean, they know exactly where the take-off spot is, they know that anyone can paddle themselves quietly into a position where they have “priority”. For these wise old souls however, the effort has already been made to travel to a remote and beautiful place; and then to get up at dawn to be out there with other like minded pilgrims. All that remains to complete the picture for them is for everyone present to be getting their fair share, revelling in each others' pleasure .

Ultimately the way in which this code of conduct is managed: through respect and good manners, makes for a happier and less tense scene than that based on “rules” which are too easily circumvented, or simply ignored. Those of us who have graduated through the crowded lineups of the eighties and nineties have a lot to learn from our forebears about what makes for the perfect session.

Santa Barbara

Rideable but not epic when we passed through. We surfed a couple of the beachbreaks during the few days we were based here.

Rincon

An epic four to six foot day of perfect glassy conditions: we saw the best and worst of Rincon in that it was as perfect yet crowded as one could imagine a wave could be, literally hundreds in the water spread over the three main peaks, even though plenty of waves were coming all the way through from the indicator to the cove: it all made for a lot of fun just watching the chaos- occasionally a true artist would thread through the mayhem- and the kids got a couple of rides in the inside cove.

Huntington Pier

Tas and I paddled out just to catch a wave here at this famous place. We even paddled under the pier in between sets. At night students were jumping off the pier into the sea and surfing in the glare of the street lights. I think, on balance, Santa Cruz edges it for me