California Dreaming

So I'm in San Diego where I have been spending a bit of time with my brother, who lives here, before and after his wedding. I am so stoked to be able to hang out here, hiding from the British winter and sampling what I am quickly coming to appreciate is a very superior standard of living to anything you can get in London, especially as a surfer! I'm heading to Panama tonight, and hope to have a few tales to tell of surf in the Caribbean and Pacific, but in the meantime here are a few things I wanted to share about my trip so far...

Jet lag = dawn patrol

It's my first day in San Diego. I'm staying in Bird Rock, a very pleasant beach suburb of San Diego which is really part of La Jolla, the City's exclusive "village" community largely populated by Yuppies, Puppies and Yummy Mummies.

Jet lag means that I involuntarily wake at 5am. My bro is also awake early worrying about his wedding which takes place in a week's time. We decide to hit the beach - Tourmaline "Surfing Park" is only about 4 blocks from his house, but this is California, so we load boards and wetsuits into his SUV and drive through still, misty air. Tourmaline is by no means an epic spot, but I love the fact that it is my brother's local break (as a Londoner, my "local" break is a 5 hour drive away) and I am super excited about getting in early and soaking up the SoCal vibe.

What greets us when we get to the beach around 6.30 am is a scene so ridiculously Californian that I have to pinch myself to check I am not still on the plane and dreaming. The car park is packed with pick-up trucks, SUVs and classic beetles, Cadillacs and the rest. Men and women of all ages are pulling on wetsuits and dragging longboards out of their cars. A few are just hanging out and listening to music.

About 20 middle-aged guys are standing in a circle on a patch of grass behind the beach, heads bowed in prayer before they paddle out. I can't tell if it is a Christian thing or just some spiritual get together, but it is pretty cool and a nice indication that these people don't necessarily take their lives for granted.

From the top of the beach I take my first look since arriving the night before at the Pacific Ocean, which is grey and shrouded in a lingering marine fog. The water is as glassy as it could possibly be - there is no wind at all and the mirror-like smoothness of the surface is only broken by the occasional clump of kelp. Bumps of swell appear out of the mist at regular intervals in the 2-3 foot range - nothing epic, but nice glassy lines, pulsing almost out of nowhere, the last remnants of what I hear has been a solid groundswell.

And there it is, the crowd. There are about 100 surfers in the water, maybe more - almost all of them on longboards. Some of the older guys have whistles on strings around their necks, presumably to make any troublesome groms or kooks aware of their presence once they are up and riding, although I never see one being used "in anger".

I am planning to buy a board later that day, but for now I have charge of my future sister-in-law's 7'10" "lady board", a giant thruster, decorated with purple flowers. This doesn't bother me too much - this is not Black's or Trestles, this is a gentle family beach and I just want to get into the ocean and see if I can get a wave despite the crowd.

The vibe in the water is like California in a bottle. There are old dudes hollering and whooping every time they or anyone else gets a wave, and complaining to anyone who'll listen that they can't surf like they used to. There are young kids out with good friends, parents or siblings. Many people sit in the line-up chatting to friends and acquaintances. Some of them chat to me and make me feel welcome. (Mostly they ask if it's cold in England, even though they know the answer to that particular question.)

The crowd doesn't really bother me too much, even though every wave is paddled for by a dozen longboarders. Every wave is a party wave - no-one is out there trying to prove anything and the waves, although lovely and clean, are hardly worth getting territorial over. The fun is in sitting there and soaking up the vibe. This is surfing as a social activity as much as a sport or a past time.

Then, the rising sun starts to burn off the last of the sea-gloom, revealing the semi-urban north San Diego coast, fringed by tall palms, designer homes and the occasional hotel - the beach now dotted with joggers and "seniors" taking a morning stroll in their chinos and white caps. As the sun shines through and turns the water from metallic grey to deep turqoise, I even manage to snag a couple of nice waves to myself. The surf is at best mediocre and I'm on a crummy board which is a potential embarrassment in itself, but I couldn't be happier.