With a quick, junky session under my belt at Surf Beach in Lompoc, my Turkey Mutilation Day started off perfectly! Blueberry-walnut-cinnamon pancakes with some tofu sausage was my morning fare, and that classic ER Harris breakfast provided me with enough energy to get right back on Highway One headed north. Destination: Big reef break at Montana de Oro!
I was shocked how long it had been since I drove through the end of Los Osos town limits onto the gorgeous stretch of two lane road that traces the edge of the ocean headed due west. It must have been 1995, ten full years ago. A good friend from college was born and raised in this sleepy little central coast gem and she showed me some of the incredibly beautiful hiking trails and opportunities for surf interaction that were available here.
When I reached my camping destination I hoofed it up a little switch back to a nice flat area to set up my tent. Within ten minutes my zone was established and I was walking back down the trail, hoping to catch sunset over the inter-tidal zone that I remembered as being so picturesque.
Turkey Carving Day. I was gazing out upon that amazing fluid of life, breathing in the fresh ocean air. The silent roar of crumbling waves mingled with the hiss of the tide as it scratched the beach clean. Could I ask for more? Well, would some overhead surf in clean conditions be too much to ask? Seek and ye shall receive. My prayers were answered the following morning. While millions of Americans languished in their beds uncomfortably bloated by the ludicrous over consumption from the prior evening, myself and about sixteen other hearty men and women were up at the dawn, paddling into the crisp morning dew.
It was definitely overhead, maybe six to eight feet, with some bigger sets. These legitimate ten-foot beasts were catching everyone off guard, including the veteran longboarder was positioned several yards outside the regular lineup. Despite getting demolished with the rest of us on the sneaker sets, he proceeded to catch about ten waves throughout the morning all the way to the sand, some two hundred and fifty yards away. Styling his way through section after section, walking forward, and stepping back, he was putting on a National Surf Day exhibition on wave knowledge and opportune riding.
The rights were very hollow, seemed to break way closer to the dangerous flat rock reef below the surface, so I opted to surf the bigger, but slightly less pitching on the drop lefts. Being a goofy foot, dropping in front side is much less challenging in bigger surf, so I was comfortable on my drops, and made quite a few good waves. My wetsuit situation was reaching a final stage of imperativeness. The holes in the back and the huge section of my left calf were allowing freezing water to enter my suit and chill my bones. I haven't needed to buy a new wetsuit in so long, that I forgot what it was like to surf all toasty warm and at a comfortable body temperature. My teeth were chattering within an hour of getting in the water, and the only time I could really feel warmth was after catching a long wave and paddling back out to the take-off zone. It was time to catch one last one during my morning session, and then head for shore to eat some vittles and bring circulation back to my extremities in front of my truck's heater.
ER Harris
