I couldn’t escape the grasp of Ventura.
I woke up North again, and walked outside to bask in the welcoming clouds that even a sun lover like I had been missing so much. A welcome change from the blistering heat the past few days, my chapped skin soaked up the cool breezes, smell of rain and stoke of surf in the air.
My last day as an honorary Venturan and day 211 of consecutive days surfing could only end with a dip at the iconic C Street, with its pretty pebbled beach and peeling right point break enough to make any surfer girl dizzy and starry eyed.
I made it down the slippery stairs and started the long paddle to the point with friend of a friend, and now a new friend Trent Stevens of Sea Wolf Collective, and we switched off on wave after wave, the uncrowded lineup allowing for some serious nonstop log riding to be done. After an hour of straight paddling and a sore shoulder, I sadly cruised down one last line, skipped clumsily over the sharp rocks, took my sweet time in the parking lot, and said goodbye.
I felt like the past few days I was on vacation. Cruising home was bittersweet — I drove slowly, Ventura still in my eyes and my heart.
