Endless Session, Day 133: Follow the signs
Morgan in Palos Verdes. Photo by BumpSetSurf
Yesterday the universe was telling me that I needed to ride my magic blue board somewhere beautiful – specifically, at an illusive spot in Palos Verdes. All within a few hours of each other, Mike Siordia told me I should be surfing there more, BumpSetSurf photographer Paul Roustan texted me about getting shots there, my good friend Jose Bacallao wanted to meet there, and surf legend Mike Purpus messaged me telling me how good it was going to be today.
I don’t think I would have been too surprised if while driving down the street I saw a billboard saying “Morgan, go surf PV tomorrow.” The signs were staring right at me, and quite a few of them.
I picked up the talented shutterbug Paul Roustan and we moseyed along the windy drive up the Peninsula with coffee and chocolate milk (Roustan’s favorite), eventually parking on the cliff, the surf not visible yet and both of us not knowing what to expect. As we voyaged down a trail, feeling like we were being warped into a scene of Jurassic Park, we watched the perfect sets roll in with power, a left far off in the distance producing some heaving giants — a few souls out brave enough to put themselves at the mercy of the stirring ocean.
(click on arrow for full screen gallery)
I scurried over the rocks, trying not to ding my board, and with a sore shoulder decided to paddle out north of the main break, surrounding myself with a group of ripping shortboarders. I respectfully picked off the waves they decided weren’t for them, taking in the magnificent scenery as I cruised down the line on my Barahona longboard. After an hour of peaky rights and a proliferating burn in my arm, I paddled in, having a special moment of Zen when the sun finally peeked over the cliff and a large flock of pelicans flew close by, lit up by the beams.
The magic of Palos Verdes gave me the surf bug, and ignoring the tweak in my shoulder, Paul and I decided the morning wasn’t over and I hadn’t had enough. On our way back a quick check at Topaz St. in Redondo turned into yet another surf session, and I happily saw Tucker O’Shia, local ripper, passing by in his truck hooting and hollering. I teased Tucker until he begrudgingly agreed to join me in the small but consistent waves. Even his bright red Santa Clause-esque wetsuit can’t possibly help his insurmountable surfing stand out more than it already does; he makes maneuvers look effortless and surfs any type of board, long or short, with style and ease. We were all smiles in the turquoise and sparkly sea, catching wave after wave, not even having enough time to speak a full sentence before the next one of us was speeding down the face. After the surf, more surf, and a few breakfast burritos, Roustan and I parted ways and headed back to real life.
Mom, if you’re reading this, yes that is your wetsuit I’m wearing. I’m sorry I didn’t ask to borrow it but it sure kept me warm.