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Desert Point Grinds Away

Just got back to LA, from Indonesia. Was traveling and surfing waves in Sumbawa, Lombok, and Bali, at times in areas so far off the beaten track that it was amazing to me the vastness and incomprehensibility of it all. Life!

A cruel and masochistic thing an LA surfer can do, really, to go and then come back from a surf trip in Indonesia. We could start with the jet lag, the corporate technology job grinding away at 9-7, er, hours per day, the line at Starbucks in the morning, the iphone addiction… The worst part, cruelest and saddest part, is the realization that not only do you basically suck at surfing as compared to local Indo chargers, but are then discomforted by the fact that LA is 1-2 foot, 58 degree water temps, no swell on the horizon, and it’s July! Meanwhile visions of warm, green, 10 foot waves dance behind your eyes.

Not that Indonesia, or anywhere, if perfection embodied, it does have crowds and hassles, and it’s own idiosyncrasies. That said, dawn patrols at two foot Venice Beach Breakwater, crowded afternoons at shoulder-high Malibu, these experiences hold not a candle those feral, scared-up, aquatic test pilots sitting in lonely meditation at Desert Point, waiting for the perfect double-overhead groundswell to grind down the reef an offer 20 second barrel rides. The reality of 12 foot Bull Rhino set waves bearing down on your shivering out-of-shape body, shallow reefbreak spots with names like “Scar Reef” or “Lacerations“, these types of experiences are such that the Los Angeles surf scene will never really prepare you for.

El Porto? Sunset? Topanga? Drainpipes? LA surfers are forced to endure a sort of surfing impotence in comparison. Kooks driving Porsches, kite-boarders, etc, all of these odd realities taking one’s soul further and further from that essence of surfing experience, the physical challenge and danger of big waves in the raw ocean.

Why am I writing this, what purpose does this rant hope to clarify, heal inside my bruised surfing ego? I don’t know that I can answer that, or that there is an answer. The answer will come in the form of a desperately long-awaited swell. I want the Pacific Ocean to come alive with a fury and punish me. I want to tackle and be tackled by well-overhead waves, I want to go back and get that covershot at Desert Point.

And until this next swell, that storm somewhere far out in the ocean perhaps not even formed yet reaches these Los Angeles shores, until then this rash will persist and eat away at my soul and I will be salted. And until then these images and photos from my trip below will have to suffice and quench this thirst in my soul:

Desert Point

Bossy!

Outside!

Scar Reef