Toobs.com

	Wisdumb
	Glenn@Sea.com (12-22-01) Back when I lived in San Luis Obispo, we didn't have any of those new-fangled internet gadgets with their swell model forcastin', wave-cam spyin', all I need is salt-water squirtin' out of my monitor wave condition reportin' do-hickies that are all the rage right now. NO. We did it the old fashioned way. We went to the beach and went surfing. This particular winter day seemed like a winner. Glenn Policare came by my crowded student housing project and leaned on the horn, extra long. I appeared from the beer and puke-encrusted catacombs and dumped my junk into his VW van and headed out to Morro Bay, where your Toobs boards are made, dumb ass. We get out to the Rock and it is PUMPING. This is one of those days where getting in and out of the harbor by boat is an issue. Historically, Morro Bay harbor entrance is one of the most deadly in the world claiming 22 lives. George C. Scott tried to duck dive a 15-foot high wall of whitewash, in his huge cabin cruiser years ago and got his ass handed to him on a deep fried seafood platter. A picture of the debacle is on my bedroom wall illustrating the classic battle between Man and Common Sense. This particular day was a widow-maker demanding human sacrifices. The wind was onshore, the waves were breaking beyond the breakwater and rumbling in. Inside the harbor, waves were breaking in all sorts of new places. The ones that caught our eye were peeling one after another down the sand bar in the lee of the breakwater with perfect shape about 2-6' on the face. The novelty factor was through the roof, considering where these waves were. The tide was dropping fast to a negative low so we suited up fast and bolted, like this minor fact meant anything to us at the time. Paddling 'out' was an issue. The waves were non-stop, grinding down the bar for about 50 yards. I started out in knee deep water and had to go about 20 feet out. I ended up getting drilled, with such rapid-fire, I just swam, dragging my board. After a few minutes, I picked one off and got drilled again with cold, dirty harbor water. Woo Hoo. I cleared my sinuses and paddled back out to try again. The conditions were pretty stormy so I didn't have the luxury of being able to relax with the constant set of waves. After about 15 minutes of struggling, the waves seemed to be smaller and breaking differently. I looked up and around me for the 'big picture' and realized I had drifted about 150 feet from where I started and was pretty close to the harbor mouth, thanks to the major current as the whole estuary emptied out with the dropping tide. Out there it was pushing triple overhead of massive storm surf in open ocean conditions. I paddled my ass off, trying to get every single wave that came near me. I finally got in, beat, but satisfied with doing something stupid and unnecessary, and not suffering any consequences. Walking back on the sand, I remembered that I came to the beach with someone else. Now, he was nowhere to be seen. Odd. Odd indeed. After scanning the harbor entrance and all the folks surfing in their funny places, I decided Glenn was hiding from me. He also was doing a fine job. I gave up looking and kept walking, assuming he would turn up. About a half hour later or so, I see him walking waaaay down the beach, on the other side of the harbor channel. Apparently, he too got swept out with the current but didn't look up in time to escape. He was at a point where he could see the massive swell crash against the front of the breakwater. He also made a new friend out there with some surfer guy. It was a terrifying experience since it was totally out of control storm surf. He came to the realization that if he lost his board he would fight his new friend for his. Finally, he was able to paddle south and get out of the current and ride a giant mush ball to the beach, victorious. We considered the potential crisis for a microsecond and then laughed about it the rest of the afternoon. Live and learn nothing, we always say. more stories >>