Around The World In 80 Waves

I pass San Dimas on the way South. Home of Bill S, Preston ESQ. and Ted Theodore Logan but am disappointed not to spot Waterloop anywhere in sight. Bogus!

I keep having issues filling up the car. To do so at the pump requires a Zip code associated with my card, which clearly I do not have. This results in me repeatedly having to go to the cashier and from the pump repeatedly like a yo-yo. Each time you get to the cashier they want to know how much I am putting in which is a question I cant answer because I want to fill up. Such is the extent of petrol pump crime here nobody is trusted. The only solution is to go in and leave my wallet and passport with the cashier, fill up and then go in and settle up, which is getting tiresome.

The Mojave desert between LA and Las Vegas is stunning, but also massive. It is like driving from London to Manchester and only seeing two towns which are smaller than somewhere like Brighton along the way. I know Area 51 is somewhere nearby but as yet have not seen any UFOs. I cross the Providence mountains, which are higher than Snowdon but the little green surf machine is running well and seems to take everything in its stride

Now this isn’t the first time I have crossed a desert with surfboards on the roof of my car and my thoughts are currently with Daou and his family in Mali, all of whom were unbelievably kind to me after I managed to miss my flight from Bamako airport despite arriving three hours early for the plane. (Only me!) They took a grumpy raving white bloke who was ranting about mosquitos and poisonous spiders in the middle of the night under their wing and gave me food, water and a roof over my head when they really had nothing to give. I truly hope that they and all those dear to them are not at risk from the military action currently blitzing their country. Even the Tuareg seperatists in the north of the country who started action against the Malian government nine months ago do not want the radical Islamists who are trying to manipulate their claim for the land which they have roamed for thousands of years to remain in the country. I hope the international community can resolve this one as soon as possible.

I have one more night in the hostel in Santa Barbara before hitting the road to Nevada, but seriously consider leaving early and sleeping in the car despite having paid in advance.
I am all for dancing to your own beat, but even by hostel standards there are few too many people who are not playing with a full deck of cards in this establishment.
It is a shame because apart from its electrical system the hostel is fantastic. All the ‘normal’ people keep being scared off by the questionable interactions of some the other patrons. It appears you do get what you pay for.
I seek the solace of a local bar after being weird’d out one too many times and only return when I think I won’t have to deal with giggling schizophrenics who throw all their possessions around the dorm room before asking me to add up a receipt for them, the random babbling of people who are incapable of making a pot noodle by themselves (I seriously had to explain how a kettle works today!) or the people who would be a close second to an ameoba in the people skills department.

I go looking for waves this morning but it is flat everywhere. There really is no point in even putting my wetsuit on. I am a tad tempted watching all the people skating round on longboard skateboards to have a go at that instead, but the chunk of my right elbow which will never again be part of my right arm reminds me that it would probably be a bad idea.

It is a pity, but there was bound to be a flat spell or two on this trip. I head back to the hostel and go for a run along the sea front in Santa Barbara in the sunshine. It could be worse.

After freshening up I check out the forecast for some of the major breaks south of here:

http://magicseaweed.com/Rincon-Point-Surf-Report/272/

http://magicseaweed.com/Malibu-First-Point-Surf-Report/279/

http://magicseaweed.com/Huntington-Pier-Surf-Report/286/

http://magicseaweed.com/Trestles-Surf-Report/291/

It is worse than I thought. No waves for a week! What am I going to do with myself?

Clearly the only sensible thing to do is load up the little green surf machine and drive the 500 or so miles to Las Vegas to see what mischief I can find there. Wooo-hooo! Anybody else want to come and play in Sin City for a week?

Now where did I put my rhinestone jumpsuit?

I am hungry for Wave 17 but the swell is dying all the time, and the situation is exaggerated by the Channel Islands that you can see on the horizon here, which are located about 20 miles off the coast. They block most of the lovely Pacific waves from getting to the mainland near Santa Barbara.

I go on safari to try and find somewhere else to surf, even backtracking along the coast where the beaches are a bit more exposed but there is nothing on offer in the afternoon.

Eventually I find Refugio State Park which is beautiful and I have the place practically to myself. As you can see the sea is as good as flat so I reach for my Uke and enjoy making as much noise as I like with it without disturbing anybody as the sun goes down over the headland. As Eric Morecombe once said, “All the right notes but not necessarily in the right order.”

The forecast for tomorrow isnt looking good either so it may give me the excuse I need to go and see a movie. I havent seen one since the flight back from Hawaii and as a film junkie I’m going cold turkey. I might treat myself to the Hobbit tomorrow, but for tonight it is Saturday so it must be Beer o’clock.

I get up early to beat the crowds and head to the beach listening to the local Santa Barbara rock station The Surf 106.3 which seems perfect for the day’s adventures. I opt for this break. As I paddle out there are just two girls in the water, called Sarah and Morgan who are studying at University College of Santa Barbara. We soon get chatting and it gets me thinking of my good friend Sarah Morgan back home. (Hi!) You will also note the results of my dry-hair-paddle out because the waves are weak, small and infrequent.

However the place reminds me of the point the guys are surfing in Big Wednesday, and I love surfing here. It even comes complete with it’s own grafitti’d shack on the beach. The beach is located is next to the University’s primary residential area where all the fraternity houses and such like are located. A cormorant type of diving bird pops up next to me giving me the usual fright and making sure that the chain remains unbroken. I swear they are all in on it.

Despite the naffness of the swell, there is not a breath of wind, so the waist high waves which are maybe a bit more on the sets are super super clean. I’ve got the GoPro with me and this is probably the shot of the day. I catch loads and was actually spoilt for choice on which picture to post for this break.

This one of me taken as I belly board in at the end of the session will give you some idea of how stoked I was. It was a really fun session and I say goodbye to the girls and get out of the water just as the crowds turn up.

I walk into the hostel I have found in Santa Barabara and am amused to find that half the pople I was hanging out in Santa Cruz with are here already. Once settled I go out for some beers with them but it isn’t a late night.

I wake up early the next morning and immediately bump into a lovely Swedish lady called Rebecca who has just flown in from Malmo and we get chatting straight away. Keen to impress with evidence of my travels I reach for my laptop and plug it into the power socket. The lights go out, there is a massive flash and I get a huge electric shock which in the process melts the prongs of my power adaptor. Now I look like Eddie Munster most mornings anyway but I swear I looked just like this bloke, having blown the fuses on the whole building. Thankfully I haven’t maimed myself and as you can tell by all the updates I have posted today my laptop seems to be ok too. However it was shocking, really shocking! 

When I point out that there is an issue with their electrics I can tell that the hostel are more concerned that I may be about to start litigation than they are about my well being. Such is life in the USA

It has been a few days since I got wet and I am tempted into the water at a small town called Cayucos, because of the chest high waves I see breaking off the pier. There are two people out at this classic point break so I get suited up and paddle out to join them, keen to bag my first pier surf of the trip.

Looks can be deceiving though and I have to use all of my North Wales small wave experience to wring two rides out of this break. The strong wind is cross off shore and it is making paddling to build up speed a nightmare. The waves are also breaking over only a few feet of sand, mostly closing out when they do tumble over.

Also as soon as I get into the sea the other two paddle in, which leaves me in the water on my own and somewhat preoccupied once more by the angry fish. I am just about getting comfortable when a grey seal pops up next to me and is the latest member of the animal kingdom to nearly put me in the Cardiac ward. I swear the word is being passed down the coast to have some fun at the expense of the big bloke with a red board. It is not a joke I am very amused by any more. I wish they would pack it in.

Anyway I didn’t blank and happily drive on towards Santa Barbara having bagged Wave 15. I stop to use some toilets at the side of the freeway and run into a young skunk as I leave the building. He legs it and I wonder if rather ironically I have scared him off by the smell I made. The adventures of Dr Doolittle continue.

I spend the night in a shady spot I find in the car park for the Elephant Seal sanctuary near San Simeon. It is truly pitch black and I can see loads of shooting stars in the night sky. My sleep is only accompanied by the crash of the surf on the beach and the calls of these two tonne monsters.

Sleeping in your car is not really allowed everywhere and there can be a fine of $1,000 but the California Highway Patrol drive past several times in the night shining their spotlight on me to let me know that they know I am there, but do not actually bother me. However I don’t hang about in the morning because even if I am looking more and more like Officer Poncherello from CHiPs with every passing day I don’t think it will be enough to get me out of trouble if caught red handed.

A little further south is Hearst Castle which is actually the nickname give to the epic house built by William Randolph Hearst, who actually called it his little ranch. (All things being relative this ranch was only250,000 acres, as opposed to the 1,000,000 acre one he owned in Mexico.) I spend the morning going around the Castle and grounds, which used to include its own zoo and wildlife park.  Even today there is a herd of Zebra mingling in with the cattle that are still managed on the land. (http://www.hearstcastle.org/)

Orson Welles based Citizen Kane’s Xanadu on Hearst Castle, and arguably Kane on Hearst himself because of the power he wielded. Owning a massive media empire he manipulated US politics with dubious and inaccurate stories in his papers in the pursuit of his own ends. (Remind you of anybody?) For instance he is widely believed to be responsible for getting the USA into a war with Spain. He ran for the offices of State Governor and the Mayor of New York and also successfully served as a Member of Congress more than once but never quite achieved the Presidency which he craved.

However getting away from his politics Hearst went on spending sprees across Europe buying little things like St. Donat’s Castle near Llantwit Major back home in Wales, but also the contents of great houses and buildings to have them dismantled piece by piece to then be shipped and reassembled at his holiday home here in California. It is opulence on a scale that premiership footballer’s wives can only dream of.

For a pyromaniac like myself I was particulaly impressed by this 500 year old fireplace which was bigger than the kitchen of my flat in London! The place is overflowing with items like this which he had transported to his palace at the top of the majestic countryside.

The Neptune and Roman pools you see here give you some idea of the luxury in which his regular guests such as Charlie Chaplin, Howard Hughes, Winston Churchill, Harold Lloyd, Harpo Marx and Louis B. Mayer enjoyed themselves. I think I could live in a place like this if pushed.

Thankfully the engine management light goes out as the engine and/or the day warm up and the car is running well so I drive on, passing the Laguna Seca racetrack where I decide it is probably not the best opportunity to see what the Little Green Surf Machine is capable of.

I stop at Monterey which used to be the state capital and is the location of John Steinbeck’s Cannery Row for all you literary types. However I am more interested in the aquarium there, where I couldn’t agree more with Jacques-Yves.

I get up close to a load more sharks like the Hammerhead you see above and can sit and watch the jellyfish moving about in their tank for ages, which is like a huge living lava lamp. I chat with some of the experts and am delighted to hear that there are roughly 250 adult Great Whites Sharks in the triangle between Baja, Seattle and Hawaii. I would have expected a huge amount more than that, but they are actually an endangered species and it is a shame they have been depleted so but it makes me feel a little bit more comfortable getting into their environment knowing how few of them there might be knocking about. It only takes one getting angry though…

I drive onwards past the Pebble Beach golf course which the guy at the tourist information centre described as the World’s Capital of Golf. He is obviously unaware of Augusta, St Andrew’s, Gleneagles, etc.

The next stop is Carmel-by-the-Sea where I check out the local break, but the sea is flat. The town is home to Clint Eastward and he was even it’s mayor at one point. In an effort to bump into the big man himself, I call in on the bar he owns called the Hog’s Breath only to find it is closed for two days. I am more than a bit disappointed not to have been able to enjoy a Dirty Harry burger there before moving on again.

 However the real star around here is the road and the scenery. There is a 90 mile stretch of road which is simply stunning. 

The car is running well despite the warning light coming back on periodically, and I am having loads of fun chucking it around the corners. 

The area is known as Big Sur and it is staggeringly pretty.

There is barely another soul about and the waves breaking at the bottom of the cliffs to my right are too messy for me to chance going out around here on my own. I push on until its gets dark and then crash out for the night.

Once I collect the car from the garage I decide to drive into the Sierra Nevada mountains to give it a proper test run. This shot was actually taken an hour and a half before the sun went down in amongst some of the Giant Redwood trees. The trees are so massive they block almost all the sunlight. It is all a bit Blair Witch Project and bloody cold so I drive back to Santa Cruz and make my final visit to 99 bottles, where I take my tally there to 17 different beers. (Must try harder!) Have a chat with a few people at the bar in which the subject of gun control comes up. One of the blokes who seems quite normal tells me he has an AR15 assault rifle on the grounds that you never know. He and the rest of the US are still living by the ‘peace by superior firepower’ train of thought and I think they will keep having gun problems until they grow up. Shame, because almost everybody I have met is thoroughly normal.

I find a nice spot to sleep in the little green surf machine for the first time. It is next to a beach, just around the headland from Pleasure Point and everything goes well until I set off the car alarm at 5am in the morning because the bloody thing has auto armed in the night, which it did because I had the audacity to take the keys out of the ignition overnight. It is dark and I can’t find the key for ages, the alarm works very well and all the lights come on in the houses nearby. So much for surreptitiously getting a crafty kip! I start the car and hit the road as soon as I can.

Pleasure point is just around the corner so I wait for the sun to come up and check out the break which you see here. The house in the middle is owned by Jack O’Neill the inventor of the wetsuit, purely so he could stay out on his surfboard longer and catch more waves. His son is also responsible for the surfboard leash because so many boards were getting washed into the cliffs and destroyed by the powerful waves here. As you can see the tide is high again which I have realised was where I went wrong at Steamer Lane, so I dont fancy getting into another bad situation.  

 The locals tell me it will be better as the tide drops and I hang around for a bit even checking out The Hook which is the next break along. The waves are very small and clean but already massively over crowded. The only ones who appear to be having a good time are the Sea Otters (a big nod to my channel swimming buddies at this point) who hang out together like this making ‘rafts’. VERY cute. It doesnt tempt me into the water though and I break the cardinal rule of surfing, i.e to never turn your nose up at surfable waves, and head south finally leaving Santa Cruz.

This logan is on Tshirts and car bumpers everywhere. I hope they do manage to keep the eclectic mix of surf dudes and shred Bettys, recumbent bicycles, skateboards, coastal joggers, freaky tattoos, and the great atmosphere that goes with all of it.

I head south and no sooner do I get sufficiently far from town for returning to be a real pain but the engine management light comes on. #*&$!!!!!!!!!