Night Surfing at Topanga

 

Surfers usually have the craziest stories. Some crazier than others, but stories nonetheless. So here’s an excuse for you to rehash ... I won’t bother asking people to avoid exaggeration. We’re surfers after all. It’ll be double overhead and firing no matter what. Just try to keep it somewhat in the realm of believability.

I’ve got a few stories myself but the one I always found funny was one of our midnight sessions. This was in high school, sophomore year and I had just gotten my license. My friend’s dad had treated us to dinner at the Rose cafe in Venice. He also snuck us a lot of alcohol. When we were done we decided to go surfing. We went night surfing all the time. Especially on full moons, the lights of the restaurants and traffic along PCH would allow you to see somewhat. In more secluded spots like Nichols Canyon, it got a little more hairy and we’d tie light sticks to our wetsuit strings just so we could at least see each other.

Anyway this particular night at Topanga was perfect. Full moon, lots of PCH lights. But at the last minute, my buddy decided to back out. I didn’t push since we happened to have a video camera so he took on camera duties instead (never mind that the lack of lighting didn’t really occurr to us). I suited up, grabbed my board, and headed out.

Topanga was one of my spots. In fact, I learned to surf there. On a 5-8 with a springsuit a size too large. Nobody ever told me it was one of the more localized spots but then I never bothered to ask. Over time, I guess the locals decided to just take pity on me so I never got hassled as long as I stayed out of the way. Needless to say, I knew Topanga like the back of my hand.

Paddling out, I was slowly getting accustomed to the darkness and getting some vision. But before I could completely adjust, I began to hear this, “woosh, woosh, woosh.” Weird. I looked over my shoulder to the source of the sound and my eyes slowly made out a silhouette against the lights from PCH of ... a surfer?! A longboarder, to be exact. And as he came barreling at me, all I could do was to quickly turtle my thruster and brace through the impact as he crashed into me. Coming back topside, all I could here was very very determined cursing. “What the fuck was that??” “Fuckin aye!” “What the fuck??”

I’m paddling out to the lineup closer to the boneyards of the point hoping whoever that was might stop short and not even see me. As I’m sitting out there, my eyes adjusting, I start to make out the silhouette ... oh wait, make that two silhouettes ... coming at my 11 and 2 o’clock. They stop just short of an arm’s length away enough for me to realize that I had stumbled into an ex-con surfer support meeting of some sort. I turn my shoulder to find Mr. Eff Word is paddling right to me still yelling out every possible permutation of the eff word. I’m so in for a beating.

So I figure, I might as well shout back. And for every explicative inmate number 9187180 threw out, I threw back two. Oddly, the other two inmates didn’t so much as lift a finger much less say a word, but their lock on me was just as effective. I’m yelling, 9187180 is yelling ... I’m slowly paddling myself away with my feet under the water ... and out of the corner of my I, I see a wave come in. I’m praying to it pitches, I’m praying it pitches, please don’t stay flat ... and it pitches.

I swung that thruster around and took that wave with some serious sense of determination. I remember taking it all the way in, jumping back down to the prone position when it was just whitewash, fins getting crunched by the rocks. I got to my feet, and ran like hell past my friend while yelling out, “Get the fuck back to the car!! Go go go!!!!” We got to the car, threw the board in the back, and I drove off on PCH shortly after midnight in my 3:2. And except for a sore throat and destroyed fins, otherwise unscathed.

The best part which I would pay to still have in my possession was the video. It starts off with a shot of Topanga shoreline and you couldn’t see much more than 10 feet out. “There goes crazy Rob off to surf Topanga.” You see me throw a hang lose running to the water and disappearing in the darkness. “There goes Rob. Yup, can’t see Rob anymore.” A few seconds later ... muffled yelling turning into excruciating cursing. “And Rob has company ... Rob might be getting his ass kicked. Hehehe” More yelling and in a few minutes, yelling between two people. “Well at least Rob is still alive. But he is definitely getting his ass kicked. Hehehe” The yelling continues and all of a sudden it’s just one person yelling again. A few minutes later, you see me emerge out of the darkness looking like I had just seen a ghost running like a lunatic past the camera. “And here comes Rob! Hahaha!” “Get the fuck back to the car!! Go go go!!!” And hysterical laughter from my friend as he’s filming feet running back to the car.