Friendly Fire

Friends that surf together, stay together. Something about being half-submerged with someone seems to strengthen the bonds of friendship. The point was driven home for me over the last couple of go outs. Over the weekend I was able to hook up with mi amigo, Markarito. Markarito is actually responsible for me even surfing in the first place. I still remember the bright sunny day at Venice when he pushed me into a wave and screamed for me to stand. I did the ol' Leaning Tower of Pisa for the briefest of moments, but I've been chasing that feeling ever since.

'Rito and another friend, Kays, took me to a somewhat more secluded spot in the North Bay. The set-up looked nice, with only two other guys out. The voluptuous swells of midweek had dropped down considerably and, adding insult to injury, the water temp had ducked down as well. Before I knew it, my two L.A. chums were chattering teeth like they were trying to send Morse code. They lasted about 45 minutes and I followed shortly after. I can only imagine how they would of handled a snowy weekend in Oregon.

The following day, Markarito and I hit another new spot...for me at least. Again we were in the North Bay, but at a much more well-known locale with a few more locals. The mood in the water was welcoming, but again the temps were a little south of sunny. After a handful of windy waves, 'Rito was out. And then so was I.

After two days in the water, I got a call for a third. This time it was my old buddy Shitbird. He migrated south to L.A. from Portland to nest with his lady, giving me the motivation to do the same six months later. On this day we hooked up with his good buddy Jordache. Both Shitbird and Jordache are die-hard loggers, and as soon as they saw the mushburgers being served up at one of L.A.'s most popular joints, they were in. I had little say and paddled out on my fish fillet. Paddling and pumping like my life depended upon it, I managed a couple of fun, longish rides.

As we got out of the water we noticed a crusty barnacle on a soft top log showing us how it was supposed to be done. He would sit way inside, almost on top of the rocky point, catch a wave and ride it all the way up onto the beach, slinging his board against the rocks for good measure.

We contemplated the advantages of a foam board as we turned for home. As I ran into rush hour traffic, I contemplated the advantages of living on the beach. A big house, with all my boards and all my buds. That's the ticket.