Drive Up the California Coast: Part Three - Big Sur and Panhandling in Santa Cruz

I left the campgrounds at Santa Barbara in search of waves. Unfortunately my phone died on me the previous night… Ahh to hell with it, I’m all about written accounts of my trips, but sometimes pictures suffice. In summary: I took Highway 1 up the coast through Big Sur. Big Sur = awesome. Not finding waves = not so awesome. Oh, and I spent the night in my car on the streets of Santa Cruz. Truly homeless. And once again, strangely enjoyed a great night’s sleep. Perhaps I was born to panhandle. 

Will write a more detailed account of day four. 

Drive Up the California Coast: Part Two - Camping with The Band

Before leaving Ventura, I decided to check the waves again. The spot that Jason and I had surfed the previous day still looked good. This trip was supposed to be about exploration and surfing new spots. I pictured myself with a scraggly beard, camping out on a lone hill overlooking an empty lineup in Central California - living off the land and surviving on only my wits. Possibly with a Native American as a friend. But who was I to deny good waves breaking right in front of me? 

Three hours later, I was on the road again with a soggy wetsuit. A friend of mine told me about a camping spot north of Point Conception that’s beside a beachbreak. It was 15 miles down a windy road off Highway 1. Normally that kind of dedication would have me looking elsewhere. But without any agenda, I decided to make the trek. 

I sang along to The Band while taking every curve. I really identify with The Band lately. In the 1967, full-blown psychedelia and two-hour long jam sessions were the norm. In response, The Band retreated to a house and played scaled back rock n’ roll. This back to basics sound later inspired the Beatles and Eric Clapton. For me, after 80 days of galavanting around Europe at a hectic pace, I’m trying to live a simpler, more focused life. The parallel may be a bit of a stretch; however, I’m still going with it. 

I arrived at the spot around 4 p.m. Besides the campsite, there was little sign of civilization. 50 feet from my camp spot (minus the tent since I was sleeping in my car), fast, low-tide waves lapped onto shore. Grass covered sandstone cliffs towered over the beach.

Having surfed nearly six hours in the last 24 hours, I decided to wait to surf until morning when the tide would be more ideal. I still kept an eye on the conditions as I ate a hamburger. The wind was calm. The shape of the waves slowly improved as the tide rose. A few legitimately fun waves broke farther and farther outside. But by that point, half of the sun was hidden by the horizon. 

I retreated to my car and prepared to spend a night inside. Oddly enough, I enjoyed a great night of sleep in the narrow quarters. 10 hours later I awoke feeling refreshed and checked the surf.