David Donovan’s number was called next. Donovan was around six feet tall and slim. He carried himself with a quiet confidence, and was a respectable regular in the N Street lineup. He wasn’t antisocial per se, but at the same time it was not uncommon to see him sitting off on a little side peak by himself while the crew jabbered and jostled around on the main lineup. I had rarely seen him on land. But Donovan was rumored to be a rather capable carpenter. He was married to an attractive, similarly low-key hippie type with shoulder-length blond hair and freckles.
“A long time ago–before I was married and everything,” he began, “I used to drive around a lot. It was like…I was on sort of a mission to surf as many spots as I could. Kind of like how, you know, a dog whizzes everywhere,” and he gave a soft little laugh. “I didn’t even have a dog back then.”
“I guess I was kind of a nerd about it. I drew little maps with all the spots. I had them in kind of a journal with notes for most spots, but in retrospect it seems like the point was not so much to figure out the optimal conditions for each one. But more just to, again, kind of spread myself across as much territory as possible. Like I wouldn’t look at the swell and the wind and the tide and then consult my little book and go, ‘Hey, I think this spot is gonna go off today.’ But if it wasn’t good here, I would just start driving. I’d start heading either north or south, and then look for anywhere that seemed like it was breaking at all, and if it was a place I’d never been before, or I’d only been there once or twice, I’d prioritize it.
“Like for instance you guys know the nude beach, right? And there’s a fair number of people who surf there regularly, either the right in fall and winter, or the left in summer. But just down from it is kind of a cove surrounded by cliffs that sometimes looks like it has a wave breaking inside it. Sometimes there’s a beach there, but in winter it usually fills in with water all the way up to the cliffs. I always called it “Cupcakes” but I never saw anyone surfing it. There’s no easy way to get there, you have to paddle down from the nude beach or up from the next beach down which is even farther and I just don’t think anyone ever thinks it would be worth the trouble.
“Anyway one time I was driving south, and right as I was passing by, out of the corner of my eye I thought I saw a wave breaking into the middle of the cove from the road. The swell was like 8 to 10 feet, it was pretty chunky with light onshores. I think this was in March or April maybe. So I turned around and parked back at the nude beach, thinking that I’d finally try to surf this place Cupcakes. And honestly the paddle out kind of sucked. It was low tide, and even though there’s usually a channel in the middle, the nude beach was kind of closing out across the whole bay. So I had to paddle way outside, then south enough to where I could finally come back in to where I thought the spot was. And once I get there, I realize that the waves I saw from the road were basically breaking right into the cliffs. And that makes it super backwashy; all the water coming in has nowhere to go but straight back out. Of course at this point I have no choice, because I’ve gone to all the trouble to suit up and paddle out, and now I’m here, so…I gotta get at least one, right?” and here he kind of chuckled again, looking into the fire, and took a sip of beer.
“So I’m waiting and waiting and these medium sets are just kind of rolling under me and just barely breaking. But finally I see a bigger set coming in that looks like it’s gonna stand up. The right seems like it’s pretty open, but I don’t want to drift even farther down than I already am, and the current’s pulling south a little too. So I decided to go left. And at first it looks like it’s lining up really well, but then I get to my feet and first thing I see is two pretty big stair steps going down the face. I was on a 7’6,” so I managed that part ok, but I’m a little off balance. And that made me kind of wobbly and pretty late trying to dig into my bottom turn. Then it started sectioning off too, so I had to wait even longer before I could try to climb back up onto the face. Also I’m goofy foot, so my back is to the cliffs. But somehow I get this feeling, so I look over my shoulder and I’m basically like 10 feet from getting smashed against the cliff. I had to pull out right then and duck dive through the breaking lip as hard as I could. And I did make it through, but all the momentum of the swell just kept pushing me back the whole time I’m paddling. Then I felt a kind of tugging, like someone was pulling on my leash, so I kind of instinctively kicked my foot up in the air, and I realize my leash is wrapped around a rock in the cliff face! And of course there’s a second wave in the set. So I have to duck dive that too, but I’m basically pinned in place and can’t go anywhere. It was like being in a dream where you try to run and you’re not moving at all.” Then Donovan stopped and laughed again, much more loudly this time. He asked if there was any more beer and someone passed him one.
“Okay, so…that’s it?”
“That’s your story? One time I went surfing, and my leash got caught on a rock?”
“Yeah, I guess so,” said Donovan. “It was worth it though. I mean I doubt any of you guys have ever surfed there. I bet it probably gets pretty good under the right conditions.”
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