Things change. People change and get older and their grandchildren look just like them. The earth changes too. Volcanic activity from forces beyond comprehension adjusts the sea floor, and the beaches and the mountains which are really upthrust from the center of the planet. This morning BG and Wracks reconnoiter on a hill above Salt Creek, a little bit off the beaten track on a fire road in the hills of San Clemente. BG has a scope, and he and Wracks are watching a surf break that was off limits to the public like the upper trestle is.
here, take a look at the Salt Creek Peak says BG
Alright, there is one person out there surfing the reef alone.
His name is TJ says BG, and I know him. How many grads is that on the scope, This is my favorite optic that I put on my rifle.
About two grads says the Wracks.
Thats about two hundred yards says BG, my turn.
It is summer in Southern California and the ground is brown, and dry, and when the wind whips in from the west, sometimes dust eddies spin around like demons. Salt Creek is an exclusive enclave, with a gate and fence with a wire, People live there because of the Beauty, and an ephemeral creek drains into the surf during the wet season. What makes Salt Creek so special is the wave, a surreal majestic figure to be looked at and admired. Maybe it is the ocean bottom contour, maybe the orientation of the beach to the ocean fetch, or pure luck, but Salt Creek for some reason breaks twice as big as the trestle on a similar swell. When Lower trestle is a four foot mushy peak, and Uppers is about the same with a long section and full of shark, and Cottons is not really breaking yet, Salt Creek can be ten feet. This is the situation that makes the peak out in the ocean that breaks both ways but better on the left. Today BG and Wracks are here and it is working.
I washed out of the Seals says BG.
Sorry to hear that BG says the Wracks
They dropped me from a pavelow in the middle of the Pacific Ocean at night and ordered that I maintain communications until morning. Something kept grabbing my feet in the survival suit and I started screaming. I thought it was a shark tasting me. I radioed that they come and pick me up and they found my transmitter within an hour. When they were hoisting me up on the rope, a scuba diver appeared from underneath the water and waved. When he was up in the copter too, I asked him what had happened. He said it was me underneath you, it wasn’t a shark, and that you chickened out. I was the backup he said, we always work with a backup. They told me back in Pendelton that I hadn’t made the cut and here I am. If someone in command does not like you, they think of a reason to get rid of you and I was gone.
Somebody had it in for you says the Wracks
It is probably something else but I cant do anything about it.
Do something else says the Wracks, you can swing it.
Lets go sneak in Salt says BG I cut a hole in the cyclone fence commando style
BG found a place to park closer to the beach, and he and the Wracks hiked in with their boards to the cyclone fence. A blond person appeared, one of BG’s friends and said that we couldn’t come in today, somebody had called the police about suspicious people loitering around at night and the security patrol was on the lookout.
BG and the Wracks walk back to the car and BG says he is depressed and wants to go home
I don’t want to surf four foot mush at lowers with the crew.
The drive back in the econocar is fast, and it seems the police let BG through and don’t mind that he I going at least seventy in a fifty-five mile zone. The five and miles of petroleum refining factories feeding the wealthy and desperate of L.A. slowly eclipse . Soon they are back in tranquil hills and behind the fence the orange silky terrier jumps two feet in the air to welcome them.
Hi Punkin says GB, we didn’t score today, and then he asks for a cola, Wracks gives him one and the green econocar with the prototype aluminum engine put out by his dads company fires up and he is gone.
Wracks never had a chance to surf salt creek, he had no one to drive him and no push to get him in the gate, kind of like 18th street in Newport. For some reason ordained by Yahweh, the reef at the salt creek fell into the sea and the exceptional surf break no longer exists. The area now populates with well endowed Japanese expatriates and the beach is no more than a closeout with very few takers except those that do not have to work. Everything changes, hopefully for the best, and the earth modifies, time passes and new generations arise to learn about things already said. History does not repeat itself, it only returns for another engagement. Enjoy the summer and give her a hug for me instead. I wonder what happened to TJ?