LOOK 0621: Pleasure Point
Words by: CL
Surfers can be ruthlessly mean. After all, it is a sport and waves in California are surprisingly scarce especially up in the Bay Area. Up here you can either brave Ocean Beach, find ankle breakers at Bolinas, or chase the crowds in Santa Cruz. I've done all of the above with and without a board beneath my body and all I can say is that wherever you are, all the fun you have deeply depends on your mood. On this day, my mood conflicted with the overcrowded waters of Santa Cruz's Pleasure Point. We were on the road before the sun came up and were filled with early morning energy. As we drove, we sang in the car until our lungs gave out partially because of our excitement but also to keep ourselves awake- caffeine only works sometimes; other times you have to get creative. When we got there, we squeezed into our wetsuits and raced down to the water, boards in hand, leashes wrapped around our necks but the moment we hit the water I was met with disappointment.
I'm no surfer, really; I'm precisely the definition of mediocre at best, though I am an athlete-a runner at heart or with a ball at my feet- so I get the drive and determination to push both physically and mentally. But as a surfer, I'm still incredibly self-conscious so you can only imagine how immediately nervous I got when we were faced with over 200 surfers in the water ahead of us. But the waves looked decent and we were confident we could squeeze ourselves somewhere in the lineup. We paddled out, waves nearly head high and on that paddle out, boards were flying in all directions. Older men on their paddle boards were yelling at younger surfers to stay out of their way; white women were either squealing at each other or giving weird looks to newcomers; kayakers (which, why are they even allowed in the break) were dancing around on every wave, their paddles nearly smacking surfers below. Everybody was hungry for a wave and it was complete chaos. A mere fifteen minutes and maybe two successful waves later, I wanted out. I was not a hungry surfer that day, or maybe ever. We got dressed, climbed up onto the rocks above the point and continued to watch the chaos from afar in the same repeating rhythm: paddle, get yelled at, turn, paddle, get yelled at, turn... paddle, get yelled at. And that was Pleasure Point- on that day, at least. Perhaps the "pleasure" in Pleasure Point lies in the leisure of watching the chaos go down. It was a funky day down at the water but in all honesty, wherever I am, a day in the water is always a good day. |