“Discovering” Malibu
A couple of weeks back, Ron Sannes and I found a new surf spot in LA county. To be honest, we were shocked that we could even find such a perfect right point break in the most populated county in the country. These days the traffic seems to have been dampened down a bit, but still, surfers are notoriously the most feral group of society. They seek the swell wherever it may arrive.
We arrived late morning, low tide. Our little Boston Whaler was dwarfed by the big pier nearby. In days past must have been an attractive tourist location for those wishing to check off LA’s must see sights. The wave was walling up, but we could tell there was a fun sandbar if the tide was better suited for that swell direction. The wind was a bit sideshore, creating tension in the water with the choppy conditions. There appeared to be three points, with the lower or first point being hypothetically better for a longboard. Since we were both on fish boards we had a hard time getting up on a plane to race with it. Perhaps a hull works well at this spot?
Onshore, peaking above a brick wall perfect for laying boards along, was a prominent and outrageously annoying square-topped pole advertisement of a fast food chain. This was situated along what appeared to be a major highway, in days past. Now just a few solitary bohemians seemed to be rolling past on their way for provisions in the more populated parts of town. A couple of police officers strolled along the beach, itching for the pen in their pockets they use to write citations.
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Even though I had heard the stories about the marines at Trestles, who chased surfers down and seized their washed up boards until Mrs. Nixon convinced her husband to open the beach in 1971, I was still shocked to discover that there was such stringent law enforcement along this shoreline as well. Thankfully, we had leashes. “Surfrider” is what Ron and I called it, in reference to how few of these we saw.
Photo: Encyclopedia of Surfing
We got so spooked, in fact, that we decided to pack up and leave after only about an hour, hoping to find another spot up the coastline. And indeed we did. To our surprise, there were a few surfers at this spot, most of whom lived right on top of the cliff. They called it “Big Dume”. It was a gnarly wave, straight along shoreside rocks and only a few feet deep at most. But damn was the sandbar hollow and the tubes exquisite. Even at this spot, which was harder to access along the beach than Surfrider, surfers reported being hassled by police who were around the corner at a place they called “Zuma”. The local kids were dialed in, and Ron and I sat back, discussing whether our little Whaler was drifting and calling each other into the inside waves. Just after Ron had paddled back to the Whaler, concerned that it was in fact drifting, I got a ding. He got to it by Little Dume thankfully, it probably had drifted a half mile by then at least.
Anyhow, this was my experience discovering some spots along the western edge of LA county. Maybe one day it’ll blow up.
