Big Sur, a Home Away From Home, and Farther South
I actually don't remember where we slept that night in Santa Cruz, probably tucked away in some industrial area or side road. We usually tried to find more open and natural spaces, but that got trickier the farther south you went. I hadn't done any research before coming down and I only had a couple spots in mind that I really wanted to see (Big Sur was up there) so I was really just going where the wind blew and taking it all in with fresh eyes. B was really keen to surf Steamer Lane, so we drove straight there in the morning. It was small and mushy, but uncrowded, which is always exciting for those big name spots. We surfed for a good while and afterwards it made sense to keep heading south so we beelined it for Big Sur.
Big Sur blew us away, there was a lot of pulling over to take photos, look at whales, waves, and the kelp beds that sat hundreds of feet below. Big Sur makes you feel tiny, there's no other way to describe it. It's vast and breathtaking, it feels endless and free. I can only summarize the feelings of being there as lucid, intense, and grand.
Film photos courtesy of B.
He kindly let me share some of his film photos from Big Sur, look for the whale in photo on the bottom row, second from the left.
We stopped and surfed Sand Dollar beach, right on the brink of sunset. We snapped some more photos, suited up, and ran down. I don't know if it felt more special because I'd heard of this spot from friends, but the feelings of being there exceeded my expectations. The water was much colder, clearer and crisp than in Santa Cruz, it was a perfect crystalline blue. The sunset lit up the sky in a grand array of colour, against the ocean everything looked bright and vivid. While paddling for waves, as they picked me up they would block out the sun behind me and everything down in front of me would go dark. The water was so clear that the shadowy kelp beds under the surface were extra prominent. It made me uneasy, I could only think about what I couldn't see under the water as it became shadowed by the sets, and I got shark spooked. There wasn't anything to be worried about really, I think that because it was all just so big it made you feel vulnerable, and being a Canadian surfer sharks aren't something we have to worry about back home. Speaking to someone later down the line, they said that in fact the lost coast was far sharkier than Big Sur. This was to be a bit of a theme for my memorable surfs I'd later find out.
We camped a night in Big Sur and parted ways in the morning. B was going to try to find H on the road and head to the conference farther South, I was headed to check out a potential opportunity in Santa Cruz. It was sometime early in October now, I think maybe a week and a half had passed since leaving Canada. I actually don't know how many days it took to get to this point, I was happy to lose track of time. I watched as B cruised south, his little black truck shrinking in the distance, I pulled onto the highway the opposite direction with no idea around what Santa Cruz held for me. As I headed north it felt exciting to be on my own, albeit intimidating. On my way out, I realized that my rear blinker light was dead. Fixing that was my number one priority once I got back to the city, number two was getting a shower (I don't think I'd had a rinse since the lost coast). I knew nothing about the city and while trying to accomplish these two tasks I ended up in a rougher part of town - it immediately put me on edge about being alone. Nothing bad happened, but before leaving home well-intentioned people worried for my safety worked their way into my headspace with fears about my travelling alone. It's very interesting how your view and experience shifts when you approach and receive the world out of a place of fear. It casts a nasty fog over the present and I don't think this fear-based mindset is conducive to anything productive or positive. In my experiences, I've found the removal of fear allows for positivity to flow and become welcomed into your space. Easier said than done sometimes.
After sorting out my taillight (still unshowered), I drove straight back to the water, hoping a surf would ease my nerves. My energy a bit scattered, I found H by the surf eating a burrito, he'd been about a day behind B and I the whole time. He's ever-mellow, and I don't think he struggles to stay present as I often do. A friendly face and a mellow surf sorted me out and the fear washed away once again, H went on his way to find B. I'd later learn that they'd run into one another somewhere on the highway in Big Sur, H doing some roadside mechanics - pinching a brake line off.
A couple of weeks before leaving home, a surfboard shaper and small business owner that I knew of and admired put out a call looking for help on social media and I reached out. Her name was Ashley and I'd essentially told her a bit about my background and that I was moving into my van and heading to California, she was intrigued and agreed to meet once I was down here. I spent four or so days in Santa Cruz before meeting her and had started surfing a fun reef just outside of the city each morning, it would later become one of my favourite waves. I spent the evenings soaking in the sunsets while longboarding the breaks off Pleasure point. It was a great routine surfing-wise, I was spending 4 hours or more in the water each day, but in between sessions I found myself feeling lost and "placeless". It felt like I had nowhere to be, and I started feeling very eager to continue my journey south. It's challenging to live in a van in a city setting when you have nowhere to park. My van setup was also very humble, it felt dwarfed by all of the Sprinters that resembled luxury apartments on wheels, featuring full kitchens and showers. The small 'van-life' culture that existed in Santa Cruz didn't really align with me and felt a bit unwelcomed by the locals. In general I have a hard time identifying with the overarching 'van-life' culture blast around mainstream media. A lot of self-doubt and insecurity swirled around during this time. I was feeling anxious about what I was doing, or rather what I wasn't doing - I struggled to stay rooted in the present. Really, at this point what I think I was looking for was community and purpose. I was beginning to struggle being in the van here, and I kept asking myself what I would find after driving farther south. There was no real swell hitting the areas in between here and Encinitas, and I committed myself to at least seeing if there was something with Ashley, so I stayed put.
Ashley and I met in the surf one evening. I hopped in where we'd said to meet but couldn't find her. Amid confusion - I looked to the west, over to a wave called The Hook, and saw a figure backlit by the setting sun dancing on a wave. She was seamlessly switching between her switch stance and regular - a skill she's known for. I immediately knew it was her, and a bit awe-struck I paddled over. Shortly after meeting, she graciously invited me to park the van at hers and it didn't take long before I felt right at home. Her son, 8-years old, was full of boundless energy and curiosity - we became instant friends. The evenings were spent filling the street with laughter as we chased one another around playing flag football, in the mornings the smell of pumpkin pancakes and fresh cut fruit wafted around as she sang and danced her way through the beginning of the day, floating around the house and ushering her son out the door to school. I began helping Ashley with her businesses, and she began guiding me and teaching me - both in and out of the water. I felt that I had found a home away from home. Her kindness and generosity filled my wishes for community and connection.
I spent a bit over a week enjoying life in Santa Cruz, but I had an itch to scratch. I felt restless and a bit restricted - friends were down South and I felt I had more to see, the Californian coastline stretched much farther than Santa Cruz after all. Coincidentally, Ashley was also planning to head south for a bit, so we convoyed in our vans for the drive down. At this point I figured I'd be south for around 10 days and then head back up to Santa Cruz to stay with Ashley and explore life up there a bit more. Late afternoon we hopped off the highway so that she could show me one of her favourite spots to surf as a kid, it was a quick surf and the waves were minimal but she had a special ability to make even the most mundane-seeming things more fun and alive. Watching the way she moved about the world I began to see that not everything had to be so serious, or so rigid, she injected light into all that she did.
After parting ways with Ashley I met B and H just north of Santa Barbara where we stayed at one beach on a campground for three days, we were just out of service. The spot was beautiful; large lush green hills rolled into the ocean and the sky glowed soft and warm hues of purple and pink in the evenings. A sharp and bright crescent moon stood out against the scene each night. I was cheekily told by an frequent camper of the spot not to name it, but the place boasts of it's 'world famous burger'. Not a secret spot by any means, but a bit out of the way.
None of us wanted to pay the overnight fee to camp in the park, so we'd drive out at dusk each night and sleep on the side of the dirt road close by, drive back in just after sunrise and pay the day fee - you do all you can while travelling on a budget. It was heaps of fun, we jostled around with an easy-going energy, surfed an uncrowded and agreeable reef, hiked around, and played a lot of cards in the evenings. We just enjoyed for a few days, laughed more than I had in awhile.
On our last day we were trying to make some plans to head south. B had decided that he would head back to Canada instead, he had done all he'd wanted to on this trip, and it was time for a new chapter. It made way for a somber morning among the three of us with long, drawn-out goodbyes. I think it made me a bit uneasy. It's intimidating to be out on the road - having people in the same boat as you becomes incredibly comforting, it seems to give reassurance that you're on the "right" path. This was part of being on the road that I didn't anticipate feeling so much; the anxiety that can come with living so freely and unplanned, and how important comradery becomes. Especially with people on a similar mission as you.
Dev and I on the last morning, captured by Blake
I may just be speaking for myself, but I think each of us came down looking for something, or with a goal in mind. Before I left Canada I was feeling a bit lost, burnt out, and uninspired. I knew that I wanted to dedicate a good chunk of this winter to trying to get barreled, and I'd also had a bit of an epiphany of sorts shortly before leaving. In part it involved driving south and finding some red cowboy boots, these were to be the material half of what I was searching for. You can read the jargon that goes alongside that epiphany here, if you haven't already. I had no concept of what they would look like, how they would come to me, or what they would bring. I just knew that it would be part of this journey.
The group parted ways, B turning onto the highway heading North while H and I headed South. One final goodbye out our car windows, we wished one another good luck and again I watched the little black truck fade in the distance.
It was early afternoon by the time we all got on the road. I began following H's bright blue Aerostar down the lazy highway towards Santa Barbara. Reminiscing on the light-heartedness of the last couple days, we were probably 10 minutes down the road when suddenly he pulled off. I followed and hopped out of my van to find that the instrument cluster had shut off in his van. After turning the Aerostar off, an attempt to restart it proved futile. My breezy, dreamy mind space that existed only a few minutes before was quickly forgotten and I was dropped right into the present.
