So there it was; as the dusk spread it's overcast and gloomy paws across the heavens, and the illegal fireworks began to pop, whiz and sizzle along the sandy beach, Independence Day, 2010 entered the final hours. Of course, this was the highlight of the holiday, ostensibly a celebration of our nation's birth. However, it seems to be more of a tribute to drinking, partying, and lighting dangerous combustibles afire.

One thing this Fourth of July was not, and that was much of a swell day in the City of Surf. But this was about to change, as a much anticipated south swell crept onto the scene under cover of drippy overcast darkening skies. The Fifth of July was to be the real day of celebration for surfers in Santa Cruz.

Monday, 5AM, near the north boundary of Santa Cruz County. A singular surfer's vehicle skidded to a halt on the gravel along side Highway 1. In the gloom, two other surfers were already pulling into their wetsuits next to their own surfmobile; their boards lay in the ice plant that lined the shoulder. The solo surfer hurried along the short trail through the ice plant and poison oak to the edge of the cliff overlooking a vast irregular hemispherical reef several hundred feet below. This is a prime place for south swell to break with peeling lefts; anticipation led the surfer here.

However, the lines of incoming swell crumbled and closed for the most part. Only a few faces actually organized themselves into long surfable waves. While he watched, the other two surfers trotted past and down the long trail that hugs the face of the cliff. They seemed unbothered by the ugly conditions in the ocean. Calculating another option, the single surfer strolled back to his car and ventured along the coast to another south swell spot.

At this next parking lot, another car was already parked; this time a surprising white sporty convertible. Not a typical surf car, it was instead a set of alternate wheels for a long time surf bud who was scoping the waves with the solo surfer. As the two conversed in low tones while scanning the horizon, the bud pulled a small pipe from his pocket and began to toke the morning hits of a strong illegal bud. Meanwhile, the waves were closing the reef at this break, so the solo one big adieu and drove to yet another place with waves.

At this break, several cars were parked, and more were arriving. Apparently, a small hardy crew was already plying the waves at the break that resides a half mile from the highway. Solo man pulled on his wetsuit and hiked across the agricultural fields to join the action. At this cliff's edge, the sight was right for a bite of the rights that broke just a few strokes from the tip of the jagged triangular reef. Sweet! Finally found the spot that got the conditions correct for a morning sess.

This time, the quest west was the correct call for nearly all the tall waves to peel in a perfectly patterned parade of rippable rights. Even though the overcast cast a pall on the proceedings, the sky seemed to lighten and glow just a bit for the surf action below. Solo man joined the crew in the water and shared a few rides. So the Fifth of July began, and so the fifth man in the lineup earned his stoke.

The pictures from the cliff show some but not all of the situation below. Gloomy conditions are not overly conducive to photography, but the images will have to suffice to illustrate this missive about the fifth day of the seventh month of the two thousand and tenth year of the Common Era. It was a great day to ride waves in the City of Surf.

CU Out There,

DogMan