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February 7, 2012
Currently in Baja
I’m Currently in Baja chasing waves and looking for fish tacos. If you’re reading this post it means I haven’t been able to find internet to upload photos. Don’t worry, I will be fine. I’m taking hundreds of photos and making my way all the way down to Cabo with a few friends. Check out my Instagram feed @fosterhunting for more updates.
I have scheduled a slew of posts on,
#Vanlife,
The Burning House,
Out of Reception.
6 Comments
February 2, 2012
Southern California
In San Luis Obispo, I opened up my iPad and changed the album from This is Happening by LCD Soundsytem to Pet Sounds by The Beach Boys. A drastic change, but it needed to happen. As a child, my dad played the album constantly. In the rainy northwest, the beaches and girls depicted by Brian Wilson and the rest of the Pendletones felt worlds away. My knowledge of waves was limited to whitecaps on the Columbia River and I’d seen a few girls in bikinis in Mexico once. My family drove old Volvos, not Thunderbirds and I had never seen a Deuce Coupes. Regardless of my experience with the places they described, their music captured me.
Renewable.
Woof.
Bad to the bone.
Fish Tacos.
Downtown.
California Street.
I heard this thing coming two blocks away.
Shooting the shit.
Billie Jean or Money for Nothing?
Sidewalk surfing.
China Town.
Pier.
Swap meet.
Travels with Charlie.
Sunset
As I grew, so did my appreciation of the Beach Boys. Brian Wilson’s dark side and the duality of their music made the stories they depicted even more compelling and real. Having spent a good amount of time in this area in the last six months, I’m still intrigued by the image of Southern California they described in their music. Although it’s very different today, a lot of what they captured is still alive and well.
Here are some more links,
Southern California (Facebook),
Twitter.
4 Comments
January 31, 2012
Big Sur Backroads
I had nowhere to be and time to kill. The Coleman cooler in the back was packed with enough food and ice to last me a few days. The Syncro’s fuel gauge was just north of 3/4. Quick-mental-math. 230 mile range. Freedom.
Reminding myself that I was in no rush, I pulled over to the side of 1 in Big Sur and inspected the surf a few miles off with a cheap pair of binoculars. Closing one eye, I adjusted the focus ring until the lone surfer came into clear view.
“No chance in hell,” I murmured, reaching for a handful of almonds from the bag resting in the drivers seat. Munching and peering through the binoculars-turned-monocular at the distant surfer, I sat for twenty minutes deliberating if I should join him. I never saw the surfer catch a wave.
Travel’s with Charlie and the Monkey Wrench Gang, both half read, lay in the passenger seat next to the almonds begging for attention. Avoiding them with my gaze, I grabbed another handful of almonds and set the binoculars down. With a turn of the ignition, the Syncro rumbled to a start and I released the emergency brake. Continuing on the single lane dirt road, traffic on the 1 some few hundred feet below whizzed by. Reminding myself that I was in no rush, I kept it in first gear and crawled up the winding road at 10 mph.
Redwoods.
Not a bad address.
Climbing above the tree line, I pulled over onto the shoulder and turned the van off. The analog face of my Casio read 11:35. Time to kill. Grabbing my iPhone, I put on Cortez the Killer and placed it my breast pocket with the speaker facing up. Setting the car alarm out of habit, I followed the trail out onto the meadow. I wouldn’t be gone for long I thought, but then again I didn’t have to be.
Here are some more links,
Big Sur Backroads (Facebook).
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January 26, 2012
Steamer Lane
Riding the whitewater on my stomach, I leaned left towards the rocky point of Steamer Lane. Rolling off my board ten feet from the rocks, I landed in waist deep water and felt my way towards the shore. Scrambling out of the water, I ripped the Velcro leash off my right ankle and wrapped it around the board haphazardly. Following the route of the handful of surfers in front of me, I climbed and jumped between the boulders until reaching the stairs. From there, it was a foot race along the sidewalk towards back towards the point.
Trailing the other surfers I stopped my light jog at the Syncro, and dropped my board in the grass. Fight against light. Rushing to pull off my wetsuit down to the waist, I popped open the sliding door and grabbed my Olympus XA from the center console. Its analog dial read 17, meaning that there were still 20 or so exposures left in the roll. Equipped to rip.
A set rolled through the lineup and with a distant crash the ground shook and the crowd of onlookers cheered their approval. Their hoots continued and, based on the continuous grinding of the wave, I assumed some lucky surfer was getting a great ride all the way back to the rocks that I had climbed out of. The kind of ride that end up as people’s Facebook profile pics. Slamming the door, I followed the ant-like trail of running surfers along the sidewalk towards the point.
Holding the camera strap in my mouth, I climbed over the fence and headed towards the group of surfers waiting their turn to jump back in. By now the sun was a half circle on the horizon, giving the surfers an added sense of purpose. This combined with some exceptional waves rolling in had them talking in two-word sentences and grunts.
One after another, the surfers jumped the 10 feet or so off of the point into the water and paddled back into position. Each wave advanced the cycle.
Standing in my dripping wetsuit, I snapped shots and wound the film with the thumb wheel. A good winter swell at Steamer Lane is one of those things you will never forget.
Here are some more links
Steamer Lane (Wikipedia),
Santa Cruz (Facebook album),
Twitter.