all text and images 1975 - 2007 / Taylor Shellen

Wednesday, September 13, 2000

White Trash and Surfing
I took a couple of days off recently to go surf with some old lifeguard friends of mine. We drove south on 101 until we arrived at Morro Rock, Phil wanted to park the busses on some random street and ignore the "NO CAMPING WITHIN CITY LIMITS" signs, but the rest of us convinced him that the seventeen dollars a night at Morro Bay State Park (split 6 ways) would be less of a hassle (did he think we were going to start a campfire on the sidewalk)? After a hairy trip to Albertsons, (Mike tried to Hail Mary pass a bottle of mustard to me, but wound up breaking the aisle 6 sign and knocking shampoo bottles across the store), we set up camp next to Captain Camaro, his 19 year old wife/girlfriend/sister and their 8 boys all named Damien and under the age of 7. This was the most annoying group of people that have ever walked on God's green earth, however, they did provide us with much comic delight throughout the trip. We woke up each morning to the sounds of the 8 little demons running around in the dirt trying to catch birds (for supper I presume), and picking fights with the children in the neighboring campsites. We got the hell out of there as fast as we could to catch the tide at it's best and scored a full day of glassy, peeling surf. There was a large pod of dolpfins that swam two feet in front of our noses, lots of seals, and more pelicans than I've ever seen before. Pelicans are nuts, those things were diving all around us, I thought I was in Nam. The next morning we were enjoying a cup of coffee before breaking up camp when the distinctive odor of burning rope wafted into our campsite, that's right, Ma and Pa white trash were lovingly sharing a breakfast spliff while the children were playing with sharpened sticks in the still warm coals from the night before. Nothing like a little "wake 'n' bake" to take the edge off of a high stress camping trip with the octuplets. We left this time with the unbeatable feeling that we may never again encounter this family. The surf was even better than the day before, we surfed for a couple of hours (in spite of the screams of my muscles to cease the endless torture) had some lunch and headed home just in time to get stuck in some heinous Friday evening Labor Day weekend traffic.