On any given day at Lagunas just north of Santa Cruz, the highway parking lot will be full and not a soul on the beach. Never leave the trail. You'd think the poison oak would be a deterrent.
To this day, I'm haunted of a visual from there. Belly riding some white wash in on my last wave of the morning at like 7:30am before work. Peter Griffin looking dude standing shin deep in the water with a sarong around his waist aiming his spinnaker due north in the light wind directly in my course through the shore break. Getting his own dawn patrol in. I flipped a 180 and paddled 50 yards up the beach to choose a different route in.
To this day, I'm haunted of a visual from there. Belly riding some white wash in on my last wave of the morning at like 7:30am before work. Peter Griffin looking dude standing shin deep in the water with a sarong around his waist aiming his spinnaker due north in the light wind directly in my course through the shore break. Getting his own dawn patrol in. I flipped a 180 and paddled 50 yards up the beach to choose a different route in.