A cold December morning in Los Angeles county.

This place used to be one of my favorites. I surfed there for the first time as a junior in high school. I was 16 years old and had been surfing just under two years when a friend took me there for the first time. Compared to the nearby closed-out beachbreaks I was completely in awe that a left point was lurking just around the corner the whole time. I didn't even walk down the proper trail that first time. I made the longer walk down the road and around the point so I could check it all out at a safe distance. I had heard stories of rock-throwing locals and I didn't want to be a target. I surfed the very inside section that first time, a short little right that peeled a few feet before collapsing onto big round stones.

The next time I went back with boyfriend. He had been a bodyboarder until we started dating, then quickly picked up a board and learned to surf. He was not afraid of any rock throwers. I paddled out to the main peak meekly, taking a wide path, observant, timid, and careful. My boyfriend paddled staright up the middle, turned around on the second or third wave, and got in the way of a tall dark-skinned local. The local yelled, my boyfriend yelled back, and quickly, my boyfriend was escorted back to the rocks and heckled up the cliff.

I didn't want anyone to know that we had come together, so I lingered, hopeful I would get a wave, maybe just a little insider. That same local was much friendlier to me.

The following winter happened to be both my senior year of high school and El Nino '98. That localized left had become my favorite surf spot and because of the consistently large NW swells that year, I got to surf it a lot. The boyfriend had become an ex-boyfriend by then and I spent so many afternoons shivering on those rocks, waiting for the tide, or the crowd to thin. The spot doesn't break all summer, or most of the fall or spring. It takes just the right angle and large sized swell to make it work, so when it was breaking it was crowded. I didn't mind the crowds back then. I was just happy to be an accepted part of them.

In the last few years however, i've become a bit of a snob. I still feel a little lust for those cold smooth stones, but i'm much more likely to stand at the top of the cliff with my hands shoved in my pockets, kicking dirt, and complaining about the small swell, the inconsistent sets, and all the frothing kids without any respect. There are more kooks now too, thanks to the live camera that now lets everyone know whenever it starts breaking. They drive from Huntington or El Porto to find a place where they can paddle out without having to duck dive. I can't blame them really. I remember what it was like to fall in love with the place.

That tall dark-skinned local is still there too. He doesn't yell as much after the lawsuit. Some cocky home-schooled kid dropped in on him and when the older local yelled, the kid did a turn, so he kicked his board out at the kid, just missing his head. The kid's dad was watching from above and filed an assault with a deadly weapon lawsuit. It was eventually settled out of court, but the lesson was learned. It's a different place now.

I paddled out on a small windy day in early October, just to get wet. It was inconsistent and packed with loud, flapping high schoolers. I paddled in grumpy and vowed not to surf it again for a long while. In November I spent three weeks surfing unbelievable beach break waves in warm water with hardly any crowd. Coming home to LA and looking at the cold foggy crowded surf, the feeling crept in of understanding what it would be like to quit surfing. Once you know how good it can be, surfing in LA just doesn't sound fun anymore.

And just as that thought set in, I drove to that spot, ran past the tall dark-skinned local complaining at the top of the cliff, hopped and slid down that familiar trail, pulled off my boots to let my bare toes feel those cold stones, and paddled out into small inconsistent waves swarmed by a thick crowd, and forced myself to smile. It might not be great, but it is home, and I don't ever want to get so grumpy to consider quitting surfing again.