The So Cal Secret Spot

Using PWC To Explore California's Hidden Gem

Text by Justin Stannard

Photography by Andrea Wilson

Absolute panic. The kind that grips you by the spine and leaves you in a state of complete hysteria – helpless and paralyzed by fear.

My chest heaves and my mouth quivers; I’m hyperventilating as five-foot waves of 54-degree ocean water are crashing over my bobbing head – and I still am only halfway to our rocky destination.

What the hell am I doing out here?

Stories of swimmers being smashed against the jagged outcroppings of rock by overhead waves are convoluting my ability to focus. I’m losing control. There are two small children on the nearby sandy beach, about 150 feet away, and in between the thunder of waves breaking on the nearby rocks I can faintly hear them taunting me. “You’re gonna drown! You’re not gonna make it! Look out, you’re drowning!” Through stinging, dilated eyes, I can barely see my guide, PWI sales associate Dave Szych, getting further and further away.

I can’t breathe.

I roll onto my back to rest and attempt to regain control of my senses, reassuring myself that I’ll be fine. Wetsuits are buoyant, right? But what if I can’t swim fast enough to get to the rock island? What if the ocean is too powerful? I can feel the current sweeping me back out to sea, and Dave is still only getting further away. Panic reasserts its hold on my floundering body, and I am once again overcome by raw, debilitating fear. The shock of the frigid Pacific water has rendered my arms useless and left my lungs screaming for precious air, while the bulky shoes I’m wearing make kicking my legs a futile endeavor. I can hear a whimper slipping from my blue lips.

Next thing I know, Dave is pulling me into an eddy on the backside of the rock island. Dave, the waterman extraordinaire, the fearless Californian surfer; the guy whose outlandish idea it was to ride out to this God-forsaken rock and jump off of it. Climbing onto the coralline algae-encrusted rock in between surging waves, I can’t help but reprimand myself for getting into this in the first place. The conversation from a month prior still rang with jarring clarity.

“It’ll be great, man,” Dave had said on the way back home from the Lake Havasu Mark Hahn 300. “I dunno,” I remember replying, “I don’t think you understand. I don’t swim well and I’m kind of afraid of the ocean.” For several minutes, Dave had been describing this beautiful secret location off the coast of Southern California that he’d frequented for some years. “Seriously, Justin, you’ll be fine. We’ve gotta do this! It’ll be a great story!” He was describing a rock island off the shore which, when timed with the tides, made for an ideal jumping rock. He continued to describe another remote location, known only to a few select locals, which produced some great surf when combined with certain southwest swells. Unless you owned one of the multimillion-dollar mansions nearby, the spots could only be reached by boat or PWC. Dave’s enthusiasm was contagious. Soon enough, we were sitting in front of editor Kevin Shaw’s desk, pitching the idea. After getting the green light from Kevin, it was apparent that I wasn’t the only one duped by Dave’s gusto for the “secret spot adventure.”

A few weeks later and there we were, skating across the Pacific Ocean on a Kawasaki Ultra 250X and Sea-Doo RXT-X. Outfitted with a wetsuit, life vest, his new DSO shades and a backwards trucker hat, Dave the courageous escort was speeding next to me on the Kawi, pinning the throttle wide open and jumping the oncoming swells with a wild smile plastered across his face. Looking over at Dave, I allowed myself a chuckle and mused that I’m grateful to have a sales staff that’s enthusiastic about the product.

Keeping a couple-hundred yards offshore, we made our way towards our first destination of the day. While my partner was riding to the throaty soundtrack of his 250-horsepower Kawasaki, I was cruising along to some Stone Temple Pilots on my iPod, made watertight by my H2O Audio case. While I was singing off-key to a verse of Interstate Love Song, we happened upon a marker buoy swathed in sea lions and decided to stop and take a look. The ungainly, lethargic creatures looked at us with a sort of lackadaisical curiosity and occasionally barked when we got too close to their private sunbathing party.

Feeling a little unwelcome and growing increasingly eager for our upcoming adventure, we took off again in search of our first destination: the super-secret jumping rock. Upon arrival, we anchored the boats, peeled off our life vests, jumped in, and began our trek to the island. It took only a matter of seconds before the twinge of panic crept up the small of my back and left me in my present predicament: being helped to safety by impromptu-lifeguard Dave.

Now out of the ocean and clinging to the wet rock, I find myself cold, shaking, and struggling just to catch my breath and keep my balance on the skirts of the jagged island. Dave has successfully pulled me out of the heaving swells, and is looking at me with that big grin still smeared across his sunburned cheeks. “Good job, bro! You made it! Now for the hard part!” He points upward, where a vertical 40-foot cliff looms over us. “Are you joking?” I gasp, in between hoarse gulps of air, “that’s straight up!”

Dave just smiles, “Yup.”

There is literally no going back; even if I lose my nerve, the watercraft can’t navigate these rocky shallows to pick me up. I take a deep breath and take one last look up the rock face, shaking my head in disbelief. Following my friend up the cliff, I make painstakingly sure of every foot placement and handhold. I am following every move he makes while trying not to look down at the churning sea and unforgiving rocks below. This is like some bad dream, I’m thinking, I’m in way over my head. I look up and squint in the bright sunlight, now directly overhead. Slow and steady, I tell myself.

Ten feet to go. If I fall now, it’s going to take more than a Band-Aid to fix my boo-boos.

The rocks are getting slippery – my wet shoes aren’t sticking well to the built-up algae/bird dung combination on the tops of the rock footholds. Those two kids are still down there shouting at us, but their jeers are unintelligible.

Five feet to go. I’m wishing I would’ve stuck with that workout regimen I started last month. I’m visibly shaking. I heave my right leg over the last stone and pull myself onto the island’s plateaued summit. Safety.

At least for now.

“Ok,” Dave explains, “the trick is to time the waves so that you don’t jump down in the middle of a big set. Otherwise, you’re in trouble.” He heads over to a breathtaking natural archway, carved out from solid rock after millions of years being pounded by the Pacific. After pausing momentarily to make sure of his timing, Dave jumps about 25 or 30 feet down the into the channel below the arch. Watching him laugh while swimming back around the island and scale the 40-foot cliff again, I conclude that this guy is, in fact, criminally insane.

Still not showing even a hint of being winded, Dave reassures me that our jump off the island’s ledge is a safe one – provided you take a running leap at the correct angle and time the incoming waves just right. We walk together to the island’s other jump point – a small overhanging ledge concealing a sheer 30- to 40-foot drop, depending on the tides – and I kneel down to study the waters below. It’s not the scariest cliff I’ve ever seen, but the waters below – cluttered with submersed rocks – are definitely intimidating. Suddenly, I hear the pitter-patter of feet running up behind me; Dave flashes by and launches off the cliff, screaming “Woo hoo!” as he plummets into the surf.

After pacing back and forth for a few moments and contemplating the obvious lapse in judgment that brought me face to face with this intimidating cliff and the powerful waters below, I am composed and ready.

I watch the incoming sets and then, as if on autopilot, I start running towards the cliff. As I careen toward the last three feet of the precipice, the vast, amngry ocean opens up below me. My heart skips a beat.

Too late now to stop, I’m committed.

I involuntarily blurt out a scream unlike anything I’ve ever heard, and jump out into a liberating ocean breeze. The next few seconds have my stomach up in my throat and my eyes glued to the green sea below. This is more enthralling than skydiving. By the time my feet finally slap the water’s surface, I’m smiling like a crazed lunatic.

Now reeling in the chilly water, I surface to see Dave idling nearby on the Kawasaki Ultra 250X. “Hurry and hop on,” he hollers, “there’s a jellyfish right next to you.” Sure enough, I climb on board and spy the transparent pink invertebrate, rhythmically pulsating through the current. “Now on to stop number two!” Dave energetically exclaims. “But first, we need to jump this wave!”

Great.

Once back aboard our respective craft and geared up, we pilot full-throttle to our next stop: the secret surf spot. The section of California shoreline on the way to the spot is naturally protected from winds and transforms the rolling ocean into gently undulating glass. The incoming swells are so smooth and flawless, I marvel at how I could shave in their pristine reflection. Rounding a bend in the coastline, we stop about 350 feet away from the shore’s weathered cliffs and ready our surfboards for a quick session in the waves.

Stripping off our life vests yet again, we hop into the water for a long swim to our objective. Dave is paddling ahead of me on his 6-foot-3 Promer board and I’m keeping pace on my Rusty 6-foot-2. Ahead of us are some shapely three- to four-foot lefts and some great barrels. We both enjoy the smooth sets for about an hour, then decide it’d be nice to head on back and enjoy some rest and relaxation atop our watercraft in the calm natural harbor. Although the water is still uncomfortably cold and the rolling ocean is starting to wreak havoc on my stomach – I happen to get seasick rather easily – I am feeling accomplished and confident; it has been a day of firsts.

After chatting with some local spring-breakers who had paddled out to socialize with the two strange surfers on watercraft, we gear up and ready ourselves for the journey back home. With the push of a button, our musclecraft jump to life and we jet back north, still riding hard on the remnants of our all-day adrenaline rush. On this last ride of the day, we take our time to observe California’s gorgeous coastline and appreciate its one-of-a-kind picturesque beauty. Dave and I seize this opportunity to hotrod around, play some high-speed cat-and-mouse and take photographer Andrea Wilson on a no-holds-barred jaunt through the waves. Regularly catching five or six feet of air, I can hear her hysterically laughing on Dave’s Kawasaki above the roar of my own Sea-Doo RXT-X. The sun is getting lower in the sky now, and the dark sandstone cliffs and sandy beaches are ablaze with the sun’s ochre radiance. To our left, we spot a pod of Bottlenose dolphins playing in the rising and falling swells. Beautiful.

Nearing the harbor, the squawking of seagulls again fills the late-afternoon air and the full day of riding and swimming is catching up with me. While idling in past the long jetties and countless rows of private yachts, I have time to lazily reflect on today’s incredible events. Not your typical day at the office, I snicker to myself. Although I had been looking forward to this “secret spot adventure” for over a month, I had no way of knowing how it would ultimately pit me against one of my most irrepressible fears of swimming unaided in unpredictable ocean water. Contrary to what my colleagues thought, the cliff jump didn’t pose any significant threat to my sanity when compared to the thrashing waters below it.

Against my greatest efforts, I had temporarily panicked – I lost control of my senses. I’m not positive, but I think I may have even whimpered like a lost puppy. I can openly admit that, for a few moments, I was truly terrified. The swift currents and formidable waves of the Pacific Ocean proved that Mother Nature makes no exceptions for rookies such as myself. But when it comes down to it, I put my apprehensions aside and took the risk. Thanks to Dave the “Waterman Extraordinaire” and a personal watercraft, I discovered not only an unfamiliar, exhilarating side to Southern California’s dramatic coastal geography, but another untapped side of myself. It is certainly easy to avoid that which threatens our frail sense of security, but the sense of accomplishment and the refreshing breath of life that came after testing myself and overcoming my deepest apprehensions ultimately made the day trip truly extraordinary.