Ocean Beach:
Not to be confused with its northern franchise, this small stretch of sand’s most elemental physical trait is its location at the end of the Interstate 8. This is where anyone aimlessly heading west will end up, so the beach gets all kinds. It also receives all kinds of swell, and often offers ridable waves when the rest of central San Diego is dry. The town itself is a bastion of liberalism, while the rest of San Diego is, well, also dry. It’s the hippiest, if not hippest, San Diego beach community.
On the north end, Big Jetty is a hollow right breaking off of the southern jetty of the Mission Bay entrance. It begins with a steep peak and a small takeoff zone, but then elongates into a long, fast right wall. It sections depending on the sandbar and swell direction. Both sets and insiders are similarly shaped, and the break, although preferring a mid- to low tide, will break well on just about any tide. Closeouts are the rule with swell pushing 8 feet plus. The thing to consider here is the San Diego River. Closures are frequent due to runoff from storm events and sewage spills, and signage warning of pollution has been permanently established here. Many local surfers have gotten sick after surfing the jetty. Worse still is the fact that the jetty breaks directly in front of Dog Beach, the only area beach where dogs are allowed to run free, which means there are more land mines in the sand here than in all of Cambodia.
Avalanche is a predominately left peak that breaks just north of the finger, or little, jetty bisecting Ocean Beach. It’s consistent, and breaks on a variety of tides and just about any swell with a little west in it. Various peaks form just north of the main peak, holding both rights and lefts. This section of the beach is blackballed during summer months from 11 a.m. to 5 p.m. During after-work sessions in summer, it’s possible to see more neoprene out there than water — i.e., it’s crowded.
The Ocean Beach Pier at the end of Newport Street is the most accessible spot in an area of accessible spots. Both right and left peaks, it’s temperamental, shifty, unpredictable, perennially surfed and most often mediocre. This is not to say that it doesn’t have its good days. When it is working well, usually it’s the right peeling into the pier that is the main attraction. There’s a mushy, rock-and-sand left on the south side of the pier that often shoots surfers through the pier’s pylons at a snail’s pace. Local lore says that this left was a solid reef/sand break before the construction of the pier in 1962, but nowadays one can only stand on the pier and imagine its former glory. Like other local spots, the breaks around the pier are happiest on a low to mid-tide, a swell with a little west in the mix and light wind.
Sunset Cliffs:
At the crusty edge of a city of 1.2 million, the bucolic atmosphere of these reefbreaks is impressive. Beginning in a small neighborhood, the cliffs extend into the chaparral-carpeted U.S. Naval Reservation of Point Loma. A thick kelp bed several hundred yards outside the breaks smoothes the bump out of westerly wind, making it an ideal place to surf when the beaches are blown out. To access most of these breaks, rocky cliffs — and, often, exposed reef — must be navigated. Long paddles mired by sea grass and kelp are the norm. The Cliffs produce waves during fall, winter and spring on west and northwest swells, with a couple of southwesterly exceptions. There are many head-high and overhead days, but most of these spots max out before reaching 8 feet. The speed of these waves is often dictated by tide. Low to mid-tide is best. Depending on the power of a swell, mid- to high tide can be slower to nonexistent. Super-low tides dramatically alter the character of the breaks, sometimes making things interesting with shifting peaks and new sections. There are a couple of short, high-tide spots, but these are the exception. Most of the Cliffs’ breaks experience long periods of doldrums in the summer.
Like an island chain, the breaks here are linked in spirit, yet remain individually defined. Illustrative of the fact, San Diego legend Skip Frye has been known to paddle south, surfing one break to another, and, with the grace of an albatross, turn around and surf and paddle back north. This isn’t to say the paddles aren’t long. There are huge channels, and, to cover all of the breaks, you’d have to paddle and surf more than three miles.
The area holds a minority of performance waves with many lesser alternatives. The ability required to surf these waves often varies with conditions. When the swell is big, there are always a lot of people about and occasional emergency lifeguard runs. Strong currents are predictable at these times. Surfers inexperienced with the area are often unable to get back up the cliff trails during bigger days with higher tides. Some have been battered against the cliffs while trying to exit the water. Also, no matter how big the waves, the cliffs themselves present formidable danger. Almost everything that walks or rolls has taken the short route to the bottom.
As with any good California reefbreaks that are buffered by steep cliffs, nice homes and relative isolation, Point Loma is tight-knit community. Many of the surfers here are third-generation locals and almost all of them have augmented their working lives to accommodate their time in the water. King-of-the-hill style localism is in practice. Common sense goes a long way. Paddle out one at a time and, to score points in the eyes of the salty dogs, don’t wear a leash.