North Los Angeles

Always bigger and colder than it looks, this is the first consistently surfed spot south of Point Mugu (it's actually just north of the Los Angeles County line). Once called Pete's Reef for the burger stand that once stood on the cliff, County Line can be a fun hot-dog wave, while the beachbreak can get nasty and hollow at high tide. It is probably the most visible surf spot on this stretch of highway, but the indistinct lineup can be hard to figure out, and that spreads the crowd around nicely.On the north end of the beach, there's a kelpy point/cobblestone right that consistently offers the best waves. It lines up best on W and SW swells with a medium tide, though the beachbreak gets plenty of traffic during the summertime souths. There's also a hollow, rock-riddled left at the far north end.

Malibu: the name has become synonymous with surfing and is an old Chumash word meaning, "The surf sounds loudly." Although it doesn't roar like it once did, the 'Bu is still considered one of the best small rights in the world. Malibu has been crowded since photographer Leroy Grannis returned from World War II and found the place "mobbed" with 12 guys on the point. Since then, it's been the focal point of hot-dog surfing and Southern California beach culture, from Quigg and Kivlin to Tubesteak, Moondoggie and Gidget to Dora, Fain and Carson to Riddle and Pratt to Sarlo and Daley to Petruso, Stansfield and Perillo to longboarders like Josh Farberow and Kassia Meador. To say Malibu is crowded is like saying the Pacific Ocean has a lot of saltwater -- it's a given. With this in mind, the people in the lineup are almost as much fun to watch as the wave is to ride. They are a microcosm of L.A. itself: rebels, punks, cowboys, models, godlike masters, floundering kooks and huddled masses yearning to be free. There's also the largest collection of graceful fat guys you'll ever find. Malibu consists of three loosely defined take-offs on a cobblestone point, with the occasional sandbar on the inside. On large swells, the points can connect into a ride over a quarter-mile long. Generally thought of as a summer break, the 'Bu will also take west and even big northwest swells. The smaller inside break, First Point, is by far the most familiar and the best-shaped wave of the bunch -- a mechanical, mesmerizing wave to watch. Behind all the history and beneath the clutter of boards and bodies, there is still a gem of a wave that folds at the speed of a noseride. The next spot out, Second Point or Kiddie Bowl, is a much shorter -- though faster -- performance wave. It sometimes closes out with swell or tide changes, but is also a good escape from the crowd if you keep a sly eye out. If you get lucky, you can connect the section into First and spray all the longboarders. Third Point is the farthest out and serves up the fastest bowly wave in the area -- state-of-the-art speed surfing. Dominated by an aggro shortboard crew, it's a wonderful study in mob mentality: the predators, the prey, the shouting, the inevitable crack of boards slamming together and the onlookers' mischievous snickers. Most regulars, though, hold the opinion that all you need is one to make your day. The downside of all this perfection is the pollution. There are now approximately 12,000 residents in the lower Malibu creek area, most with septic tanks that leach into the lagoon, which, along with problems created by the Tapia Water Facility, has led to one of the worst pollution problems in the state. When the lagoon empties into the sea, either by rainfall or bulldozer, bacteria levels at Malibu go off the Richter. There have probably been a few winter pileups on PCH caused by surfers slamming on their brakes, stunned at the sight of Malibu's empty brown perfection. To a daredevil few, the E. coli warnings serve only as crowd control. Without a doubt, it's the most tempting cesspool you'll ever see.

An unmistakable righthander just a half-mile south of the county line, where PCH dips down near a scenic cove fringed with large rocks, on most days, the wave also known as Secos peaks up near the big rock outside, then reforms into a spunky inside section. The problem here is the confined takeoff area: it supports about six people. Leo Carrillo is best on a medium tide, with S or SW swells up to double-overhead. There are a series of rock reefs outside that will hold a big W or NW and push the takeoff zone north and outside of the rock, making it set up more like a point. On the biggest swells, there is another point farther north called Primo's.

A visible long right point at the base of Topanga Canyon. Topanga can be a real workable wave with plenty of challenging sections, but it never matches the shape of its cousin, Malibu. Topanga will take any swell, but it's best on a big west. During the huge El Nino winter of 1982-'83, local Donnie Wilson picked off a ride from Topanga that connected all the way past Chart House -- a distance of more than 300 yards. Always crowded and on shore there's this mangy, hippie, drifter atmosphere. Don't accept any free brownies.

Santa Monica Pier