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My brother Nick had been bragging to me about the waves he'd been scoring at Black's all winter. After months of stories about the epic surf only a 10-minute walk from his dorm room, I decided to take a trip down and see what all the fuss was about. I wasn't about to drive 9 hours down from SF, so I decided to risk the cavity check and fly. One of the only bonuses of the economic downturn has been cheap airfare, and luckily I hooked up a plane out of Oak-town to SD for less than $100 roundtrip.

Because of the hassles involved, I really didn't want to bring my board with me on the plane. Nick didn't have an extra, so I put my faith in borrowing one from a friend down in SD. The only guy Nick and I really know down there who sponges is Mark Miller, aka Wilbur. Wilbur is notorious for (among other things) being a complete flake when it comes to stuff like this. But against my better judgement, I decided to count on the guy to hook me up. I figured the money he owed me from a window-breaking incident in Cabo 4 years earlier would give him some incentive to actually lend me the board.

Wouldn't you know it, I was wrong. Mark was MIA and it was rumored that his surf stuff had been stolen from his unlocked Hyundai. I thought I was SOL, but luckily Nick (who knows Mark's ways better than I) had a backup plan. Nick had been in contact with Ross McBride and had asked him if I could borrow a board for the weekend. I was amped, if not a little surprised. I had only met Ross briefly once or twice before and he had agreed to hook me up with one of his boards for the weekend? I couldn't believe his generosity.

Before I knew it we were parked in front of the towering No Friends industrial complex. Nick, unsure of which entrance to use, called Ross on his cell but got no reply. Crap, I thought, foiled again. Out of desperation we knocked on a random door. After a little wait, Ross himself opened up with a smile and allowed us to enter.

Escorted by Ross and his butler Higgins, we were given a quick tour of the upper levels of the complex before descending a staircase into an area known as "The Lair". As menacing guards looked over the operation, underage illegal immigrant workers worked sewing machines as if their lives depended on it. As soon as Ross showed his face I felt a shiver of fear come from the workers and their paces nearly doubled. Ross grinned menacingly and showed us to his boardroom.*

Just as I was beginning to question Ross' business ethics, he won me over again. Ross only had two boards with him at the moment. One was his cold water Cali board and the other his warm water Hawaii board. Ross also planned on surfing the incoming swell tomorrow, so he decided to let me borrow his Hawaii board. I would've been happy with a taco-ed floating crease, but here he was hooking me up with the board he had just used on the North Shore the week before and would use again when he returned to the island in two weeks. Ross almost seemed sorry that the board would be too stiff. I was unbelievably stoked on getting anything at all, let alone this near-new Elemenohpee dream machine.

Nick and I soon departed to rest up for the next morning's surf. After a quick tour of the UCSD dorms and a movie, we were both passed out and dreaming of the big swell that was forecast to hit.

Sure enough, the next day Blacks was cranking. Nick informed me that the shape was only average, but I was loving it. Big peaks well overhead were peeling up and down the beach. The crowd wasn’t too bad for the early and both of us got our share of waves. I struggled at first getting used to the new board and the biggest waves I had surfed in months, but eventually I was able to get a couple of sick ones. Nick was showing what four months of living within walking distance of a break like Blacks does for your surfing. He was taking off deep, drawing clean lines through the somewhat lumpy sections, finding the occasional tube, and busting inverts off of the wrapping end sections.

We scored Blacks again that evening a little messy but still fun. My last wave of the day was the biggest invert I had done in ages and it made my trip. The fact that my brother saw it was just icing on the cake.

The next day my parents and youngest brother Joe met up with us and we all drove down to Mexico and scored some of the best surf I scored all winter. Driving south across the border, the wind was howling. Thinking the wind was onshore, we figured we’d be spending the day buying Chiclets from local kids and walking the streets of Rosarito with the rest of the sunburnt tourists.

But then we caught a glimpse of the ocean and realized that the powerful gusts were actually offshore, really frickin’ offshore, like 30 mph. We pulled into the Baja Malibu parking lot and were greeted with smoking offshores and flawless overhead beach break barrels. My brothers and I surfed for hours in perfect conditions, scoring a ton of in-and-outs and busting the occasional maneuver off the end sections. I don’t remember any stand out rides mostly because every wave that came through was equally perfect.

I wish I could remember more details from the session, but I’m writing this report a few months after it happened and some of the details are hazy. Be assured that we all scored our share of nugs and that I will be making many more trips down that way in the future.

* Please Note: Specifics of the NF "industrial complex" may be somewhat distorted due to the large amount of time between my actual visit to the NFHQ and when I wrote this story. Small details, such as the presence of illegal immigrants, guards, and a butler may be exaggerated or even completely false. Furthermore, the word "industrial complex" may be used interchangeably with "apartment complex". The same goes for the terms "The Lair" and the "The Garage". I also seriously doubt that Ross ever "grinned menacingly", but it is a possibility.