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Chasing Depth: Audible to OB

Lifeguards Rodger Eales & Spencer Pirdy know when to let an underwhelming Mavericks make a better call up the road... 

Photos: Paul Wegman | Words: Spencer Pirdy

January 2026

 

The capabilities of a Toyota Sienna mini van are never more clearly on display than when you’re punching it north through the early morning hours with three guys, back packs and a solid stack of 9 foot big wave surfboards on the 280 to Half Moon Bay. At one point, Rodger may or may not have had us at 97 mph. But we made it to the Harbor View Inn by 2:30am well ahead of schedule.The next morning we took our time getting up knowing that the swell had not fully hit yet, and the session would be inhibited by a 6.5 foot mid morning high tide. Walking down for coffee we let the warm morning light on a classic high pressure day soak in. We swapped stories of sessions past out at the infamous Maverick’s. 

Rodger Eales, an accomplished big wave surfer, father of three and San Diego city lifeguard had conquered many a session at Mavs. One such session 7 years ago had him chasing the same swell all the way down south of the border to his beloved Todos Santos off of Ensenada. On that same trip his high school pal and ultra talented photographer Paul Wegman had come to document the feat. Neither were shy of long hours on the road. 

This was a bit of a homecoming of sorts. Rodger and I had seen the swell and planned to surf Mavs from about lunch until dark, then head to Ocean Beach for a comedown session the next day as the swell died. Paul was visiting his parents in San Diego from Portland, reached out to Rodger and jumped on the trip at the last second. Paul kept us at bay with comic relief, and Rodger seemed to be just happy to be up north. 

Checking the Mavs cam mid morning we saw numerous tow teams zig zagging the lineup. A few waves came in, but only to just barely cap on the reef. We slowly munched on our breakfast and then hopped in the mini van to head to the lot. As we turned in we saw many a camper van and truck with big wave spears sticking out the back. A few guys were already in their suits. 

We walked up the cliff to find a pack of younger kids checking it. They glared over at us. I waved to them, and got a slight head nod. Not the warm welcoming I remember receiving from Christy, Sponsler and the old time Mavs regulars almost 20 years ago. Nevertheless, we enjoyed the view and warmth of the day. Mavericks truly is a one-of-a-kind place.

After about an hour of cruising around and thinking about it we made the call to audible our plans for the day. Mavs was slow, getting more crowded by the second and the swell wasn’t quite as big as we thought it’d be. Meanwhile, I’d been stalking the Ocean Beach cam and had seen double to triple overhead offshore walls blitzing the sand bars. After some convincing, we hopped in the mini van and headed north.

Ocean Beach was now our target. Rodger knew the wave well having lived up there for five years while going to school at University of San Francisco.

Our first moments walking over the ice plants and sand dunes at Noriega to check the waves we ran into longtime local Lance Harriman and charger Travis Payne. They both were eyeing it and seemed to be surfed out from the month-long run of swell and high pressure combo they’d been enjoying. Rodger and I both saw some bombs and made a decision that we’d probably take out our 9’6” and 9’2” guns respectively. A little over gunned? MaAt the start of the paddle out to our session we were together. That changed after five minutes. Over the third row of turbulent inner bar white water and I looked back to see no Rodger. I wouldn’t see him again for another two hours. This is standard protocol on a big day at Ocean Beach. And when we hit the outside, after catching our breath and celebrating inside with joy, we knew we’d made the right decision by paddling out our Mavs boards. It was large. Daunting sets capped a half a mile out to sea.

The deal with Ocean Beach is the challenge. It’s the paddle out. The navigating rip currents. Fighting the north or south current depending on the tide change to stay in position. Maintaining your stamina amid heavy wipeouts and long hold downs. Not breaking a leash, or getting shoved into the inner bar penalty box that we both found ourselves in. It’s hard to explain really, but amidst all of this anguish and struggle there are these raw moments of solitude bliss that are like no other. Crowds or competing with someone for a wave are the least of your worries on a big day. And all the while, a big city clamoring behind you as you savagely endure it out in the hopes of that one gladiator pit.

We gave it our all, but after four hours we were cooked! Rodger successfully made his way in after a nice right hander, and I all but got washed to the beach after having my board whack me in the behind like a mallet. Depleted and hungry we met Paul on the beach who greeted us with encouraging cheers and awe.

“I’m so proud of my boys!”, he said like an endearing soccer mom.

That night we stayed with our pal Daniel Shea in the Sunset and feasted on Hook Fish Co. before passing out.

The next morning we awoke to slightly more manageable double to occasionally triple overhead surf. Another four hour session ensued. This time Rodger took out his same 9’2” and found rhythm while the rest of us struggled. It was fun to watch him tracking down gems and using that previous time spent in the city to his advantage. Thus showing why a bigger board really allowed you more maneuverability and enjoyment in that lineup.

After another Hook Fish burrito, we hit the road and the Toyota Sienna was engaged again for another seven hour trip, this time south bound. What was remarkable was that not one person slept on the way back. There was this post-strike mission stoke that we’d all had an absolute blast. We came with a vision of Mavericks and left with a humbling dose of Ocean Beach. We rolled with the cards we were dealt, and were just as satisfied, if not more, with what a California road trip, open mind and good vibes could offer.

Audible to OB

Lifeguards Rodger Eales & Spencer Pirdy commit, but Underwhelming Mavericks makes a better call up the road... 

Photos: Paul Wegman | Words: Spencer Pirdy

Janaury 2026

The capabilities of a Toyota Sienna mini van are never more clearly on display than when you’re punching it north through the early morning hours with three guys, back packs and a solid stack of 9 foot big wave surfboards on the 280 to Half Moon Bay. At one point, Rodger may or may not have had us at 97 mph. But we made it to the Harbor View Inn by 2:30am well ahead of schedule.

The next morning we took our time getting up knowing that the swell had not fully hit yet, and the session would be inhibited by a 6.5 foot mid morning high tide. Walking down for coffee we let the warm morning light on a classic high pressure day soak in. We swapped stories of sessions past out at the infamous Maverick’s. 

Rodger Eales, an accomplished big wave surfer, father of three and San Diego city lifeguard had conquered many a session at Mavs. One such session 7 years ago had him chasing the same swell all the way down south of the border to his beloved Todos Santos off of Ensenada. On that same trip his high school pal and ultra talented photographer Paul Wegman had come to document the feat. Neither were shy of long hours on the road. 

This was a bit of a homecoming of sorts. Rodger and I had seen the swell and planned to surf Mavs from about lunch until dark, then head to Ocean Beach for a comedown session the next day as the swell died. Paul was visiting his parents in San Diego from Portland, reached out to Rodger and jumped on the trip at the last second. Paul kept us at bay with comic relief, and Rodger seemed to be just happy to be up north. 

Checking the Mavs cam mid morning we saw numerous tow teams zig zagging the lineup. A few waves came in, but only to just barely cap on the reef. We slowly munched on our breakfast and then hopped in the mini van to head to the lot. As we turned in we saw many a camper van and truck with big wave spears sticking out the back. A few guys were already in their suits. 

We walked up the cliff to find a pack of younger kids checking it. They glared over at us. I waved to them, and got a slight head nod. Not the warm welcoming I remember receiving from Christy, Sponsler and the old time Mavs regulars almost 20 years ago. Nevertheless, we enjoyed the view and warmth of the day. Mavericks truly is a one-of-a-kind place.

After about an hour of cruising around and thinking about it we made the call to audible our plans for the day. Mavs was slow, getting more crowded by the second and the swell wasn’t quite as big as we thought it’d be. Meanwhile, I’d been stalking the Ocean Beach cam and had seen double to triple overhead offshore walls blitzing the sand bars. After some convincing, we hopped in the mini van and headed north.

Ocean Beach was now our target. Rodger knew the wave well having lived up there for five years while going to school at University of San Francisco.

Our first moments walking over the ice plants and sand dunes at Noriega to check the waves we ran into longtime local Lance Harriman and charger Travis Payne. They both were eyeing it and seemed to be surfed out from the month-long run of swell and high pressure combo they’d been enjoying. Rodger and I both saw some bombs and made a decision that we’d probably take out our 9’6” and 9’2” guns respectively. A little over gunned? MaAt the start of the paddle out to our session we were together. That changed after five minutes. Over the third row of turbulent inner bar white water and I looked back to see no Rodger. I wouldn’t see him again for another two hours. This is standard protocol on a big day at Ocean Beach. And when we hit the outside, after catching our breath and celebrating inside with joy, we knew we’d made the right decision by paddling out our Mavs boards. It was large. Daunting sets capped a half a mile out to sea.

The deal with Ocean Beach is the challenge. It’s the paddle out. The navigating rip currents. Fighting the north or south current depending on the tide change to stay in position. Maintaining your stamina amid heavy wipeouts and long hold downs. Not breaking a leash, or getting shoved into the inner bar penalty box that we both found ourselves in. It’s hard to explain really, but amidst all of this anguish and struggle there are these raw moments of solitude bliss that are like no other. Crowds or competing with someone for a wave are the least of your worries on a big day. And all the while, a big city clamoring behind you as you savagely endure it out in the hopes of that one gladiator pit.

We gave it our all, but after four hours we were cooked! Rodger successfully made his way in after a nice right hander, and I all but got washed to the beach after having my board whack me in the behind like a mallet. Depleted and hungry we met Paul on the beach who greeted us with encouraging cheers and awe.

“I’m so proud of my boys!”, he said like an endearing soccer mom.

That night we stayed with our pal Daniel Shea in the Sunset and feasted on Hook Fish Co. before passing out.

The next morning we awoke to slightly more manageable double to occasionally triple overhead surf. Another four hour session ensued. This time Rodger took out his same 9’2” and found rhythm while the rest of us struggled. It was fun to watch him tracking down gems and using that previous time spent in the city to his advantage. Thus showing why a bigger board really allowed you more maneuverability and enjoyment in that lineup.

After another Hook Fish burrito, we hit the road and the Toyota Sienna was engaged again for another seven hour trip, this time south bound. What was remarkable was that not one person slept on the way back. There was this post-strike mission stoke that we’d all had an absolute blast. We came with a vision of Mavericks and left with a humbling dose of Ocean Beach. We rolled with the cards we were dealt, and were just as satisfied, if not more, with what a California road trip, open mind and good vibes could offer.