Huntington has recently been put back on the surfing map by The US Open of Surfing, the six star prime event, which boasts a $100 000 cheque for first prize and a sideshow lineup that transforms the contest site into an action sports circus by the beach. Many of us will also remember HB’ as the 80’s/90s, ASP pit stop, which played host to some monumental battles – Occy V Curren 1985/1986 and Slater V Beschen 1996  – and also as the location of the infamous 1986 OP Pro riots, where a couple of bare-chested chicks somehow lit the fuse, which transformed an upbeat surf crowd into a nasty cop-car-burning mob. Yep, Huntington has quite a history in surfing circles but what’s a regular day like, on the beach us Aussies have taken the utmost pleasure in bagging from afar, for decades.

Down on the ground, Huntington has the sort of surf city ambience you might expect; groms ride past returning from an early, surf shops on steroids line the main street and restaurant menus feature barrel shots on their cover. Amongst the more famous surf-styled eateries here, is Timmy Turner’s Sugar shack. A few years ago Turner reminded all of us that Surf Adventure wasn’t dead when he and a few friends camped out on an isolated Indo island, subsisting on pop noodles and whatever they could find on the swampy landmass. Turner’s 2004 film, ‘Second Thoughts’, which documented his “Survivor”- style surf mission and the incredible waves that were the pay off for playing Robinson Crusoe, became a cult classic and kick-started his surf documentary career. Just in time for Timmy to survive a cranial encounter with one of the most serious kinds of staff infection on the planet. Thankfully, Timmy survived the ordeal and is still a regular fixture at his Huntington Beach restaurant.

...and Bible Bashers, do battle on the boardwalk.

When I arrive for breakfast at The Sugar Shack, a cute, brunette waitress in  cut off denims and a singlet, tells me Timmy’s just taken his kids to Saturday sport. Once seated, I’m surrounded by photos, which feature Timmy’s adventures and an all-star cast of surfers. Just to the left of my table is a framed pic of a boyish-looking Kelly Slater, hanging at the Shack in his grommet days and I delight in the fact I’m about to enjoy the food of champions.

Breakfast in America at The Sugar Shack.

Despite its associations with surfing’s aristocracy there’s nothing in the least bit pretentious about the The Sugar Shack, or anything excessive about the prices. For a little over ten bucks I score a massive, hash-brown-crested omlette, toast and a cream-topped mocha. It feels like I’m eating the kind of meal, seminal US band, Super Tramp were, referring to, in their classic album “Breakfast in America”

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The Ed's view of Huntington From The Shorebreak Hotel.

After the big meal, I lug myself down to the beach, past the teams of beach volley-ballers and over to the promenade. On the concrete battle-ground, bible bashers war with atheists, a circus freak swallows swords and spruikers from the beach-side, Eco-expo spruike their products. It takes all kinds to make California go round and if you’re into something, you don’t hide it, you claim your spot on the pier or the promenade and shout it out.

Thrilled, but also a little overwhelmed by the colliding subcultures I head out for a surf. Crossing the road I nearly get cleaned up by a cyclist because my brain is yet to reprogram and look the other way when I cross the road. “Duuude!” comes the cry of the suddenly detoured cyclist.

Then as I get closer to the beach I hear an irrepressibly enthusiastic commentator calling a local contest, happening to the left of the pier. “ There he goes, right back to the power source.” The “power source”, the seppos love that term, I think to myself. We’d simply call it “the pocket.”

After suppressing a brief fantasy of shooting the pier, I join the main pack on a peak just to the right of the pylons. Black-rubber-clad longboard chicks, local rippers and seasoned sea dogs are all jostling for fun two footers, which wedge up and A-frame. It’s instantly apparent that the vibe is pretty competitive and only minutes into the session there’s a heated encounter between a local kid and older guy who feels the grom’ is claiming more wave time than is rightfully his. “ I’ll burn you every time,” the older guy hisses venomously as the grom’s mates try to calm him down. The scene verges on violence but dissipates when more girls paddle out. There’s no better cure for too many egos in the water, than a few girls. They always seem to remind you that surfing is suppose to be about fun [and maybe puling chicks].

Aaron Chang Gallery in the Foyer of The Shorebreak Hotel

Although the main peak remains competitive, the mood in the water, save the one incident, is upbeat and friendly.  Groms with ambition critique each others waves and there are plenty of drawly “soooo sicks” thrown around. I exchange a few head-nods and hollows with surfers and most warm to the Aussie accent. It’s not long before I hear a brogue more familiar to my own and turn to see a girl, who I’d previously noticed tearing, chatting in our unmistakeable Aussie twang. Turns out Jess was a female fire fighter from the central coast, who’d just won a surfing gold medal in the international Fire Fighters contest in New York. Intent on making the most of her American experience, she’d bolted down to Mexico, to score pumping Barra De La Cruz [ Right-hander from the Rip Curl Search 2006]. After two days on the road, hearing nothing but seppo-speak, it was certainly refreshing to come across a go-getter Aussie chick, chasing her own American dream.

Deep Throat.

One thing Huntington certainly has got right is the boutique surf accommodation. As I write, I’m sitting at the window of my Shorebreak Hotel room, which looks directly out over the Huntington lineup. The hotel achieves a surfer friendly sophistication that never threatens to cross the line into the kitsch territory so many surf-themed venues do. The lobby features a surf gallery by renowned photographer Aaron Chang, while upstairs surf films play on a giant projector adjacent to the front desk. Each individual room also showcases classic framed surf prints. As a surfer you feel comfortable, plus, there is that little bit of eternal grommet buzz you get from knowing you are staying right where the Pros do when they’re in town for the US Open.

Meanwhile, an hour south, those very same pros were warming up for the Trestles event. Trestles heralds the heavily anticipated arrival of John Florence and Gabriel Medina to the A-grade tour. Some are even tipping Medina as one of the favourites for the event. It’s only a six-day waiting period and right now Surfline is suggesting it’s going to be better at the beginning of the window, with wave-sizes subsiding towards the end of the period.  Chances are we may see an event that runs straight through.