Once, Pacific Beach was a unified paradise. A sun-drenched land of surfing, burritos, and reckless optimism. That is, until November 17, 1984.
It was absolutely firing that day. Law Street, picturesque, peeling with glassy rights, Crystal Pier pitching steep energetic lefts. An idyllic day, until something ominous appeared on the horizon: a set so large yours truly would have soiled his wetsuit and cried for his mother. And dropping into the largest wave of the set like twins in a mirror: Duke “Three Legs” Malloy and Donnie “Skids” McGraw. Local legends. One ran a bar off Reed and gave free beer to whomever scored wave of the day. The other screened VHS surf films in his Loring surf shop.
Like creatures of lore they carved and cavorted down their respective ways a hush settled over the beach. Donnie on the left, Duke on the right. Who would bail first? Their eyes locked, daring each other. Neither flinched. And as waves collided outside present-day Diamond Street (site of Oscar’s– please give me free tacos), a deafening crack was heard. PB was never the same again.
Dragging themselves to shore, leashes entangled, egos bruised, the two unleashed a stream of vitriol that would fracture a community. “North PB is about as fun as a party in LA,” Duke spat, saltwater dripping from his nose and dragging his dinged board onto the beach. “All you care about is stroller brands and pretending you’re chill.” “Yeah?” Donnie exclaimed, hauling his snapped knife behind him. “South PB is a walking hangover, propped up by vape clouds and credit card debt. I doubt anyone south of Hornblend knows what a 401k is.”
And so it began: the great PB schism - a cultural fault line running down Garnet, a battle for the soul of Pacific Beach. Some say it’s a clash of lifestyles: quiet residential streets vs loud party nights. Some say it’s about values: chaos vs chill. But those who were there know better: it all started with a single wave. Two legends committed to being the most pitted. And for years this was the status quo, two halves of a whole waiting for something to bridge the divide.
If a single wave could split a community in two surely a single spark could heal it.
For as long as humans have been engaging in promiscuous affairs, one common theme rises above the rest: forbidden love. It leaves normal hookups, doe-eyed love stories and passionate escapades in the dust. Forbidden love stands alone. It gets the people going.
Try to name a more iconic story than Romeo and Juliet, or how anything compares to Donkey and Dragon absolutely carrying the Shrek movies, or Jason from Bachelor season 19 choosing Molly over Melissa (yes I did google this).
Titillating and turbulent, these stories transcend generations. They hold society in their grip, reaffirming your faith in the possible. This tale will show you how two individuals from polar opposite worlds stitch together a community at some (very little) personal cost.
It will remind you that, deep down, we’re all just animals seeking that delicious, taboo thrill that sets the libido humming. The story I’m talking about is, of course, the forbidden affair between a man from north PB and a woman from south PB, a love arc which rocked our community to the core.
It started as a typical encounter: a swipe right from north of Garnet was met by a swipe right from south of Garnet and the seed was planted. The eloquence of the first encounter could certainly be overstated, but great things are built from simple stones; I’ve transcribed the opening conversation for posterity here (names have been obfuscated).
Chet and Sarah have matched (Send a message to see the sparks fly!) Fri Jun 13 7:30 PM Chet: Hey Sat Jun 14 2:10 AM Chet: You up? Thur Jun 19 6:30 PM Chet: Hey you wanna get a drink? Fri Jun 20 5:25 PM Sarah: Yeah Chet: Sick Chet: West End? Sarah: Ew north pb… Chet: Yeah… A rocky start for our lovebirds, but never fear, Chet’s moving prose and Sarah’s monosyllabic sass would guide them unerringly to their destiny. Sadly, this was the end of Chet and Sarah’s written correspondence and our story picks up on a typical Saturday afternoon several months later: Chet awoke at 1pm on this fateful day. His hangover was so painful it reminded him of the first time his bro Chase chose his girlfriend as beer-die partner over him. This was going to be a doozy of a day and the mid-afternoon sun assaulting his retinas was the least chill thing, like ever. Grabbing his neon pink Blenders, a pair of lightly soiled board shorts and a tank top, our protagonist headed out to begin his day with the sweet nectar of salvation, a California burrito. He whipped his Honda Civic (replete with In-n-Out wrappers two-layers deep on the floor) onto Mission, letting everyone hear the sweet sound of Kygo’s greatest hits. Skidding confidently, and sending tourists scrambling, he parked and stepped out into the bike line approaching the burrito spot with a confidence so misplaced it could have been mistaken for all his father’s affection.
On Mission Bay, a parallel path was unfolding. Sarah had awoken at 7:30 promptly and taken her usual morning sustenance of a piece of avocado toast, two slices of an orange and a yogurt. Donning her tiniest pair of sunglasses, she just barely made it on time to the morning farmers market with the girls and began her weekly routine of flirting with the hot guy at the cheese stand. His name was Adam and he was hot in the, I have a cute obsession and I’m blissfully unaware of the surrounding world, way. Plus he knew how to slide a sample at the most opportune moment (I’m blushing on behalf of Sarah just thinking about him tbh). Collecting her purchases, she was flush with cash having chosen an on-sale item from Amazon earlier in the week (I’m told this is girl math, respect). Sarah returned home for a mid-morning rot. Innumerable tik-toks later and feeling refreshed, she headed to her 1pm pilates class unaware of how monumentally her life was about to change.
Walking out of the burrito place, it happened. Locking eyes across Garnet, Chet felt a slight twinge deep in his chest. There she was, the girl who had almost met him at West End. Exiting her pilates studio, she was everything his neanderthal brain could desire. But what should he do? How to approach and win her over? Sure, there were the tried and true methods: ask her what vape flavors she's into, tell her about his sickest wave, offer unsolicited financial advice. But this was no ordinary woman. This was a South PB babe. So, sighing, Chet realized there was only one answer. He would do the unthinkable, he would cross Garnet into South PB and invite her… to Water Bar. Leaving his car parked in the bike lane, he crossed the street, making intense eye contact from behind his Blenders. The heat was undeniable. He just knew– this was his situationship-mate.
I would take you through the elaborate courtship routines of a north PB bro meeting a south PB babe but I’m not here to be the next Sarah J. Maas. I’m here to heal a community.
Let’s jump forward to the moment we are all awaiting, their first date. Sarah arrived fashionably late but felt immediate regrets. Her friend’s warnings rung in her ears. “It will never work, he’ll probably show up on a longboard.” “Just find a solid South PB bro and call it a day.” “Ew, what if he invites you to Kate Sessions or somewhere else in north PB?” And yet there she sat, alone, overlooking the Pacific, wondering how long she’d wait for her sneaky link to arrive. Meanwhile, Chet was experiencing actual nerves for the first time since his vape had run out mid-skate sesh last weekend. Pits sweaty, spirits high, he carved down the boardwalk with the determination of a man who’d just googled “how to make a girl fall for you in one date.”
When he arrived at Water Bar he took a breath, adjusted his tank top, and approached her table. A few nervous south PB couples whispered ominously, “Who does he think he is?” “Are those… Chacos?” “Look at that north PB guy thinking he’s better than us.” But Sarah just smiled. She saw something genuine in this overgrown boy- earnest, sunburnt and smelling of zinc. So when he sat across from her and asked how the waves looked she smiled, shook her head and ordered them two Pacificos. And they talked. They ate overpriced burgers. They swapped stories. They hooked up in the Mavericks bathroom. They went to boozy brunch. They vibed.
Maybe it all ended after three dates and a shared Spotify playlist. Maybe it faded out into a haze of tequila shots, tacos and drunk texts. Or maybe, just maybe, years later if you walk down the beach north of Diamond street you’ll see two groms in the water. Their mother longboarding on the boardwalk. Their father lugging a Trader Joe’s bag filled with snacks from the farmer’s market. Maybe you’ll hear one of them yell, “This one’s mine!” The other will call back, “We can share it, Donnie!”
And as Duke drops in, he’ll smile back at his brother. A shared wave. A healed PB. Stranger things happen every day.