As the waves pounded 50 yards offshore, this particular trip began with a hunger for glassy waters, hollow breakers, good food, and camaraderie. It is a recipe unique to surfers, who rally behind the notion that surf is where you find it and that everyone is welcome. No amount of prestige or money buys into the club. There are no rituals, no fees, and no bad vibes. Surfers everywhere know that a surf trip begins where the waves break best and ends when the fun runs out.

Unfortunately, as you grow older your priorities change and so do the responsibilities. Nevertheless, surfers always find time for a group trip. With great expectations and equally keen attitudes, Benjamin, Keith, Erik and Milt-friends from the entertainment industry-unpacked a 1980s motorhome and eyed the coast off Southern California.

They looked more like school kids waiting for summer to start and couldn't get the gear unpacked fast enough. The crashing sound of decent sets moving in like clockwork wasn't helping to calm the situation, and the more time went by the more restless these guys got. Soon, their boards were coated with a layer of wax and the jockeying for waves began.

I boarded the motorhome once camp was set up and was one of the last to hit the surf. The cold ones were already on ice, and the steaks were soaking in a spicy marinade that made the eyes burn as a collection of guitar-heavy rock tunes set in motion a surf trip that would take a party of five on a binge of head-high swells. It was pure tranquility, that's for sure.

The hot spot within San Onofre beach was Old Man's, a hidden gem that for generations of surfers has become legend. It's mostly a lumbering summer swell, but in the winter Old Man's gets aggressive and humbling, even by local standards.