The Darkest, Gloomiest Women’s QS California’s Never Seen

Up the coast of Central California lies an adorable little tourist town called Pismo Beach. It has a pier. It has rooftop hotel bars, restaurants and classic car shows on Sunday mornings. It has chintzy storefronts called Beachcomber Bills or the Itsy Bitsy Spider Shop who presumably carry neon green shirts which read PismofuckingBeach in headache yellow. These stores are filled with postcards, magnets and coffee mugs for the “Best Dad of the Year, 2018.”

On a sunny Saturday, you can sip craft beers with grandparents in leather jackets, running with a crew who may or may not be part of the Hells Angels.

And, Pismo lies just south of San Luis Obispo; if you head 45 minutes inland to Paso Robles, you’ll find yourself drunk off some of the finest grapes California has to offer. Wine and cheese and the pure air of intoxication.

Fantastic!

For the men, the inaugural Pismo Beach Pro of 2017 was touted as the “People’s Event.” Cory Arrambide won. The sun was shining. People were cheering. And, Pismo looked like a California scene The Mamas and The Papas sang about on a such a winter’s days.

Pismo Beach, come October 11-14th, based purely off the header image for the Women’s event, is going to be a sad, dark place. The type of place where temperatures drop down 30 points with a fear inducing fog brought on by demons who proceed to suck the happiness out of each and every competitor, beachgoer, and grandma straddling her legs around a rip roaring hog.

As the WSL said in their promotion for the Pismo Beach Open, “brisk mornings are back on the menu for October 11-14 for the second annual Pismo Beach Open,” with the abruptly uninviting photo that we’ve taken the liberty to head this article with.

Pismo is one of four Men’s QS events in California and one of two Women’s QS events on the Golden Coast.

If you’re in the area, and would like to go to a surf contest that feels like fun, ignore the doom and gloom of the World Surf League’s promo for the event. Grab you hotrod, pull the top down, bring your grandma and a cooler full of beverages and rip it to Pismo.

If the beach is grim to the point the reaper sucks your soul, 45 minutes away you can escape the fog and intoxicate yourself with that wine and cheese and clean air we were previously speaking of.