The last time we California surfers had to worry about getting hassled by Marines was in the 1960s and ‘70s, when the greatest, most consistent waves on our whole coastline were off-limits, legally at least.

Cotton’s Point was right below the cliff on which sat President Richard Nixon’s Western White House, and the Secret Service don’t surf.

Just south, Upper Trestles, where now I paddle out every November with a posse of old longboarders to celebrate my birthday, and Lower Trestles, where the 2028 Olympics competition will be held, were entirely verboten beaches because they are the property of the United States Marine Corps’ Camp Pendleton.

Braver kids than I was would sneak past the Marine guards anyway, stashing their boards in the high marsh grass, making a run for the beach to cat

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