A July day at La Jolla Shores, told through an old truck, surfboards, and sun-soaked moments
July mornings in La Jolla Shores start soft. We got there just after sunrise, when the sand was cool under my feet and the sky was painted in pale pinks and golds. The air smelled faintly of salt and eucalyptus drifting down from the hills. That’s when I saw it, an old truck parked right at the edge of the lot, two surfboards leaning against its bed, both waxed and ready. I thought for sure the surfers had just gone down to the water, but as the morning went on, the truck stayed exactly where it was.
We spread our towels near the lifeguard tower and settled in, watching the waves roll in, slow and steady. La Jolla Shores has this rhythm in the morning; early paddleboarders gliding out toward the caves, joggers making loops along the water, gulls crying overhead. I kept glancing back at the truck. The boards caught the light every so often, flashing like they wanted to be noticed. I started to imagine the story — maybe the surfers were grabbing coffee, or wandering the beach without their boards, just enjoying the view.
By mid-morning, the marine layer had burned off, and the sky turned that deep, endless blue you only get in summer. The heat built quickly, that dry California sunshine that makes your skin feel warm in seconds. Kids were laughing, chasing foam at the shoreline, and a group next to us was deep into an intense beach volleyball game. The thud of the ball and bursts of laughter became the soundtrack of the afternoon. Around noon, we decided to wander into the village for lunch. Puesto was calling — fish tacos with crispy batter, fresh cabbage, and a squeeze of lime, paired with icy agua fresca. After that, we ducked into The Cottage for an iced coffee and split a berry tart that tasted like summer itself.
When we got back, the truck was still there. The boards hadn’t moved an inch. I figured the surfers must have decided to make a whole day of it somewhere else; maybe walking the cove, maybe at a friend’s house up the hill, maybe just enjoying La Jolla without getting wet. It was strange how something so still could become the center of the day. Every time I looked over, it felt like a little anchor, holding the moment in place.
The afternoon sun was hot enough to make the sand nearly untouchable without sandals, and the water felt extra refreshing. We swam, dozed under the umbrella, and people-watched for hours. Tourists tried kayaking for the first time, wobbling and laughing as they found their balance. At some point, a street musician started playing guitar near the boardwalk, and the sound carried over the water, mellow and slow.
As the day started to soften, the energy on the beach shifted. People packed up their chairs and coolers, brushing sand from their legs. The air cooled just enough to feel comfortable again, and the sky began its slow drift into gold and orange. We stayed until the very end, because you don’t leave La Jolla Shores before sunset in July. Pelicans glided low over the water, the horizon caught fire with color, and that truck, still there, was now bathed in the last light of the day. The boards glowed for a moment, then faded into shadow.
On the walk back to the car, I felt that familiar pull to hold onto the day. Not just in photos, but in something tangible.
By the time we left, the truck had disappeared into the darkness of the night. I never did see the surfers, but somehow that made it better — like the whole day belonged to that quiet, unmoving scene. And maybe, in a way, it did.
