CREW: Randy, John A., Dave T., Manny A., Jack
TIME: 0700- 0900, 2 hrs.
WATER: Going from mid to low tide, still some weird movement on the inside, shallow where the waves were breaking, off shore winds consistent, walled on the plus sets, inside shoulders on the small ones.
Randy had to handle some business in town today, so we decided to get a morning session in together. Cheryl told me that she might make it which meant that she wasn’t gonna surf. It doesn’t matter because she didn’t miss shit anyway. We scored parking on 45th St. Since I dinged the JSS, I brought the Merrick back into service. The morning air was a little cold. We saw a set coming in as we looked down the hill. From our vantage point it looked like there were long, but really clean peaks, about shoulder high.
We decided to get away from the crowd and paddled in right before the tanks. As we paddled out we duckdove some waves with good shape. Once we were at the line a soft right shoulder came my way. I told Randy to go for it. After that I don’t know what the hell happened. The waves were long and walled, kamikazes again. Randy paddled towards the tanks where Ray was. It looked like there were some clean rights over there. I kept the faith where I was. I caught some smaller waves that were in between the sets. I did the rail grab thing going right, but those waves were garbage. I managed to crank out a couple bottom turns, but by the time I hit the lip it was already closing out.
The sun blinded me as I glanced to the south to see who else was in the line. Other than the shitty surf, the sun and atmosphere was marvelous. I noticed that Dave was right by me, then I saw that he was surfing with Manny and Jack. They said it was better when the tide was higher. I don’t know how he did it, but Manny picked out the shoulders from the walls that rolled through. I guess it’s something in the Amador gene. I later saw John A. to the north and exchanged a little small talk about how his Christmas went. Apparently, Rick is in Big Bear shredding some snow while we are stuck with the funky surf.
My brother paddled back to where we were. He said he got a couple, and that it was actually better than Huntington. I could only imagine how shitty it must be down there. It was almost 0900, so I power walked back to the Outback to avoid the Manhattan Meter Maids. Randy was shivering his ass off. I guess it’s that Bali weather still in his veins.
At 1400 we went to check out the water again. Surfline had a report at 1255 that said it was three to four feet with occasional five and low wind. When we arrived it looked even worse than the fucking morning. We passed. Another day of fucking shitty ass motherfuckin’ surf. Fuck my ass. … I’m dying for a clean wave. I planned to surf San Onofre for my birthday tomorrow, but the forecast looks horrible all throughout southern California. I hate being so bummed. When the surf sucks, I suck. Oh well.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
DAYS OF THE DUMPRIDER : MON 12.27.2010 NOON
CREW: SOLO BOLO
TIME: 1200 - 1300, 1 hr.
WATER: Mid to high tide, clear and sunny skies, chest to shoulder high waves, dumpy, walled, slight onshore winds.
I failed to wake up early. My Sunday was spent relaxing the whole day until the early morning hours. When I woke up to check the tide, I thought that I made the right call because it was low tide at first light. I planned to hit the water at about noon as the tide was coming up. I thought that the higher tide would be better. As I pulled into the El Porto lot everything looked deceivingly well. The sun was shining bright, the parking lot was full, there were a lot of people on the sand and bike path, and it almost looked like summer. The water had scattered peaks, and the inside had some shoulders. The waves looked a little racy, but I thought I saw come workable corners. I talked to the guy that was parked next to me. He said it was going off earlier. I guess I made the wrong call, and the morning was actually good.
I was still optimistic, and I expected the conditions to get better with the rising tide. I took my new board, the JSS, out. I paddled out in front of the tanks to avoid the crowd. I had to duckdive some waves, but I made it out with medium difficulty. Once I was at the line I realized that it wasn’t as good as it looked from the shore. Yes, there were waves, and there was size. There was potential, but it just wasn’t breaking right. The sets came in walled, and if there was a corner, that mother ran away fast. There was a lot of movement in the water, like some kind current swirling things up. Leaves and other little bits of things were floating everywhere.
The main crowd was in front of 45th and 42nd. The current was going south, so I had to go against the current to keep my place. This session brought back a lot of memories of how I came up with the name Dump Rider Crew. It was definitely a dump rider session. I paddled into waves that were pure kamikaze drops. I got pitched over the lip a lot. There were a lot of waves that I paddled for, saw that I wasn’t going to make it, and had to throw my board away from me as I ate shit. I also survived some drops, but the wave exploded upon my landing. There seemed to be a lot of power in the waves. After my rides, the white wash seemed to suck me down hard. On one wave I was pulled so violently that my left ear canal was in pain all the way to the back of my throat. I guess I got ear fucked by El Porto. I had to take a little break out in the line up after that.
There were a couple guys close by. A set wave came, and one of them watched me as I paddled into the wave. As I popped up, I purled hard, front flipping into the water. That was embarrassing. It was already hard enough trying to get some time on a new board, but the conditions (once again) were not ideal for what I was trying to do. I did catch a left that I tried to get slotted under as it fully enveloped me. The whole session wasn’t a total loss. I caught a couple rights that were kind of fun. Since the waves were dumpy, even the ones with shoulders were a little steep and racy. I did some rail grabs and got in a strong power stance, crouched, down the line. When I got to my feet to pump my board I fell because the board just felt too loose. I still need to get used to it. I tried to top turn off the lip but bogged out.
At about 1300 I came to terms with the fact that it wasn’t gonna get any better. As I got to walking depth I examined my board to make sure that it was okay. I found that I broke the glass on the left rear rail. It’s only a crack that’s about an inch and a half long, but the glass chipped off. I was upset when I saw that, but it could have been a lot worse. I learned a lesson that day. The JSS shouldn’t be taken out in shitty conditions. I need to take it out only when it’s clean. Another lesson, when it’s pure shit out there sometimes it’s better to pass and wait another day.
TIME: 1200 - 1300, 1 hr.
WATER: Mid to high tide, clear and sunny skies, chest to shoulder high waves, dumpy, walled, slight onshore winds.
I failed to wake up early. My Sunday was spent relaxing the whole day until the early morning hours. When I woke up to check the tide, I thought that I made the right call because it was low tide at first light. I planned to hit the water at about noon as the tide was coming up. I thought that the higher tide would be better. As I pulled into the El Porto lot everything looked deceivingly well. The sun was shining bright, the parking lot was full, there were a lot of people on the sand and bike path, and it almost looked like summer. The water had scattered peaks, and the inside had some shoulders. The waves looked a little racy, but I thought I saw come workable corners. I talked to the guy that was parked next to me. He said it was going off earlier. I guess I made the wrong call, and the morning was actually good.
I was still optimistic, and I expected the conditions to get better with the rising tide. I took my new board, the JSS, out. I paddled out in front of the tanks to avoid the crowd. I had to duckdive some waves, but I made it out with medium difficulty. Once I was at the line I realized that it wasn’t as good as it looked from the shore. Yes, there were waves, and there was size. There was potential, but it just wasn’t breaking right. The sets came in walled, and if there was a corner, that mother ran away fast. There was a lot of movement in the water, like some kind current swirling things up. Leaves and other little bits of things were floating everywhere.
The main crowd was in front of 45th and 42nd. The current was going south, so I had to go against the current to keep my place. This session brought back a lot of memories of how I came up with the name Dump Rider Crew. It was definitely a dump rider session. I paddled into waves that were pure kamikaze drops. I got pitched over the lip a lot. There were a lot of waves that I paddled for, saw that I wasn’t going to make it, and had to throw my board away from me as I ate shit. I also survived some drops, but the wave exploded upon my landing. There seemed to be a lot of power in the waves. After my rides, the white wash seemed to suck me down hard. On one wave I was pulled so violently that my left ear canal was in pain all the way to the back of my throat. I guess I got ear fucked by El Porto. I had to take a little break out in the line up after that.
There were a couple guys close by. A set wave came, and one of them watched me as I paddled into the wave. As I popped up, I purled hard, front flipping into the water. That was embarrassing. It was already hard enough trying to get some time on a new board, but the conditions (once again) were not ideal for what I was trying to do. I did catch a left that I tried to get slotted under as it fully enveloped me. The whole session wasn’t a total loss. I caught a couple rights that were kind of fun. Since the waves were dumpy, even the ones with shoulders were a little steep and racy. I did some rail grabs and got in a strong power stance, crouched, down the line. When I got to my feet to pump my board I fell because the board just felt too loose. I still need to get used to it. I tried to top turn off the lip but bogged out.
At about 1300 I came to terms with the fact that it wasn’t gonna get any better. As I got to walking depth I examined my board to make sure that it was okay. I found that I broke the glass on the left rear rail. It’s only a crack that’s about an inch and a half long, but the glass chipped off. I was upset when I saw that, but it could have been a lot worse. I learned a lesson that day. The JSS shouldn’t be taken out in shitty conditions. I need to take it out only when it’s clean. Another lesson, when it’s pure shit out there sometimes it’s better to pass and wait another day.
Monday, December 27, 2010
6‘3 X 18 ½ X 3/8 : SUN 12.26.2010 MORN
CREW: Shan
TIME: 1200 - 1245, 0.75 hr.
WATER: High tide, onshore howling, shoulder to head high, choppy, consistent
After one of the best Christmases in my life, I had a hard time getting up to surf early the day after. My brother gave me the most awesome early birthday and Christmas gift: an intermediate level short board by JSS Industries! I couldn’t wait to try it out, but it still lay against the wall, unwaxed, and unleashed in the early Sunday morning hours. Shan hit me up at about 1000 and told me he was going to check it out. I waxed my new board up and met him at Porto by 1145.
It looked terrible out there. I’m not sure what the morning looked like, but if there was no wind that morning, then we definitely missed the window for good surf. It looked like a long paddle out because of the tide. The inside was a little consistent, and the waves were feathering out pretty fast. There were still some shoulders, but it was just really messy. Some guys were out there, maybe about six heads. We decided to give it a shot anyway. When I got there I saw a short boarder try to make it out. By the time I got to the sand, he was walking back to shore, defeated from the inside. The lifeguard truck pulled up and talked to him. I asked him what they said, and he replied, “They said to stay away from the jetty because the current’s strong.”
I grabbed my new board. It felt so light in my hands. I did my usual ritual before entry and walked out as far as I could. It was hard to time my paddle out. I just wanted to get out there already, and I couldn’t see over the waves once I got in. As soon as I got on my board I sunk it, but not as bad as my brother’s short board which was even smaller. I felt the difference of being less buoyant and having to paddle harder to get to the line. On a good note, I duckdived the waves with ease. In fact, a set wave broke right in front of me, and I duckdived it to textbook: I didn’t even feel the wave; I went under and out the back, completely unscathed. I went the whole session without losing my board.
The current started to take us north right away. Shan said our best chance was to fight the current and stay in front of 45th to catch the left. I didn’t agree and felt that fighting the current was a no win situation. But slap my knees and call me ashy, he was right. The best wave of the day came, and it was all his. In the mess, a walled section came with a left shoulder right where Shan was. He caught it really late, and I thought he was going to get pitched. As he dropped in he let out his trademark, “Woohoo!” then again when I saw his head silhouette from my view. He almost caught it all the way to shore. Another left came, and I caught it really late, too. Unfortunately, I purled it hard. I wasn’t used to that board yet. I caught a more forgiving right, but the conditions were not favorable for testing out a new board. Once I got on the face I tried to pump but bogged out. All my rides were like that.
Shan finally made it back to the line, and the winds got even stronger. The few surfers out there called it quits. I caught a couple more waves, but they were already feathered out by the time I popped up. It was just a bad day for surf. After forty-five minutes it wasn’t worth it anymore. Sometimes just one wave can make the whole session. That day, Shan got that wave. Even though I didn’t get the wave of the day, I was really happy to have duckdived that set wave. If I was on the Merrick, I would’ve gotten worked. It was still good to get out and try to get the feel of my new board.
Last night Klaude came over. I told him that my brother told me that it was “up to me” if I was ready for that short board. Klaude replied, “So what are you waiting for?”
TIME: 1200 - 1245, 0.75 hr.
WATER: High tide, onshore howling, shoulder to head high, choppy, consistent
After one of the best Christmases in my life, I had a hard time getting up to surf early the day after. My brother gave me the most awesome early birthday and Christmas gift: an intermediate level short board by JSS Industries! I couldn’t wait to try it out, but it still lay against the wall, unwaxed, and unleashed in the early Sunday morning hours. Shan hit me up at about 1000 and told me he was going to check it out. I waxed my new board up and met him at Porto by 1145.
It looked terrible out there. I’m not sure what the morning looked like, but if there was no wind that morning, then we definitely missed the window for good surf. It looked like a long paddle out because of the tide. The inside was a little consistent, and the waves were feathering out pretty fast. There were still some shoulders, but it was just really messy. Some guys were out there, maybe about six heads. We decided to give it a shot anyway. When I got there I saw a short boarder try to make it out. By the time I got to the sand, he was walking back to shore, defeated from the inside. The lifeguard truck pulled up and talked to him. I asked him what they said, and he replied, “They said to stay away from the jetty because the current’s strong.”
I grabbed my new board. It felt so light in my hands. I did my usual ritual before entry and walked out as far as I could. It was hard to time my paddle out. I just wanted to get out there already, and I couldn’t see over the waves once I got in. As soon as I got on my board I sunk it, but not as bad as my brother’s short board which was even smaller. I felt the difference of being less buoyant and having to paddle harder to get to the line. On a good note, I duckdived the waves with ease. In fact, a set wave broke right in front of me, and I duckdived it to textbook: I didn’t even feel the wave; I went under and out the back, completely unscathed. I went the whole session without losing my board.
The current started to take us north right away. Shan said our best chance was to fight the current and stay in front of 45th to catch the left. I didn’t agree and felt that fighting the current was a no win situation. But slap my knees and call me ashy, he was right. The best wave of the day came, and it was all his. In the mess, a walled section came with a left shoulder right where Shan was. He caught it really late, and I thought he was going to get pitched. As he dropped in he let out his trademark, “Woohoo!” then again when I saw his head silhouette from my view. He almost caught it all the way to shore. Another left came, and I caught it really late, too. Unfortunately, I purled it hard. I wasn’t used to that board yet. I caught a more forgiving right, but the conditions were not favorable for testing out a new board. Once I got on the face I tried to pump but bogged out. All my rides were like that.
Shan finally made it back to the line, and the winds got even stronger. The few surfers out there called it quits. I caught a couple more waves, but they were already feathered out by the time I popped up. It was just a bad day for surf. After forty-five minutes it wasn’t worth it anymore. Sometimes just one wave can make the whole session. That day, Shan got that wave. Even though I didn’t get the wave of the day, I was really happy to have duckdived that set wave. If I was on the Merrick, I would’ve gotten worked. It was still good to get out and try to get the feel of my new board.
Last night Klaude came over. I told him that my brother told me that it was “up to me” if I was ready for that short board. Klaude replied, “So what are you waiting for?”
WE CAME, WE SAW, WE FAILED: SAT 12.25.2010 MORN
CREW: J
TIME: 0700 - 0800, 1 hr.
WATER: Cold as hell, flat … thigh to knee high, howling winds on shore.
Shan, J, and I agreed to meet at 26th St. to change things up. I got a text from Shan the night before that it was too foggy to surf in the morning. I was a little surprised because I had no idea where he was getting his info from that there would be too much fog at the beach. J beat me to 26th. It was pitch black out with barely any cars parked, a bad sign. We walked out and took a look at the water. There was a group of local guys having their coffee and checking it out, too. The Manhattan Pier Christmas tree lights were nice and bright. It was a clear morning. The moonlight shimmered off of the waves and water, but the waves … were nonexistent. It was knee high at Manhattan. We tried to angle our heads in certain ways to make it look like the waves were bigger, but it wasn’t working. We decided to see if Porto looked any better.
There were only a couple cars parked. By then the sun was colored the eastern horizon. It was just a tad bit better, maybe knee high. The good thing was that there was no wind at all. It was nice and glassy, and even though the waves were small they still had shape. I contemplated on driving somewhere for surf, but J had to stay close to home because him family was in town.
I gave him a lock safe for Christmas, we changed, and we paddled out. There was a guy at 42nd catching a really nice left. I was amazed to see that sand bar still doing its thing even with the small conditions. We invaded some guy’s territory north of 45th. It took a while, but once the sets came in there were actually some nice shoulders. Pretty soon there were some longboarders out by us. I got a really nice right, but I fell on the pop up. J went left on the wave. When we both paddled back to the line a set wave came that we had to duckdive.
Once we resurfaced I noticed ripples in the water moving towards the shore. The ripples turned to chops, then the onshore winds took over. Whatever shape was there had left. The little waves were knocked down, they broke on the outside and bogged at the line up, and everyone started to leave. The winds got stronger, and the inactivity from lack of surf only made us colder. J made the call and said it was unsurfable. He was right.
If I knew the session would be that short I wouldn’t have pissed in my wetsuit. I thanked him for making it out. “We tried,” was the theme for the morning. Usually I say that it was “worth it” just to be out there. I was so cold that when I got home and took a shit, steam was rising from the toilet bowl. That morning it wasn’t worth the surf, but it was worth strengthening the surfer bond between buddies.
TIME: 0700 - 0800, 1 hr.
WATER: Cold as hell, flat … thigh to knee high, howling winds on shore.
Shan, J, and I agreed to meet at 26th St. to change things up. I got a text from Shan the night before that it was too foggy to surf in the morning. I was a little surprised because I had no idea where he was getting his info from that there would be too much fog at the beach. J beat me to 26th. It was pitch black out with barely any cars parked, a bad sign. We walked out and took a look at the water. There was a group of local guys having their coffee and checking it out, too. The Manhattan Pier Christmas tree lights were nice and bright. It was a clear morning. The moonlight shimmered off of the waves and water, but the waves … were nonexistent. It was knee high at Manhattan. We tried to angle our heads in certain ways to make it look like the waves were bigger, but it wasn’t working. We decided to see if Porto looked any better.
There were only a couple cars parked. By then the sun was colored the eastern horizon. It was just a tad bit better, maybe knee high. The good thing was that there was no wind at all. It was nice and glassy, and even though the waves were small they still had shape. I contemplated on driving somewhere for surf, but J had to stay close to home because him family was in town.
I gave him a lock safe for Christmas, we changed, and we paddled out. There was a guy at 42nd catching a really nice left. I was amazed to see that sand bar still doing its thing even with the small conditions. We invaded some guy’s territory north of 45th. It took a while, but once the sets came in there were actually some nice shoulders. Pretty soon there were some longboarders out by us. I got a really nice right, but I fell on the pop up. J went left on the wave. When we both paddled back to the line a set wave came that we had to duckdive.
Once we resurfaced I noticed ripples in the water moving towards the shore. The ripples turned to chops, then the onshore winds took over. Whatever shape was there had left. The little waves were knocked down, they broke on the outside and bogged at the line up, and everyone started to leave. The winds got stronger, and the inactivity from lack of surf only made us colder. J made the call and said it was unsurfable. He was right.
If I knew the session would be that short I wouldn’t have pissed in my wetsuit. I thanked him for making it out. “We tried,” was the theme for the morning. Usually I say that it was “worth it” just to be out there. I was so cold that when I got home and took a shit, steam was rising from the toilet bowl. That morning it wasn’t worth the surf, but it was worth strengthening the surfer bond between buddies.
Friday, December 24, 2010
CHRISTMAS EVE SESSION: FRI 12.24.2010 MORN
CREW: J, Rick, John A., Dave T., Jimmy, and a bunch of Rick’s other homeboys
TIME: 0640 - 0850, 1.3 hrs.
WATER: Cold, soft, chest high, mid tide, holiday crowded,
Last night I let Shan, J, and Dais know that I’d be surfing Porto in the morning. J showed up. I scored free parking on 45th before the gate was even open. I couldn’t tell what the waves were doing yet, but I saw that there was some action in the water. My girlfriend, Lauren, bought me a lock safe to keep my car key in, so I used it for the first time. I sunblocked up and met up with J who was parked in the first stall. We paddled out at 45th. The water wasn’t crowded yet. The early morning was really good. The waves were only chest high, but the shoulders were well defined, and there was enough push on them to propel you down the line. J and I caught one wave after another. I got a really good left where I was able to carve its face. I wanted to attempt a cut back, but there wasn’t enough size to work with. It was a fair exchange. I like surfing with J because we give each other a lot of waves. Perfect sets were coming in with us telling each other to go for them. At about 0730 the water changed. It was no longer breaking where we were, the waves got softer, and the two prime spots were 42nd or north of 45th. Both of those spots were jam packed. I saw that Dave was surfing right next to us, and he told me that Rick and the gang were all there.
We paddled to their group by the tanks. I introduced J to John A. … There are just too many Johns that I surf with. We actually had a hard time catching waves there. Those guys were cool, but they are really good, and they were catching a lot of the waves. J left to feed the meter. I paddled further north to get away from the crowd. The waves weren’t as good over there. I was surfing with John, and he caught a lot of rides all the way to the sand. He even said he was getting mini barrels over two feel of water. I was getting frustrated when I finally caught a left. I looked ahead of me and saw John trying to paddle towards my right to get out of the way. I thought I would go past him, but I got hung up on the lip and totally ran him over. Lucky for us, we didn’t hit each other or our boards, but I was a little embarrassed and traumatized by that incident. Someone could have seriously gotten hurt, and I felt at fault for the whole thing.
J made it back and caught some nice rights. I got some rights, too, and managed a couple turns off the lip. It was a little past 0850, and I was worried about getting a parking ticket. I tried to catch one last wave, but that wave never came. I ended up back at my car right after the parking enforcement got there.
It was fun while it lasted, a Christmas Eve surf session. I think two years ago to this day I did the exact same thing. Even though tomorrow will be small, I can’t wait to surf.
TIME: 0640 - 0850, 1.3 hrs.
WATER: Cold, soft, chest high, mid tide, holiday crowded,
Last night I let Shan, J, and Dais know that I’d be surfing Porto in the morning. J showed up. I scored free parking on 45th before the gate was even open. I couldn’t tell what the waves were doing yet, but I saw that there was some action in the water. My girlfriend, Lauren, bought me a lock safe to keep my car key in, so I used it for the first time. I sunblocked up and met up with J who was parked in the first stall. We paddled out at 45th. The water wasn’t crowded yet. The early morning was really good. The waves were only chest high, but the shoulders were well defined, and there was enough push on them to propel you down the line. J and I caught one wave after another. I got a really good left where I was able to carve its face. I wanted to attempt a cut back, but there wasn’t enough size to work with. It was a fair exchange. I like surfing with J because we give each other a lot of waves. Perfect sets were coming in with us telling each other to go for them. At about 0730 the water changed. It was no longer breaking where we were, the waves got softer, and the two prime spots were 42nd or north of 45th. Both of those spots were jam packed. I saw that Dave was surfing right next to us, and he told me that Rick and the gang were all there.
We paddled to their group by the tanks. I introduced J to John A. … There are just too many Johns that I surf with. We actually had a hard time catching waves there. Those guys were cool, but they are really good, and they were catching a lot of the waves. J left to feed the meter. I paddled further north to get away from the crowd. The waves weren’t as good over there. I was surfing with John, and he caught a lot of rides all the way to the sand. He even said he was getting mini barrels over two feel of water. I was getting frustrated when I finally caught a left. I looked ahead of me and saw John trying to paddle towards my right to get out of the way. I thought I would go past him, but I got hung up on the lip and totally ran him over. Lucky for us, we didn’t hit each other or our boards, but I was a little embarrassed and traumatized by that incident. Someone could have seriously gotten hurt, and I felt at fault for the whole thing.
J made it back and caught some nice rights. I got some rights, too, and managed a couple turns off the lip. It was a little past 0850, and I was worried about getting a parking ticket. I tried to catch one last wave, but that wave never came. I ended up back at my car right after the parking enforcement got there.
It was fun while it lasted, a Christmas Eve surf session. I think two years ago to this day I did the exact same thing. Even though tomorrow will be small, I can’t wait to surf.
ENTER THE SUN: THU 12.23.2010 EVE
CREW: Dais (couldn’t find each other, but he was there)
TIME: 1530 - 1650, 1.3 hrs.
WATER: Warmer than the morning, fairly consistent, waist to shoulder high, drained out tide, waves breaking in shallow area, some heads out.
After the morning session I went home and ate like a damn champ. At about 1515 I headed back out to see what the surf was like. Dais had text me and told me he was on his way from the valley. I was delighted to see the sun shining all throughout El Segundo as I drove off. Hyperion and Hammers had waves, but they were breaking close to shore. I was in total awe when I saw the low orange sun above the ocean as I made my way into the lot. Even better, I saw a set rolling in; there were waves! I was beyond happy; I was giddy. I shot a text back to Dais to let him know where I’d be. The tide looked completely out. Once I was on the sand I realized that I got excited too fast. Yes, there were waves, but they were breaking really shallow. I walked out in front of 45th. It was actually harder than anticipated. Since the waves were breaking so close, I was faced with waves breaking right in front of me in chest deep water. I had a hard time duckdiving them because it was too shallow. Once I got to the line up it didn’t take too long for a wave to come. The lull in between sets wasn’t that long. There was a little wind which put a little bit of texture on the water. The peaks were pretty long with a well defined shoulder to work with; it’s just too bad that the tide was so low. I tried to catch the outside sets so I could get a longer ride, but that wasn’t always the case. My first couple waves were rights, and I was surprised that I was able to get good top turns on all of them before they completely closed out. I got a pretty good one where I was able to hear the spray. It sounded like a splashing crack. I caught a couple lefts that didn’t hold shape. Unfortunately, it was a little dangerous out there. I drifted a little south which placed me in the crowd. When I was done on a wave there were people paddling into rides right in front of me. There were so many heads in harm’s way because of the shallow water. I finally went back to shore so I could walk north, away from everyone. I was in front of the tanks, and it wasn’t as good over there, but I still got some rides. I looked for Dais, but there was no sign of him. He could’ve been mixed in with the main crowd.
I saw jellyfish in the water, which I thought was odd for El Porto. There were also dolphins catching waves right next to me. I got a little scared because they were catching the waves right in front of me as I paddled out. I was so worried that we were going to collide. When they were done with their ride, they swam right next to me to get back to the line. It freaked me out a little bit. At about 1650 I caught my last wave in. It wasn’t a great session, but I was happy to get some turns on those right hand waves; it was more turns than I got during the morning session. I would later find out that Dais did make it out, but we had missed each other. Despite the mediocre surf, I needed to pull a double session. I’ve gone too long without surf, and we are expecting rain again next week, so now’s the time to get in.
TIME: 1530 - 1650, 1.3 hrs.
WATER: Warmer than the morning, fairly consistent, waist to shoulder high, drained out tide, waves breaking in shallow area, some heads out.
After the morning session I went home and ate like a damn champ. At about 1515 I headed back out to see what the surf was like. Dais had text me and told me he was on his way from the valley. I was delighted to see the sun shining all throughout El Segundo as I drove off. Hyperion and Hammers had waves, but they were breaking close to shore. I was in total awe when I saw the low orange sun above the ocean as I made my way into the lot. Even better, I saw a set rolling in; there were waves! I was beyond happy; I was giddy. I shot a text back to Dais to let him know where I’d be. The tide looked completely out. Once I was on the sand I realized that I got excited too fast. Yes, there were waves, but they were breaking really shallow. I walked out in front of 45th. It was actually harder than anticipated. Since the waves were breaking so close, I was faced with waves breaking right in front of me in chest deep water. I had a hard time duckdiving them because it was too shallow. Once I got to the line up it didn’t take too long for a wave to come. The lull in between sets wasn’t that long. There was a little wind which put a little bit of texture on the water. The peaks were pretty long with a well defined shoulder to work with; it’s just too bad that the tide was so low. I tried to catch the outside sets so I could get a longer ride, but that wasn’t always the case. My first couple waves were rights, and I was surprised that I was able to get good top turns on all of them before they completely closed out. I got a pretty good one where I was able to hear the spray. It sounded like a splashing crack. I caught a couple lefts that didn’t hold shape. Unfortunately, it was a little dangerous out there. I drifted a little south which placed me in the crowd. When I was done on a wave there were people paddling into rides right in front of me. There were so many heads in harm’s way because of the shallow water. I finally went back to shore so I could walk north, away from everyone. I was in front of the tanks, and it wasn’t as good over there, but I still got some rides. I looked for Dais, but there was no sign of him. He could’ve been mixed in with the main crowd.
I saw jellyfish in the water, which I thought was odd for El Porto. There were also dolphins catching waves right next to me. I got a little scared because they were catching the waves right in front of me as I paddled out. I was so worried that we were going to collide. When they were done with their ride, they swam right next to me to get back to the line. It freaked me out a little bit. At about 1650 I caught my last wave in. It wasn’t a great session, but I was happy to get some turns on those right hand waves; it was more turns than I got during the morning session. I would later find out that Dais did make it out, but we had missed each other. Despite the mediocre surf, I needed to pull a double session. I’ve gone too long without surf, and we are expecting rain again next week, so now’s the time to get in.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
POST STORM SESSION: THU 12.23.2010 MORN
TIME: 0630 - 0900, 2.5 hrs.
WATER: Not too cold, consistent, head high to over head, high tide, difficulty on inside, not too crowded.
It was exactly six days ago since the last time I surfed. Since then we had a DRC Xmas dinner. We were all pumped to surf again and talked about paddling out on Thursday or Friday. This morning was a must. With only Shan and Rick on the roster, I was looking forward to a good sesh with some buddies. Despite going to bed at 0200, I sprung out of bed at 0545 without a problem. M wetsuit was bone dry from being out of service. I changed at my apartment and made my way down to the beach. I didn’t feel like taking advantage of the free spots on 45th; I felt like being closer in the lot. Just as I parked I sent the text out to let everyone know what was up. Rick was already in the lot, and I got texts from Shan and Dais that they weren’t going to make it. The white wash appeared brown and foamy, but I hoped that it was just the lack of light producing that effect. As the darkness dissipated, I could see that the waves were consistent, and the peaks looked about head high, maybe even a little overhead on the plus sets. I could already tell that it would be a tough paddle out.
On the way to walk to Rick, I saw his friend Gary pull up. Parked next to Rick was Dave T. Gary gave us all gifts of sex wax. Extremely inexpensive, but better than a cheap shirt. We stretched in front of 42nd. Dave paddled out first, but I took a page out of Randy’s Book of Surfing, and I waited for the lull and found a channel. Miraculously, I only had to duckdive a couple waves to get to the line. Since the tide was coming up, the waves seemed to break a little late, but sometimes some outside sets came. The plus sets were amazing. They were big and peaky; some were a little hollow. We even saw some guys further south getting slotted. The current took us north, and I still didn’t have a wave to claim. Rick obviously didn’t waste any time and started doing his thing. I caught a couple waves that were too fast and closed out right away. Not every wave had good shape; some were walled, but every set had a good wave that came with it.
I knew I made the right decision waking up to surf when I saw the sun rays hitting the patchy clouds. They turned to pink cotton candy around the edges with the blue sky showing its face for the first time in almost a week. Despite the treacherous inside, the line up was calm with just a little wind. It was a good day for surf.
My wave of the day was a plus sized right that broke outside of the line up. Rick and I saw it at the same time. Just as I started to paddle for it he said, “You might want to be careful on that one!” It didn’t matter; I had already committed. I caught it right at the peak. The drop was steep and fun. I managed a rail grab while going backside. It would’ve been perfect for a barrel, but this wave was just big and unhollow. The section opened long. I was actually so stoked that I made the drop, that it didn’t click that I should pump down the line and try to get a turn in. I bottom turned and stalled at the lip before I fell. The speed from the drop sent me down the line a distance. When I resurfaced I saw those three guys cheering and stoked for me. Gary said he saw the rail grab; it’s nice when your friends actually see you do something cool because a lot of those moments are only etched in memory.
I tried to duplicate that ride, but I didn’t get another open face, or I’m just not at the level to take full advantage of days like this. I paddled in to feed the meter and returned. My second paddle back out was a complete fail. I’m still trying to get my duckdiving technique down, and I wasn’t pulling it off. Ground hog day effect, I was on a treadmill of white wash- stationary. I thought of that movie The Never Ending Story because the waves seemed “never ending,” and it was starring me, the guy that’s stuck on the inside. I had to turn around and rest on shore before another attempt. I felt defeated as I examined the little bits of trash that washed up on the water’s edge. I made another attempt. I thought I timed it right, but I got pounded again: paddle, paddle, submerge, lose board, grab board, paddle, paddle, set wave, duckdive, resurface, blinding bright light, white wash, then … a lull. … I thought it wasn’t meant to be, but a second paddle out was written for me on this day. Exhausted, I turned around with gaping mouth and all. I saw Gary fighting to get to the line, too. When we met he told me that he drifted all the way from 45th; we were on the north side of the tanks!
I watched Rick and Dave get some long rides almost all the way to shore. It felt like such a long paddle out. It seemed like minutes before I saw Dave returning from the inside. I caught a couple more insignificant waves and called it a little before 0900. Rick, Dave, and I perched and checked out the surf after getting all dried and changed. Then whattaya know? These guys changed out of their dry clothes and put on those dripping wetsuits again for another session. Jesus, I thought to myself. I contemplated, but I was done. All that paddling killed me; I was drained. I said my goodbyes, and now I sit here in my apartment full from last night’s left over Thai food and a cup of coffee. Second session?
Friday, December 17, 2010
GRAY, WET, AND COLD; FRI 12.17.2010 MORN
I didn’t even set my alarm. I was so drained from the last couple days’ lack of rest, surf, and substance abuse. My body woke itself up at 5:48 A.M. I was so cold, had a headache, and so warm in bed that I contemplated just sleeping in. I thought about how I told Shan and J that I would be at El Porto at first light. I got up and headed out the door. J text me that he was there, and Shan asked me how it was. I arrived at about half passed six. J was still in his clothes. It was clean. The offshore wind was strong, there was a little texture in the water, but the conditions were still excellent. The waves were just too small. It was one to two feet, maybe three on the plus sets. The bigger waves were racy in the middle, but the shoulders were rideable if you were in the right spot. There were a lot of people suiting up and heading out. The whole sky was canvassed with a blanket of impenetrable gray. Towards Manhattan beach there was a sheet of white in the air. It was barely sprinkling where we were.
We paddled out in front of the bathrooms on the south edge of a crowd. The sets were hogged by the main body, so we went further south by the sandwich shack and had our own peak. Everything I caught fizzled out pretty fast. J, once again, was able to get some long rides that opened up. I looked around and saw some other guys getting some good rides. I only got one right that gave me a clumsy top turn on the closing curl.
I was cold. The lack of waves, wind, and inactivity was a combo that had me shaking in my wetsuit. J left for work at seven forty. I caught a couple of the set waves that broke way on the outside, but they didn’t open up for me. As I looked towards 26th St. I could see more peaks rolling through there. Maybe that was the place to be this morning. I called the session at eight o’clock. It was a good day for a longboard, and it might even get better with the lowering tide. It’s a little wet out, and I’m still freezing just sitting on my couch. I’m not sure if I’ll go out again today, but I know that the rain is coming in, and things may not be clear again until Monday. It wasn’t a good week for surf, but I can only get better by getting in the water. Good or bad, I have to paddle out.
NIGHT SESSIONS: THU 12.16.2010 EVE
I met with J at first light, and it looked horrible. My brother told me that HB had a lot of wind, so it wasn’t a good idea to drive down south. I went back home.
I wanted to wait for the tide to come up, so I waited until about 3:30 P.M. before I headed back to Porto. The waves were just as bad as the day prior, but this time there was more wind. There were still some quick corners at the end of the long peaks, so I figured it would be worth a try. J showed up, and I told Shan were we would be.
J and I paddled in front of 45th before the crowd got there. The experience of duckdiving my short board on Wednesday helped my technique on this session. I felt that I was able to punch through better. The waves were mostly close outs, and we didn’t find ourselves in the right place. J was the first to catch some waves that actually opened up. The crowd started to drift into our spot, and by 4:30 P.M. we were sharing waves with a bunch of guys. Shan finally made it and paddled out to us while his lady waited on the cool evening sand. We drifted north from J, and I didn’t have much luck throughout the session. Shan caught a wave in, so I paddled to where J was.
It was already dark, but the water began to clean up a bit, and it wasn’t as choppy. Paul was out there with three other people from his surf crew. He didn’t recognize me, so I didn’t say anything to him. I finally got a decent right. I was able to bottom turn and get some spray off the top. J told me he saw it. It was only a “one turn” wave, but it made the session worth it.
Some chic was talking to J in the water about the Billabong Pipleline Masters. She said that Jeremy “Tores” won.
J said, “I think he’s from France.”
She said, “Yeah, he’s French, but he’s totally from California, or he lives in California."
I figured that it wasn’t worth getting involved in the conversation, but initially I couldn’t help but mentally roll my eyes at hearing that. I don’t have a wealth of knowledge when it comes to the surfing world, but this girl was totally off. I ended the session with a clean ass right. The only problem was that it was so dark that I couldn’t make out the face, so I didn’t get to hack the lip.
It was about 5:20 P.M. As I walked back to the lot I saw the meter maid out there giving tickets. I rushed to check my meter. It was good. I grabbed some change for J, but he was right behind me. About three guys got tickets. You have to play it safe at Porto. It’s better to lose another buck in change instead of forty dollars to the city of Manhattan Beach.
We made the best of it.
I wanted to wait for the tide to come up, so I waited until about 3:30 P.M. before I headed back to Porto. The waves were just as bad as the day prior, but this time there was more wind. There were still some quick corners at the end of the long peaks, so I figured it would be worth a try. J showed up, and I told Shan were we would be.
J and I paddled in front of 45th before the crowd got there. The experience of duckdiving my short board on Wednesday helped my technique on this session. I felt that I was able to punch through better. The waves were mostly close outs, and we didn’t find ourselves in the right place. J was the first to catch some waves that actually opened up. The crowd started to drift into our spot, and by 4:30 P.M. we were sharing waves with a bunch of guys. Shan finally made it and paddled out to us while his lady waited on the cool evening sand. We drifted north from J, and I didn’t have much luck throughout the session. Shan caught a wave in, so I paddled to where J was.
It was already dark, but the water began to clean up a bit, and it wasn’t as choppy. Paul was out there with three other people from his surf crew. He didn’t recognize me, so I didn’t say anything to him. I finally got a decent right. I was able to bottom turn and get some spray off the top. J told me he saw it. It was only a “one turn” wave, but it made the session worth it.
Some chic was talking to J in the water about the Billabong Pipleline Masters. She said that Jeremy “Tores” won.
J said, “I think he’s from France.”
She said, “Yeah, he’s French, but he’s totally from California, or he lives in California."
I figured that it wasn’t worth getting involved in the conversation, but initially I couldn’t help but mentally roll my eyes at hearing that. I don’t have a wealth of knowledge when it comes to the surfing world, but this girl was totally off. I ended the session with a clean ass right. The only problem was that it was so dark that I couldn’t make out the face, so I didn’t get to hack the lip.
It was about 5:20 P.M. As I walked back to the lot I saw the meter maid out there giving tickets. I rushed to check my meter. It was good. I grabbed some change for J, but he was right behind me. About three guys got tickets. You have to play it safe at Porto. It’s better to lose another buck in change instead of forty dollars to the city of Manhattan Beach.
We made the best of it.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
MY OLD FRIEND, THE POTATO CHIP: WED 12.16.2010 EVE
MY OLD FRIEND, THE POTATO CHIP: WED 12.16.2010 EVE
My brother told me that Wednesday afternoon supposed to have some new swell. He suggested that I go to check it out so that we could tell if the next day would be good. Rick called me in the afternoon and said his brother, Manny, was paddling out because it looked fun. It was about 3:00 P.M. I grabbed my gear and head out the door.
I took the short board that my brother gave me because I thought there would be some size. When I got to El Porto it was exactly the opposite: weak and crumbly. Rick drove there straight from work, so he didn’t have a board. I let him use my Merrick which left me with the potato chip. I had to hear Rick’s lecture about how I need to ride a bigger board, but I explained how I only brought it because I thought the waves would be bigger.
We exchanged greetings with Manny and his other friends as they were leaving. We paddled out in front of 45th. One thing I noticed immediately was how much easier it was to duck dive with that little board. Sure, I was slower, but I think that on bigger days I could save myself from getting worked so much by rogue waves and white wash. Rick paddled more south and did his thing. I struggled to get into the flaccid waves. I had to catch them late; my pop up was a little slow, but I still was able to get some rides. It’s too bad that the surf was weak because I bogged out instantly once I got on the face. I could be blamed for my lack of skill, but I felt that I could’ve got some nice rides if it was better out there. I pumped as hard as I could, but I just didn’t have the flotation and lift that my Merrick would give me.
By the time we left the parking lot it was already dark. Even though I had the wrong board for the session, it was nice getting the feel of that board. I was sinking on it, felt too heavy for it, but I am definitely ready for another board.
My brother told me that Wednesday afternoon supposed to have some new swell. He suggested that I go to check it out so that we could tell if the next day would be good. Rick called me in the afternoon and said his brother, Manny, was paddling out because it looked fun. It was about 3:00 P.M. I grabbed my gear and head out the door.
I took the short board that my brother gave me because I thought there would be some size. When I got to El Porto it was exactly the opposite: weak and crumbly. Rick drove there straight from work, so he didn’t have a board. I let him use my Merrick which left me with the potato chip. I had to hear Rick’s lecture about how I need to ride a bigger board, but I explained how I only brought it because I thought the waves would be bigger.
We exchanged greetings with Manny and his other friends as they were leaving. We paddled out in front of 45th. One thing I noticed immediately was how much easier it was to duck dive with that little board. Sure, I was slower, but I think that on bigger days I could save myself from getting worked so much by rogue waves and white wash. Rick paddled more south and did his thing. I struggled to get into the flaccid waves. I had to catch them late; my pop up was a little slow, but I still was able to get some rides. It’s too bad that the surf was weak because I bogged out instantly once I got on the face. I could be blamed for my lack of skill, but I felt that I could’ve got some nice rides if it was better out there. I pumped as hard as I could, but I just didn’t have the flotation and lift that my Merrick would give me.
By the time we left the parking lot it was already dark. Even though I had the wrong board for the session, it was nice getting the feel of that board. I was sinking on it, felt too heavy for it, but I am definitely ready for another board.
RELEASED: WED 12.15.2010 MORN
I was dying for surf since I cut my foot on Friday. I had to pass on a fun weekend (according to friends), and the beginning of the week. I felt like a bum and wished that I could get that rush of being on a wave again. Wednesday morning, I would try to do just that.
Shan met me at my apartment, and we took my car. We met up with J at Porto at first light. The tide was at about mid level and getting lower. We were surprised to see how dark it was. Usually there is a little bit of light coming out behind the Manhattan homes, but it was still dark as my anus. We paddled out in front of 45th. Unfortunately, my expectations weren’t met. The waves seemed to be fun when we first got there, but they became inconsistent, and the crowd started to show up. J left early, and I fed the meter at eight o’clock. We walked to Hammerlands and the jetty, but they weren’t going off. We walked to the stacks and paddled out in front of there. We only had to share that area with two other guys, but there wasn’t much to share. The lowering tide didn’t help much. We saw the potential in the waves, but they were walled, and the corners were too racy. We had a good wave count but were lucky to get a turn in. That morning was unfulfilled. We ended the session at Havana Sandwich Company in El Segundo. At least the food was good, but I was still feening for a good wave.
Shan met me at my apartment, and we took my car. We met up with J at Porto at first light. The tide was at about mid level and getting lower. We were surprised to see how dark it was. Usually there is a little bit of light coming out behind the Manhattan homes, but it was still dark as my anus. We paddled out in front of 45th. Unfortunately, my expectations weren’t met. The waves seemed to be fun when we first got there, but they became inconsistent, and the crowd started to show up. J left early, and I fed the meter at eight o’clock. We walked to Hammerlands and the jetty, but they weren’t going off. We walked to the stacks and paddled out in front of there. We only had to share that area with two other guys, but there wasn’t much to share. The lowering tide didn’t help much. We saw the potential in the waves, but they were walled, and the corners were too racy. We had a good wave count but were lucky to get a turn in. That morning was unfulfilled. We ended the session at Havana Sandwich Company in El Segundo. At least the food was good, but I was still feening for a good wave.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
BE CAREFUL FOR WHAT YOU ASK FOR: FRI 12.10.2010 MORN
J invited me to surf County Line with him for Friday morning. It seemed like a good idea. I told him about the sessions at Porto lately, and that I wouldn’t mind having a break from gnarly surf. I told him that I could go for some clean four to five foot shoulders to practice my turns on. Also, I have never been there before, and Randy has always promoted me to surf as many different places as possible. Rick told me that it was better to stay at El Porto because it rarely gets really good here, and that it was a guaranteed bet for Friday. I met up with J in Hermosa at 6:40 A.M.
I met J surfing Porto. Actually, I truly met him when he cut me off at Porto one afternoon. He apologized, but I still gave him the “stink eye” (as they say in Maui). I kind of felt bad after, so we talked and chummed up. I ran into him again when I parked right behind him on the hill at 45th St., and since then we’ve hit it off.
We stopped at his friend‘s house, Paul, to coordinate. J let us in and pounded on Paul’s bedroom door; he was still knocked out. They checked out the webcam and decided that County Line was too small. Paul asked me how Porto was. I called Rick and he said that it was still fun out there. “I heard that you couldn’t even paddle out there yesterday,” said Paul.
I said, “Yeah, I surfed there yesterday morning and afternoon. It was pretty big.” Maybe I sounded like a douche saying that, but I felt that I had the right. It turned out that Paul is the organizer for the Santa Monica Surf Club. I scanned the pics that he had of their group framed on the wall. I told J that I was part of a little group.
J suggested Trestles since I have never been there before, and he said he’s never seen a bad day there. Why not, I thought. After all, Trestles is a world class wave. We got on the car pool lane and headed out to San Onofre first. It was small. We parked and did the famous walk down. I was invigorated by the trees, hills, brush, and leaves all around us. It was also interesting seeing the unwelcoming graffiti reminding us that the place is localized. Oh well … we walked on. It was a foggy morning, and everyone was on the sand and changing into their wetsuits. I talked to a random guy that just got in, and I told him that we drove down from L.A. He said, “Wow, I heard that El Porto was huge yesterday.” It was nice to hear my local break get some of recognition, even from the surfers at Trestles.
I wanted smaller surf, and that‘s exactly what I got. I definitely saw the potential there. It was two to three feet and really clean. There were scattered peaks everywhere, but the waves were breaking a little close to shore, the rides seemed short, and the waves were mooshy. There were still a lot of people there, and J and I had a peak all to ourselves. It was really foggy all the way from L.A. to Trestles. There was no way to indicate where the sun was; everything just looked gray. We caught a lot of waves. I was focusing more on trying to catch lefts. I only got one ride that gave me a good face to work with. I hit the lip and did my best to dig my tail in to get some spray. Instead I got some spray on the front of the face, rather than the rear. It still felt good, and it was nice to get to work on something that I’m trying to learn.
The waves never got bigger, and the tide rose which drowned everything out. I would’ve loved to see that place in bigger conditions. The peaks and shoulders looked so clean and perfect that I could only imagine what it would be like on a good day.
There were no showers, so we changed into our clothes all salty. It was a long walk back to the car with all of our gear. When we finally reached it, I noticed that the bottom of my foot hurt. I took a look and saw a one inch slice on the bottom of the ball of my right foot. It was deep enough that I saw the pink on the inside. I had a feeling that it was bad, but I was in denial. J wanted to do a second session in the South Bay, but I didn’t think it was a good idea. By that night I was looking at the moist and fleshy opening. I ended up texting the DRC that I wouldn’t be able to surf the following morning. I must have cut my foot on the cobble stone rocks on the way out. It’s so upsetting that I can’t surf this weekend all because of a fucking cut.
Well, It was still a good experience to see Trestles. Now I know where it is, and I know I will be back. As far as my foot, some things can’t be prevented. I can only let this monkey heal and be as careful as possible when paddling out or coming in. It looks like I’m going to be leveling up in World of Warcraft for the next couple of days to come. …
I met J surfing Porto. Actually, I truly met him when he cut me off at Porto one afternoon. He apologized, but I still gave him the “stink eye” (as they say in Maui). I kind of felt bad after, so we talked and chummed up. I ran into him again when I parked right behind him on the hill at 45th St., and since then we’ve hit it off.
We stopped at his friend‘s house, Paul, to coordinate. J let us in and pounded on Paul’s bedroom door; he was still knocked out. They checked out the webcam and decided that County Line was too small. Paul asked me how Porto was. I called Rick and he said that it was still fun out there. “I heard that you couldn’t even paddle out there yesterday,” said Paul.
I said, “Yeah, I surfed there yesterday morning and afternoon. It was pretty big.” Maybe I sounded like a douche saying that, but I felt that I had the right. It turned out that Paul is the organizer for the Santa Monica Surf Club. I scanned the pics that he had of their group framed on the wall. I told J that I was part of a little group.
J suggested Trestles since I have never been there before, and he said he’s never seen a bad day there. Why not, I thought. After all, Trestles is a world class wave. We got on the car pool lane and headed out to San Onofre first. It was small. We parked and did the famous walk down. I was invigorated by the trees, hills, brush, and leaves all around us. It was also interesting seeing the unwelcoming graffiti reminding us that the place is localized. Oh well … we walked on. It was a foggy morning, and everyone was on the sand and changing into their wetsuits. I talked to a random guy that just got in, and I told him that we drove down from L.A. He said, “Wow, I heard that El Porto was huge yesterday.” It was nice to hear my local break get some of recognition, even from the surfers at Trestles.
I wanted smaller surf, and that‘s exactly what I got. I definitely saw the potential there. It was two to three feet and really clean. There were scattered peaks everywhere, but the waves were breaking a little close to shore, the rides seemed short, and the waves were mooshy. There were still a lot of people there, and J and I had a peak all to ourselves. It was really foggy all the way from L.A. to Trestles. There was no way to indicate where the sun was; everything just looked gray. We caught a lot of waves. I was focusing more on trying to catch lefts. I only got one ride that gave me a good face to work with. I hit the lip and did my best to dig my tail in to get some spray. Instead I got some spray on the front of the face, rather than the rear. It still felt good, and it was nice to get to work on something that I’m trying to learn.
The waves never got bigger, and the tide rose which drowned everything out. I would’ve loved to see that place in bigger conditions. The peaks and shoulders looked so clean and perfect that I could only imagine what it would be like on a good day.
There were no showers, so we changed into our clothes all salty. It was a long walk back to the car with all of our gear. When we finally reached it, I noticed that the bottom of my foot hurt. I took a look and saw a one inch slice on the bottom of the ball of my right foot. It was deep enough that I saw the pink on the inside. I had a feeling that it was bad, but I was in denial. J wanted to do a second session in the South Bay, but I didn’t think it was a good idea. By that night I was looking at the moist and fleshy opening. I ended up texting the DRC that I wouldn’t be able to surf the following morning. I must have cut my foot on the cobble stone rocks on the way out. It’s so upsetting that I can’t surf this weekend all because of a fucking cut.
Well, It was still a good experience to see Trestles. Now I know where it is, and I know I will be back. As far as my foot, some things can’t be prevented. I can only let this monkey heal and be as careful as possible when paddling out or coming in. It looks like I’m going to be leveling up in World of Warcraft for the next couple of days to come. …
BIG THURSDAY PT.II: THU 12.09.2010 EVE
Everything after the morning session went by so fast. After a fifteen minute nap it was already time to head back to the same surf spot. We got to the Grand parking lot a little before 3:00 P.M. The tide was going from mid to low, and we hoped it would make the conditions better. There were a lot of cars parked on the hill, and people were checking it out with binoculars. There were some surfers perching at Hammers, but it still didn’t look as clean as my brother hoped. We called Rick and told him where we’d be at.
There was a little onshore wind, but Rick told us that it was supposed to die out. The conditions were a little cleaner, but not by much. Other than the jetty, there was virtually only one other guy out in front of the stacks. It looked really drained, but the waves were still breaking far out. We were going to surf closer to the jetty, but my brother saw a left breaking that was just south of the stacks, and that’s where that one other surfer was.
I was blessed with good luck again, as the paddle out was perfectly timed without incident. We talked to that lone surfer that was out there. He was really mellow which made things easy for everyone. He paddled for a lot of waves way too early, which told me that he probably didn’t know what he was doing (more waves for us). Rick ended up being right because the wind died, and the water cleaned up a little. To my surprise, I got the first wave of the evening session. A big left came. I was on the inside, so Randy told me to go for it. It was a little overhead (out of my comfort zone), so I really focused on sticking the drop. I made it, straightened up on the face, went down the line a little, then I kicked out, and my body got a little air. I was pretty stoked. I smiled from ear to ear as I asked my brother if he saw that. He said, “Yeah, next time try to go up and down the wave more.” He was right. I could’ve done more on that wave, but I was just happy to make it, and I didn’t want to take it too far and paddle back. I ended up getting another left that I kicked out of again. I was so happy that I was surviving the drops, and that I was out there actually “doing something!” My next wave would be my wave of the day.
It was amazing how the conditions cleaned up. It wasn’t perfectly clean. The waves were still big, steep, inconsistent, and technical. I saw a bump on the surface in the distance. I didn’t move. As it got closer the peak started to form; it was a heart dropper. I just recently caught the biggest wave of my life this week, but the slope on that one was a little more gradual. This wave was a little smaller, but it was faster. My mind told me that it was too big, and that it was that kind of wave where I would play it safe. However, just the definition of the peak and forming shoulder told me that it was catchable. Without saying anything to my brother (who was on my outside), I paddled towards the peak and paddled into the wave. I ended up staying on the face and braced for a critical drop. I bottom turned at the base, and as I looked up I saw my brother riding the wave at the top of the section. In my mind’s eye, he was at least one story above me. I called out to him and cheered us both on: “YEAHHHH-HAHHHHHHH! WOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” I surprised him. He didn’t know I was there, so he kicked out of the wave. Once he was out of the way I didn’t have time to go up the face to gain more speed; the wave was about to close.
Full of endorphins, once again, my body was. Pumped beyond belief, I was on top of the world. As I paddled back I saw that Rick was joining my brother in the line up. Rick told me that he saw me catch that bomb, and that he saw all my other rides. My brother told me it was the biggest wave he’s ever seen me paddle for. They both said I was charging. It meant a lot to hear that from them, but I downplayed it as much as I could because I have way too much respect for the ocean to fool myself. I thought it was a huge wave, but when I asked Randy he said it was only six feet. Fuck … it must’ve been that damn “Hawaiian scale” that he was using because I can’t believe it was only a six footer!
Randy hadn’t even caught one wave yet. After that, I could’ve easily called it a day. I got a couple more rides, but nothing that matched that bomb. I surfed the rest of the session wipeout free. My brother and Rick got some monster lefts, and Rick was paddling for everything and anything. The clean up sets became more consistent, and I was on the receiving end for almost all of them. I tried to get under them only to get my board snatched out; they just seemed too big to duck dive. I ditched my board numerous times and got sucked under. I got caught in the impact zone so many times that I began to get used to it, but it didn’t mean that it got easier. With the sun already set, and the orange haze dwindling past the horizon, I caught my last wave in.
It was an emotional session for me, especially being able to share that moment with both of my surf mentors; it was special. We came back to my apartment and celebrated with a couple beers and some surf porn. It was definitely a session where all three of us can look back upon, even when we’re old. The swell hit its peak on that day, and I was a part of it … we were a part of it. It feels good knowing that.
There was a little onshore wind, but Rick told us that it was supposed to die out. The conditions were a little cleaner, but not by much. Other than the jetty, there was virtually only one other guy out in front of the stacks. It looked really drained, but the waves were still breaking far out. We were going to surf closer to the jetty, but my brother saw a left breaking that was just south of the stacks, and that’s where that one other surfer was.
I was blessed with good luck again, as the paddle out was perfectly timed without incident. We talked to that lone surfer that was out there. He was really mellow which made things easy for everyone. He paddled for a lot of waves way too early, which told me that he probably didn’t know what he was doing (more waves for us). Rick ended up being right because the wind died, and the water cleaned up a little. To my surprise, I got the first wave of the evening session. A big left came. I was on the inside, so Randy told me to go for it. It was a little overhead (out of my comfort zone), so I really focused on sticking the drop. I made it, straightened up on the face, went down the line a little, then I kicked out, and my body got a little air. I was pretty stoked. I smiled from ear to ear as I asked my brother if he saw that. He said, “Yeah, next time try to go up and down the wave more.” He was right. I could’ve done more on that wave, but I was just happy to make it, and I didn’t want to take it too far and paddle back. I ended up getting another left that I kicked out of again. I was so happy that I was surviving the drops, and that I was out there actually “doing something!” My next wave would be my wave of the day.
It was amazing how the conditions cleaned up. It wasn’t perfectly clean. The waves were still big, steep, inconsistent, and technical. I saw a bump on the surface in the distance. I didn’t move. As it got closer the peak started to form; it was a heart dropper. I just recently caught the biggest wave of my life this week, but the slope on that one was a little more gradual. This wave was a little smaller, but it was faster. My mind told me that it was too big, and that it was that kind of wave where I would play it safe. However, just the definition of the peak and forming shoulder told me that it was catchable. Without saying anything to my brother (who was on my outside), I paddled towards the peak and paddled into the wave. I ended up staying on the face and braced for a critical drop. I bottom turned at the base, and as I looked up I saw my brother riding the wave at the top of the section. In my mind’s eye, he was at least one story above me. I called out to him and cheered us both on: “YEAHHHH-HAHHHHHHH! WOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” I surprised him. He didn’t know I was there, so he kicked out of the wave. Once he was out of the way I didn’t have time to go up the face to gain more speed; the wave was about to close.
Full of endorphins, once again, my body was. Pumped beyond belief, I was on top of the world. As I paddled back I saw that Rick was joining my brother in the line up. Rick told me that he saw me catch that bomb, and that he saw all my other rides. My brother told me it was the biggest wave he’s ever seen me paddle for. They both said I was charging. It meant a lot to hear that from them, but I downplayed it as much as I could because I have way too much respect for the ocean to fool myself. I thought it was a huge wave, but when I asked Randy he said it was only six feet. Fuck … it must’ve been that damn “Hawaiian scale” that he was using because I can’t believe it was only a six footer!
Randy hadn’t even caught one wave yet. After that, I could’ve easily called it a day. I got a couple more rides, but nothing that matched that bomb. I surfed the rest of the session wipeout free. My brother and Rick got some monster lefts, and Rick was paddling for everything and anything. The clean up sets became more consistent, and I was on the receiving end for almost all of them. I tried to get under them only to get my board snatched out; they just seemed too big to duck dive. I ditched my board numerous times and got sucked under. I got caught in the impact zone so many times that I began to get used to it, but it didn’t mean that it got easier. With the sun already set, and the orange haze dwindling past the horizon, I caught my last wave in.
It was an emotional session for me, especially being able to share that moment with both of my surf mentors; it was special. We came back to my apartment and celebrated with a couple beers and some surf porn. It was definitely a session where all three of us can look back upon, even when we’re old. The swell hit its peak on that day, and I was a part of it … we were a part of it. It feels good knowing that.
BIG THURSDAY PT. I: THU 12/09/2010 MORN
Thursday morning was highly anticipated. My brother planned to drive up to L.A. to surf that day; he had the feeling that the swell would hit the South Bay better than the O.C. I was supposed to meet with Shan and J that morning, but my bro showed up a little late. It was about 8:30 A.M. when we pulled up to Hammerlands and checked it out from the Grand Ave. parking lot. The tide was coming up, and we could see the waves jacking up from the backwash. The left wasn’t breaking well: it was clean on the outside, but it was really fast, and it obliterated to foam on the inside. It appeared that the right going off of the jetty was better. I suggested that we drive around and see if it’s better anywhere else.
We parked in the Porto lot to have a look. There were some guys out there at the main peaks. We watched a couple guys get barreled, but it was all kamikaze style because they got enveloped by the wave. There were some shoulders that looked good, but they weren’t breaking in the same place, and there were enough guys out there to make it a little difficult.
It was 8:55 A.M. by the time we got to 26th St. My brother has never surfed there before, but he said he could see the potential of that place. It was too big for the sand bars. There were mostly walls with a couple random and fast shoulders. We turned around and headed back to Hammers. We asked a guy who was leaving how it was. He said, “It was strange.” When my bro and I got to the water we could see that the waved were really “werbly” at the top of them, as if something was shaking the wave to create that effect. When we made it to the other side of the jetty it looked like a swampy mess: the inside had a lot of white wash, the waves were breaking far out, and the conditions just weren’t clean at all. It was about head high, maybe even a little overhead. There was a group of surfers past the point catching some pretty long and mooshy rides off of the jetty. Randy said that HB was all rights the day before, so he was desperate for some lefts.
I explained to Randy how I was getting my ass worked on the inside lately, and that I didn’t look forward to the paddle out. He taught me how to find the best place to paddle out, what to look for to tell that there’s a lull approaching, and when to paddle your ass off. He pointed out a spot where a weak ass like myself would have the best chance. And wouldn’t you know, it fuckin’ worked. I paddled for dear life, and I saw to my right that I was way ahead of my brother.
Once we were out there I got a left, but it closed out really fast. My brother eventually gave up and caught some rights near the point. I hung out by the smoke stacks. I got more waves but nothing noteworthy. It was big, but it wasn’t a session to light a match and stomp my feet over. I caught my last wave, got caught on the inside, and then I figured that I had enough for the morning. We went to Seafood Town in Torrance and took advantage of their lunch specials. By noon, beef chow fun filled my belly, and it was time for a nappy poo.
We parked in the Porto lot to have a look. There were some guys out there at the main peaks. We watched a couple guys get barreled, but it was all kamikaze style because they got enveloped by the wave. There were some shoulders that looked good, but they weren’t breaking in the same place, and there were enough guys out there to make it a little difficult.
It was 8:55 A.M. by the time we got to 26th St. My brother has never surfed there before, but he said he could see the potential of that place. It was too big for the sand bars. There were mostly walls with a couple random and fast shoulders. We turned around and headed back to Hammers. We asked a guy who was leaving how it was. He said, “It was strange.” When my bro and I got to the water we could see that the waved were really “werbly” at the top of them, as if something was shaking the wave to create that effect. When we made it to the other side of the jetty it looked like a swampy mess: the inside had a lot of white wash, the waves were breaking far out, and the conditions just weren’t clean at all. It was about head high, maybe even a little overhead. There was a group of surfers past the point catching some pretty long and mooshy rides off of the jetty. Randy said that HB was all rights the day before, so he was desperate for some lefts.
I explained to Randy how I was getting my ass worked on the inside lately, and that I didn’t look forward to the paddle out. He taught me how to find the best place to paddle out, what to look for to tell that there’s a lull approaching, and when to paddle your ass off. He pointed out a spot where a weak ass like myself would have the best chance. And wouldn’t you know, it fuckin’ worked. I paddled for dear life, and I saw to my right that I was way ahead of my brother.
Once we were out there I got a left, but it closed out really fast. My brother eventually gave up and caught some rights near the point. I hung out by the smoke stacks. I got more waves but nothing noteworthy. It was big, but it wasn’t a session to light a match and stomp my feet over. I caught my last wave, got caught on the inside, and then I figured that I had enough for the morning. We went to Seafood Town in Torrance and took advantage of their lunch specials. By noon, beef chow fun filled my belly, and it was time for a nappy poo.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
THE TITANICS: WED 12.08.2010 EVE
After the morning session I went home to recharge. I spent the rest of the day watching the Pipeline Masters webcast, waiting for Bruce Irons to do his thing. After his heat was over, I grabbed my shit and headed back to the beach. There was another mission at hand. My friends and I were going to meet up for all you can eat sushi. All I had in my stomach was oatmeal, a banana, and a protein shake. My objective was to wear my self out with a second surf session so I could show up ravenous with hunger. Little did I know that I would get my anus tapped.
When I drove by Hammerland I saw some surfers getting waves on both sides of the jetty. I didn’t bother to stop by El Porto. It was 2:45 P.M., and I didn’t feel like paying for parking. I got free parking on 29th St. and Highland Ave. I text Rick and told him that it looked fun out, and that I was paddling out at 26th St. As I made my way down the beach path, I saw mammoth walls of ocean, and there wasn’t one surfer in sight. As I approached I anticipated seeing some heads out by 26th. There was one guy near the pier, and a couple practicing on a longboard on the inside; that was it. I got a little scared at first, and I wondered why the hell wasn’t anyone in the water yet? I took it as a bad sign.
I surveyed the scene and tried to trick my mind into making a peak out of the walls. The tide was low and drained out, but the waves were still breaking far out. The smaller waves seemed to have shape, but they were breaking too close to the inside. The set waves were just huge with a little shoulder to work with. That shoulder looked dangerous because it was still fast and the inside looked shallow.
I figured that I came there to blow a load and not to edge on the shore through my wetsuit. I squeezed my cross-hatched mushroom head and walked out as far as I could. By the time I was chest high I was bracing the white wash. This has been the headline of my life lately: Matthew Gets Worked on the Inside. Those walls left me with a hard paddle out. I kept losing my board and got knocked around. I saw the lifeguard truck parked and watching me. Yeah, I looked like a giant turd out there getting tossed around in L..A.’s shit water; it seemed fitting. I turned around, so as to not look like a faggot, and tried to make it out again. I got lucky and took advantage of a long lull. When I reached the green zone I took another look around; there were still no other surfers in the water. All I saw was a boogie boarder by 30th St., and some guys checking things out by the run path.
Despite the low tide, every set made me feel like the water was one story higher than sea level, like the feeling of the wave picking you up as it passes. I didn’t see any shoulders. I’m ashamed to say that I was a little frightened. I was out there by myself, I figured that no one else was stupid enough to paddle out, and I imagined myself getting pulverized in the shallows. It was a good day to drown, I thought. Titanics … that’s what they looked like to me. They didn’t look natural. The top of waves were straight as a ruler, and the glassiness of the water made the faces look vertical. They looked manmade. The sets were just giant unforgiving walls with just a smidgen of a shoulder, enticing you, and daring you to drop in. Once they passed me, they closed on the inside. For one of the few times in my surfing days, I actually paddled to be close to other people. I passed the body boarder, and I paddled all the way to Rosecrans. It was a monster paddle to go that distance. I stopped in front of the Life Guard station at the end of the Porto parking lot. I was at the edge of the first group of surfers that I came into contact with. I was a little relieved.
I saw some guys catching rights all the way by 45th; there were more surfers at the main peaks. I got paranoid, and I felt like the other guys were looking at me like I didn’t belong there, laughing. I wondered if I’d even be able to catch anything. Some guys tried to paddle into some waves but failed. I guess the sandbars there held the shape a little bit better because every once in a while there was a shoulder to work with. A head high left slowly built towards me. I saw the pocket turning dark which let me know that it was a slidable slope. I said, “Fuck it,” and paddled for it. The drop was steep, and I was surprised that I was sliding down the face, unscathed. Thanks to my surfing immaturity, I projected up the face to make myself visible over the lip. I wanted to show those guys that I was able to catch some waves, too. I almost paid for it, as my front side carves haven’t developed, I stalled at the top of the lip as it was about to pitch. Luckily, my weight shifted forward, and I reentered the face again. It was a steep reentry, too. I saw the nose of my board, barely sticking out of the water (thank God who made the man that put a rocker on a surfboard). I got one more turn and escaped before it closed out. It turned out that I would be the recipient of four waves over an hour and forty-five minutes. Of course, none of them were significant because I was more than satisfied that I didn’t die.
I was in the prime spot for a left that kept breaking. I also passed on a lot of waves that seemed too big for my testicle size. There were heroes out there. The crowd began to arrive, and I saw guys going for waves, then getting catapulted over the lip as they kicked out. They went for the waves that I didn’t want, and they made the drops. There was a curly haired, brown eyed, Brazilian out there (I just assumed he was Brazilian). When he paddled up next to me he looked at me like I was a piece of shit. I watched him catch a set wave, then a bucket sprayed out the back, indicating that he was powering down the line. I guess when you’re that good you can look down on others.
Clean up sets would randomly break past the outside. One broke so far out that I didn’t know what to do. Naturally, I wanted to cower in fear and head towards the shore, but that would only make my paddle back out further. I was frozen. I felt so helpless caught in the ocean’s wrath that it took me a while before I paddled to meet it. I was sucked down, held, and tossed every which way. I had enough. I was happy with my four waves and only swallowing two gulps.
I was dead tired after that. I was nodding off during my drive to meet with my friends, but I had the hunger as planned. There was a feeding frenzy after, two hours worth. Once again, I survived another session. And my anus? It’s still in tact.
When I drove by Hammerland I saw some surfers getting waves on both sides of the jetty. I didn’t bother to stop by El Porto. It was 2:45 P.M., and I didn’t feel like paying for parking. I got free parking on 29th St. and Highland Ave. I text Rick and told him that it looked fun out, and that I was paddling out at 26th St. As I made my way down the beach path, I saw mammoth walls of ocean, and there wasn’t one surfer in sight. As I approached I anticipated seeing some heads out by 26th. There was one guy near the pier, and a couple practicing on a longboard on the inside; that was it. I got a little scared at first, and I wondered why the hell wasn’t anyone in the water yet? I took it as a bad sign.
I surveyed the scene and tried to trick my mind into making a peak out of the walls. The tide was low and drained out, but the waves were still breaking far out. The smaller waves seemed to have shape, but they were breaking too close to the inside. The set waves were just huge with a little shoulder to work with. That shoulder looked dangerous because it was still fast and the inside looked shallow.
I figured that I came there to blow a load and not to edge on the shore through my wetsuit. I squeezed my cross-hatched mushroom head and walked out as far as I could. By the time I was chest high I was bracing the white wash. This has been the headline of my life lately: Matthew Gets Worked on the Inside. Those walls left me with a hard paddle out. I kept losing my board and got knocked around. I saw the lifeguard truck parked and watching me. Yeah, I looked like a giant turd out there getting tossed around in L..A.’s shit water; it seemed fitting. I turned around, so as to not look like a faggot, and tried to make it out again. I got lucky and took advantage of a long lull. When I reached the green zone I took another look around; there were still no other surfers in the water. All I saw was a boogie boarder by 30th St., and some guys checking things out by the run path.
Despite the low tide, every set made me feel like the water was one story higher than sea level, like the feeling of the wave picking you up as it passes. I didn’t see any shoulders. I’m ashamed to say that I was a little frightened. I was out there by myself, I figured that no one else was stupid enough to paddle out, and I imagined myself getting pulverized in the shallows. It was a good day to drown, I thought. Titanics … that’s what they looked like to me. They didn’t look natural. The top of waves were straight as a ruler, and the glassiness of the water made the faces look vertical. They looked manmade. The sets were just giant unforgiving walls with just a smidgen of a shoulder, enticing you, and daring you to drop in. Once they passed me, they closed on the inside. For one of the few times in my surfing days, I actually paddled to be close to other people. I passed the body boarder, and I paddled all the way to Rosecrans. It was a monster paddle to go that distance. I stopped in front of the Life Guard station at the end of the Porto parking lot. I was at the edge of the first group of surfers that I came into contact with. I was a little relieved.
I saw some guys catching rights all the way by 45th; there were more surfers at the main peaks. I got paranoid, and I felt like the other guys were looking at me like I didn’t belong there, laughing. I wondered if I’d even be able to catch anything. Some guys tried to paddle into some waves but failed. I guess the sandbars there held the shape a little bit better because every once in a while there was a shoulder to work with. A head high left slowly built towards me. I saw the pocket turning dark which let me know that it was a slidable slope. I said, “Fuck it,” and paddled for it. The drop was steep, and I was surprised that I was sliding down the face, unscathed. Thanks to my surfing immaturity, I projected up the face to make myself visible over the lip. I wanted to show those guys that I was able to catch some waves, too. I almost paid for it, as my front side carves haven’t developed, I stalled at the top of the lip as it was about to pitch. Luckily, my weight shifted forward, and I reentered the face again. It was a steep reentry, too. I saw the nose of my board, barely sticking out of the water (thank God who made the man that put a rocker on a surfboard). I got one more turn and escaped before it closed out. It turned out that I would be the recipient of four waves over an hour and forty-five minutes. Of course, none of them were significant because I was more than satisfied that I didn’t die.
I was in the prime spot for a left that kept breaking. I also passed on a lot of waves that seemed too big for my testicle size. There were heroes out there. The crowd began to arrive, and I saw guys going for waves, then getting catapulted over the lip as they kicked out. They went for the waves that I didn’t want, and they made the drops. There was a curly haired, brown eyed, Brazilian out there (I just assumed he was Brazilian). When he paddled up next to me he looked at me like I was a piece of shit. I watched him catch a set wave, then a bucket sprayed out the back, indicating that he was powering down the line. I guess when you’re that good you can look down on others.
Clean up sets would randomly break past the outside. One broke so far out that I didn’t know what to do. Naturally, I wanted to cower in fear and head towards the shore, but that would only make my paddle back out further. I was frozen. I felt so helpless caught in the ocean’s wrath that it took me a while before I paddled to meet it. I was sucked down, held, and tossed every which way. I had enough. I was happy with my four waves and only swallowing two gulps.
I was dead tired after that. I was nodding off during my drive to meet with my friends, but I had the hunger as planned. There was a feeding frenzy after, two hours worth. Once again, I survived another session. And my anus? It’s still in tact.
MOUNDS: WED 12.08.2010 MORN
Shan, J, and I were supposed to surf at first light. It ended up being just me and J. I hadn’t seen him for a while, so we caught up in the parking lot and paddled out at 45th. The water wasn’t cold, and it was turning out to be another beautiful South Bay morning. It was 6:30 A.M., and we were the only ones out at our peak. I got worked a little on the inside, but I managed to get to the line up. The waves were about four to five feet. The shape was perfect when we got there; the peaks were really round and moundy. The shoulder was so juicy that it was just asking for you to gouge the hell out of it, and throw some spray. My first wave was another left, but this time I did a little better on my cutback attempt because I was able to bring my board back towards the left. As I top turned, I extended both arms and looked over my right shoulder. It was a nice, wide, arch. When I whipped my board back around it didn’t look as pretty. In fact, it looked like I stalled, then I somehow got the nose in the right direction again. I tried it for a second time, but I fell at the top turn. I didn’t care that it wasn’t perfect, it just felt so good to try something new. Eventually, I hope to have a good cut back in my arsenal. I am getting used to shifting my feet on my board to dig in the tail and rail to initiate the turn. It may not look awesome, but it feels fucking awesome.
Before the first hour was up, there were so many people surfing around us. It was a really crowded morning for a work day. It became harder to catch waves because of the other surfers. The Rastafarian crew was there, and even they got dropped-in on. We got a small handful of waves. As it got closer to eight o’clock, the tide came up and changed the water. We left, satisfied that we got it when it was good.
I am so tired right now.
Before the first hour was up, there were so many people surfing around us. It was a really crowded morning for a work day. It became harder to catch waves because of the other surfers. The Rastafarian crew was there, and even they got dropped-in on. We got a small handful of waves. As it got closer to eight o’clock, the tide came up and changed the water. We left, satisfied that we got it when it was good.
I am so tired right now.
ANOTHER TRY: TUE 12.07.2010 MORN
I was supposed to get up at first light, but I was too tired and had a lot of residue from the night before. At about 7:30 A.M. I saw a bright sun ray through the crack of my bedroom window. That’s when I knew that I was a piece of shit for not being in the water already. Since I missed out on the free parking at the Porto lot, I had to head over to 26th St. On the way over there I saw that there were waves by Hyperion Way; it was a good sign. I scored on free parking on 27th near the sand. There were the usual locals just north of 26th and scattered surfers all the way to Manhattan pier. I chose to paddle out south of the lifeguard tower. It was about eight o’clock. The sun was already emitting its piss rays, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and the air was warm. The tide was at mid level going to high, and the inside was full with roaring white water. I wasn’t looking forward to the possibility of another hard paddle out. That morning I felt better and more confident with my own equipment. I didn’t have a choice but to surf next to other people due to the crowd. I only got caught in the rip for a little while and was able to get into position. The waves were soft and mooshy because of the tide, but they still broke outside, and nice long rides were evident. I wasn’t sure how the session would go. It was my first clean session since I’ve been getting my ass kicked.
My first wave was a head high left. I pumped and was able to get a wide top turn which morphed into a half ass cut back. It felt good, and that set the tone for the rest of my session. I caught a right that was so clean and long that I got four top turns. I was trying really hard to throw some buckets, but they were more like pails. Oh well. I tell myself that my surfing will improve and all come together one day; I just have to be patient.
After about an hour the tide got too high for comfort. I popped up on a pretty big one, and just as I got the slide, the backwash ran into my wave. It ended up turning the face into a straight vertical drop. My front foot slipped forward which forced me to do the Olympic splits right there as I fell straight down. I was surprised that there were so many people out. The main peak was packed, but as I looked towards the pier all I could see was black suits as far as I could see.
On another note, after all my rides I found myself in the path of a lot of surfers. This always worries me. I’m always scared that one day I’m going to get jousted. Once the waves got too mooshy I left. I was satisfied with my session, and I felt like I was able to grasp my cock and balls again.
My first wave was a head high left. I pumped and was able to get a wide top turn which morphed into a half ass cut back. It felt good, and that set the tone for the rest of my session. I caught a right that was so clean and long that I got four top turns. I was trying really hard to throw some buckets, but they were more like pails. Oh well. I tell myself that my surfing will improve and all come together one day; I just have to be patient.
After about an hour the tide got too high for comfort. I popped up on a pretty big one, and just as I got the slide, the backwash ran into my wave. It ended up turning the face into a straight vertical drop. My front foot slipped forward which forced me to do the Olympic splits right there as I fell straight down. I was surprised that there were so many people out. The main peak was packed, but as I looked towards the pier all I could see was black suits as far as I could see.
On another note, after all my rides I found myself in the path of a lot of surfers. This always worries me. I’m always scared that one day I’m going to get jousted. Once the waves got too mooshy I left. I was satisfied with my session, and I felt like I was able to grasp my cock and balls again.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
MATTHEW AND THE GIANT EMERALD: MON 12.06.2010 EVE
Shan and I planned to surf in the morning, but it rained pretty heavy the night before. We both agreed to give it until Wednesday to allow the water to clean up a bit. At about three in the afternoon, Rick and I planned to meet up at the El Porto lot to have a look at the water. I had to give him back his fish board and some other stuff that I'd been holding on to for him.
The surf looked messy, but from the lot it didn't look that big. It looked like four to five feet, really consistent, choppy, on shore, but there were still some rideable shoulders. "Let's paddle out, Matt!" said Rick.
"I don't know ... it rained pretty hard last night. Isn't the water probably nasty?"
"Don't worry, I've surfed with logs of shit floating by, and I've never gotten sick."
Fuckin' A. ... I haven't surfed with Rick in exactly eight days, and the last time I got my ass kicked. I took another look out. It didn't look that bad, I thought. I didn't even have my board, only Rick's 5'10' Zippy Fish. I figured that it's not every day that I get to surf with friends, so I suited up. We walked out in front of 45th. The tide was so low and drained, but the line up was still a far paddle away. Once my feet were wet and I was standing in the white water, that's when I knew that I was going to get my ass kicked. The sets were overheard, easy. The inside was brutal, and the white water was just non stop. I didn't have a good feeling at all, plus I was on a different board. If I was going to surf after taking a week off, and after getting my ass pulverized on my last session, I would prefer to surf cleaner conditions.
We both started off paddling together, then Rick was ahead of me, then he was wayyyy ahead of me, then he was gone. I ... I was stuck in the fucking inside section again. The walls of white wash were three to four feet, and I had the hardest time trying to punch through, especially on a board that felt like a cork. I retreated to the shallows and walked a little south to look for an easy channel. I wasn't alone, as there was another guy doing the same. As I walked out to brave the inside again, I saw Rick on this pretty sick left. He saw me. With both arms extended, he got a beautiful top turn and drew a wide arching line back into the pocket. He exhibited the happiness of a child out there. His ride ended about twenty feet in front of me.
"Did you see that?" he said.
"Yeah, that was nice!"
I tried to be stoked for him, but I was facing a damn battle of my own. I couldn't find no fucking easy channel. I was on, what seemed at the time, another hopeless paddle out. I got rocked by the white wash, pulled under, then I swallowed a huge gulp of El Porto's finest bacteria cocktail. There goes my health, I thought. I pictured brown fizzy water wreaking havoc to my immune system. Somehow, someway, a miracle happened, and there was a lull that let me through. It wasn't too crowded, but there were people out there. I was mad for being in the mix with others without my board. I felt that if I had my Merrick that I would be more comfortable, but I was on Rick's fish and felt like a barney to the tenth power; and I think everyone out there saw that.
Rick paddled up to me and said, "Woohoo! Matt, I've already gotten like six waves! I got this left that took me all the way to shore! You gotta catch them late, but the drops are kind of steep!" He was so stoked. ... I felt like shit because I was the complete polar opposite. I saw him mingling in the crowd, then he went out for more. Of course, he kept coming back to tell me how awesome the waves were. ... Fuck my ass.
I scratched out on a lot of waves, but the truth was that I passed on a lot of them, too. I felt awkward and a little scared. The waves were really unpredictable. They weren't punchy, but they had some size. Some of the sets randomly broke far on the outside, and I seemed to always be in the wrong spot, right in the impact zone. I paddled for a right, but by the time I popped up the section ran away. I drifted behind the line up, and I got caught on the inside again. The line up seemed so far away, as did the shore. I didn't have much time before the next set, but I seriously considered just paddling in and waiting on the sand. The sun had already set, and over an hour had passed without a wave for myself. I paddled back out.
When I got to the line up, I couldn't find Rick. I turned and saw him heading back to his truck. Fuckin' Rick. I was frustrated and pissed off. I cursed the crappy surf, then I cursed myself for not being able to hold my own. I saw an outside set coming. All I wanted was one fucking wave that I could claim for my own, so I could go back to my car without the feeling of utter defeat again. As the left came I felt that I was gonna be way too late for it. My instincts told me to paddle farther out to beat it. My heart pounded, my chinky eyes opened as wide as they could, and I puffed my cheeks as I exhaled hard. The peak of the wave was already peeling as I turned around, and I ended up being in the perfect spot right where the peak formed the shoulder. My main concern was sticking the drop because I was on an unfamiliar board. I popped up on what seemed to be a mountain of dark water; it was steep. The sun's orange haze was completely blocked out. I dropped in slow, then the momentum from the wave took over. I was going fast, the board began to skip from the speed, and all I could do was plant my feet the best that I could. I had no idea how big the wave was at first or how good it was. The wave was unrecognizable, it was literally like sliding down a rocky slope. The choppy water gave the texture big angular shapes. It was like the water was made out of a cut stone or gem; I was on a giant green emerald. There was no pumping or carving; I was a mere spectator on a device taking me on a tour of one of nature's wonders. It was almost like I was tow surfing, how the surf movies show the guy let go of the rope, and he's on that building section that seems to go on forever. The wave never closed, and I was on a long section at mid height. There was so much wave below me and so much above, I don't want to exaggerate on how big the wave was, but it had to be close to ten feet. I wanted to take it all the way to shore, but it finally walled up, and I stepped off the rail to end my ride.
I emerged from the white water reborn. I laughed. It was my turn. Now I was like a child. I had my warface on and let out a triumphant cry, still with no one to share it with. I ran up to Rick in the parking lot and told him about my last ride. He estimated the set waves to be two to three feet over head.
I was still humbled as I left, but my endorphins were still firing off from that last wave. I would have stay ... if that wave was a "bone" thrown by mother ocean for the beating that I've been taking ... it was worth it. Lesson learned, keep your board with you at all times.
The surf looked messy, but from the lot it didn't look that big. It looked like four to five feet, really consistent, choppy, on shore, but there were still some rideable shoulders. "Let's paddle out, Matt!" said Rick.
"I don't know ... it rained pretty hard last night. Isn't the water probably nasty?"
"Don't worry, I've surfed with logs of shit floating by, and I've never gotten sick."
Fuckin' A. ... I haven't surfed with Rick in exactly eight days, and the last time I got my ass kicked. I took another look out. It didn't look that bad, I thought. I didn't even have my board, only Rick's 5'10' Zippy Fish. I figured that it's not every day that I get to surf with friends, so I suited up. We walked out in front of 45th. The tide was so low and drained, but the line up was still a far paddle away. Once my feet were wet and I was standing in the white water, that's when I knew that I was going to get my ass kicked. The sets were overheard, easy. The inside was brutal, and the white water was just non stop. I didn't have a good feeling at all, plus I was on a different board. If I was going to surf after taking a week off, and after getting my ass pulverized on my last session, I would prefer to surf cleaner conditions.
We both started off paddling together, then Rick was ahead of me, then he was wayyyy ahead of me, then he was gone. I ... I was stuck in the fucking inside section again. The walls of white wash were three to four feet, and I had the hardest time trying to punch through, especially on a board that felt like a cork. I retreated to the shallows and walked a little south to look for an easy channel. I wasn't alone, as there was another guy doing the same. As I walked out to brave the inside again, I saw Rick on this pretty sick left. He saw me. With both arms extended, he got a beautiful top turn and drew a wide arching line back into the pocket. He exhibited the happiness of a child out there. His ride ended about twenty feet in front of me.
"Did you see that?" he said.
"Yeah, that was nice!"
I tried to be stoked for him, but I was facing a damn battle of my own. I couldn't find no fucking easy channel. I was on, what seemed at the time, another hopeless paddle out. I got rocked by the white wash, pulled under, then I swallowed a huge gulp of El Porto's finest bacteria cocktail. There goes my health, I thought. I pictured brown fizzy water wreaking havoc to my immune system. Somehow, someway, a miracle happened, and there was a lull that let me through. It wasn't too crowded, but there were people out there. I was mad for being in the mix with others without my board. I felt that if I had my Merrick that I would be more comfortable, but I was on Rick's fish and felt like a barney to the tenth power; and I think everyone out there saw that.
Rick paddled up to me and said, "Woohoo! Matt, I've already gotten like six waves! I got this left that took me all the way to shore! You gotta catch them late, but the drops are kind of steep!" He was so stoked. ... I felt like shit because I was the complete polar opposite. I saw him mingling in the crowd, then he went out for more. Of course, he kept coming back to tell me how awesome the waves were. ... Fuck my ass.
I scratched out on a lot of waves, but the truth was that I passed on a lot of them, too. I felt awkward and a little scared. The waves were really unpredictable. They weren't punchy, but they had some size. Some of the sets randomly broke far on the outside, and I seemed to always be in the wrong spot, right in the impact zone. I paddled for a right, but by the time I popped up the section ran away. I drifted behind the line up, and I got caught on the inside again. The line up seemed so far away, as did the shore. I didn't have much time before the next set, but I seriously considered just paddling in and waiting on the sand. The sun had already set, and over an hour had passed without a wave for myself. I paddled back out.
When I got to the line up, I couldn't find Rick. I turned and saw him heading back to his truck. Fuckin' Rick. I was frustrated and pissed off. I cursed the crappy surf, then I cursed myself for not being able to hold my own. I saw an outside set coming. All I wanted was one fucking wave that I could claim for my own, so I could go back to my car without the feeling of utter defeat again. As the left came I felt that I was gonna be way too late for it. My instincts told me to paddle farther out to beat it. My heart pounded, my chinky eyes opened as wide as they could, and I puffed my cheeks as I exhaled hard. The peak of the wave was already peeling as I turned around, and I ended up being in the perfect spot right where the peak formed the shoulder. My main concern was sticking the drop because I was on an unfamiliar board. I popped up on what seemed to be a mountain of dark water; it was steep. The sun's orange haze was completely blocked out. I dropped in slow, then the momentum from the wave took over. I was going fast, the board began to skip from the speed, and all I could do was plant my feet the best that I could. I had no idea how big the wave was at first or how good it was. The wave was unrecognizable, it was literally like sliding down a rocky slope. The choppy water gave the texture big angular shapes. It was like the water was made out of a cut stone or gem; I was on a giant green emerald. There was no pumping or carving; I was a mere spectator on a device taking me on a tour of one of nature's wonders. It was almost like I was tow surfing, how the surf movies show the guy let go of the rope, and he's on that building section that seems to go on forever. The wave never closed, and I was on a long section at mid height. There was so much wave below me and so much above, I don't want to exaggerate on how big the wave was, but it had to be close to ten feet. I wanted to take it all the way to shore, but it finally walled up, and I stepped off the rail to end my ride.
I emerged from the white water reborn. I laughed. It was my turn. Now I was like a child. I had my warface on and let out a triumphant cry, still with no one to share it with. I ran up to Rick in the parking lot and told him about my last ride. He estimated the set waves to be two to three feet over head.
I was still humbled as I left, but my endorphins were still firing off from that last wave. I would have stay ... if that wave was a "bone" thrown by mother ocean for the beating that I've been taking ... it was worth it. Lesson learned, keep your board with you at all times.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
HERO TO ZERO, THE REALITY OF DEMORALIZATION: 11.28.2010 SUN
Everyone, yesterday morning, agreed to meet for a surf session today. I planned to be at Porto at first light, but I slept in until six in the morning. I checked my phone, and Shan text that he was awake. I suited up in my apartment and headed out. I could see that the surf was up as I approached Hammers. The swell looked messy; there were scattered peaks, the water seemed a little choppy, and the waves were about shoulder high. At 6:30 A.M. I scored free parking on 45th and sent out the mass text to everyone. Shan told me he was getting coffee and that he would be there soon. To my surprise, Christina had text me that she was already there in the lot. Only three marauders showed up. I met them in the parking lot as they sipped their hot coffee, still dressed. Someone called my name; it was Rick. That made four marauders. I wanted to check out the jetty, but Rick said he wanted to get the right handers in front of the tanks. I told him I’d meet him out there.
I did a light warm up on the sand. The sets were really consistent, and some of the sets seemed to last long. There was still no one in the water, except for a couple guys by Rosecrans. The El Porto lot was practically empty, with only a couple guys chit chatting by their cars, and some people watching by the rocks. The sun rose over the horizon, and the rain filled ocean reflected back a brownish tint. The ocean looked ominous again, like it did on Wednesday morning, but today seemed a little more brutal. The conditions were not clean, and just the chop with the size seemed a little daunting. Alone on the sand, I walked as far as I could on the inside to prep my paddle out. I was the lab mouse. If anyone was there watching, I would be the one to “test the waters” first. I only got worked a little bit before I chose to slide onto my board to paddle out. I was lucky that I only had to duck dive a couple waves in order to get to the line. Nervous energy filled my body. I, again, didn’t like the feeling of being out there alone. I passed on the first set that steam rolled through. I needed to catch my breath and get a feel for the waves and what they were doing. Another vicious right hand peak broke further north from where I was. I looked ahead, and bumps in the surface started to form. It was a little unpredictable again. The conditions made the waves seem bigger. Some of the head high waves didn’t seem to break until later, but watching them approach made me feel the necessity to get out of the way. I finally caught my breath and went for my first wave. I caught a right that jacked up at the last second. At least the waves weren’t punchy, but the drops were steep and a little technical. I slid down and couldn’t believe I was making the drop. I picked a simple line to keep me on the face before the wave closed out. There were a lot of close outs, but some waves opened up for a decent ride. I got a couple more before I got the shit scared out of me. As I popped up on another wave, my right foot got caught on my leash. As I got held down, the leash wrapped perfectly around my ankles; I was binded. I wanted to swim to the surface, but it was a scary feeling not being able to kick with my feet. I reached down to pull on my leash, but the force of the wave kept my leash outstretched. I thought to myself that I might be in a little situation. I felt for the bottom with my feet to see if I could push off. Thank goodness it was there. When I reached the surface I got some slack to free my legs. It was really sketch out there. As I duckdived a wave, I took a look at the ocean bottom. It wasn’t clear at all. So many disturbed and floating particles made the sun’s rays impenetrable. All I could see was my board, dark brown water, and endless blackness beyond. There was a dark murky world down there; it looked like death, and I didn’t want to be a part of it.
I paddled back to the line and tried feel comfortable. Shan, Christina, and Rick weren’t there yet; no one was out there. I saw Old Man Mark (Surfing Santa) and another guy watching me from the rocks. Right about then I caught my wave of the day. A left came through, and I was able to stay on the open face and keep ahead of the section. It, then, reformed towards the inside, and I changed direction going right. It wasn’t pretty, but I felt that I was at least trying to make the best of the situation despite my inexperience and nervousness in the lonely surf. I paddled back with ease. The ocean seemed calm for a moment. As I sat out there by myself I felt something special. No one else was there, barely anyone was out in the parking lot, and I had the break all to myself. I didn’t like being alone, but it felt like it took something special to be there: will, determination, dedication, courage, adversity, etc. I couldn’t help but toot my own horn. I would later find out that I tooted it too quick.
Rick was just to my south. He yelled, “You’re hands aren’t cold?”
“Not yet!” I replied. He had all of the gear: head warmer, booties, and gloves. We talked about the conditions as we scanned the horizon. More surfers were on the sand now, and they started popping up randomly in the line up. Dave Takanaka was out there, too. I didn’t even realize that there was a current dragging us south, and we were almost by 42nd already. I saw Shan and Christina in the line up. I was surprised that Christina was out there. When I was long boarding, I would’ve questioned my abilities to paddle out on a morning like this one, but there she was, the only chick out there. She said she was tired and she got worked on the inside. I told her bail out early on any waves she caught to avoid that. I got a couple more rides. The waves seemed to close out a little bit more. Shan and I paddled for this right together, I was on the inside, and I got the drop. It was like micro-Waimea style, with nothing but a big drop followed by an explosion of white water. I felt dominant in my power stance as I slid past a surfer duckdiving out of the way. My glory would end there.
I caught that wave farther than I intended, and this time I was the jerky on the inside getting worked. I let the waves crash over me without my board at first. When I began to paddle out again, it seemed that the waves never let up. I was duckdiving wave after wave, my face felt icy and cold from submerging so much. My duckdives got less and less ducky, then I was barely even able to penetrate the white wash. I finally made the decision to walk out and see if I could paddle out somewhere easier. I was way past the bathrooms; the current and rip pulled me so far from where I initially paddled out. I looked at the line up and could barely identify who was there because everything was so turbulent. I walked back south and paddled out there. I saw a guy catch a wave and wipe out right by me. I got worked all over again. It seemed that the white wash started in one area, and I was so close to getting past it. I was frustrated. I let out a loud “FUUUUUCK!” I turned to my left and saw that other surfer struggling right next to me. I finally got past the white water machine, my face numb, and my nostrils blowing like a frigid AC. I couldn’t even start celebrating because in front of me were the actual waves breaking that made all the white water. It was another “aww fuck.” Again, the waves just didn’t seem to let up. At first I thought it was just me that sucked ass, but the water just seemed so unrelenting and powerful; it was a combination of both. I saw Rick in front of me again, but I couldn’t reach him.
The bravado and manliness was no longer in me. I felt like I lost my balls. I staggered towards the shore frustrated, defeated, ashamed, unworthy, and beaten. I was back where I was the first time that I gave up. I turned and saw Christina getting out of the water. I stopped and waited, then I walked further on the shore, looking to see if I should try to paddle out again. It was past 8:00 A.M. The water definitely changed. Smaller, much more choppy, there was a stronger wind, and the inside was nothing but roaring white. Shan turned to me and said, “Rick is still out there.” Yes, yes he was still out there, and I didn’t even have a chance to say bye. I couldn’t hang with him, not with the big dogs today.
I drove my car into the lot and parked by my crew. We saw Klaude returning from the beach with his feet wet and sandy. “Where were you guys?” Klaude said.
We told him that we were done for the morning. Once we were all dressed it seemed that the ocean calmed down again. There was a welcoming channel by 45th that wasn’t challenging at all. The sets slowed down; the peaks looked amiable and fun. I felt like Mother Ocean was laughing at me, showing me who’s boss and who’s calling the shots, and that she was the real show while I was chancing on her mood every time I paddled out. I wanted to go back and redeem myself, but I was already dry, dressed, and my wetsuit lay cold and soaked in its tub.
Yup, hero to zero. I felt like a hero at first, but the ocean took all that away from me. I drove home ashamed of myself. I thought about what I could do to prevent that from happening again, or to get stronger to punch through to the line. I thought about some intense cardio training in addition to surfing. I felt like I didn’t deserve to call myself a surfer. I hated myself. I should be punished by having a match put out on my anus. Klaude stopped by after the session. He gave me a Power Balance Bracelet. It was a nice way to bring me back up a little after being demoralized. I’m going surfing again tomorrow, and I hope to redeem myself a little bit.
I did a light warm up on the sand. The sets were really consistent, and some of the sets seemed to last long. There was still no one in the water, except for a couple guys by Rosecrans. The El Porto lot was practically empty, with only a couple guys chit chatting by their cars, and some people watching by the rocks. The sun rose over the horizon, and the rain filled ocean reflected back a brownish tint. The ocean looked ominous again, like it did on Wednesday morning, but today seemed a little more brutal. The conditions were not clean, and just the chop with the size seemed a little daunting. Alone on the sand, I walked as far as I could on the inside to prep my paddle out. I was the lab mouse. If anyone was there watching, I would be the one to “test the waters” first. I only got worked a little bit before I chose to slide onto my board to paddle out. I was lucky that I only had to duck dive a couple waves in order to get to the line. Nervous energy filled my body. I, again, didn’t like the feeling of being out there alone. I passed on the first set that steam rolled through. I needed to catch my breath and get a feel for the waves and what they were doing. Another vicious right hand peak broke further north from where I was. I looked ahead, and bumps in the surface started to form. It was a little unpredictable again. The conditions made the waves seem bigger. Some of the head high waves didn’t seem to break until later, but watching them approach made me feel the necessity to get out of the way. I finally caught my breath and went for my first wave. I caught a right that jacked up at the last second. At least the waves weren’t punchy, but the drops were steep and a little technical. I slid down and couldn’t believe I was making the drop. I picked a simple line to keep me on the face before the wave closed out. There were a lot of close outs, but some waves opened up for a decent ride. I got a couple more before I got the shit scared out of me. As I popped up on another wave, my right foot got caught on my leash. As I got held down, the leash wrapped perfectly around my ankles; I was binded. I wanted to swim to the surface, but it was a scary feeling not being able to kick with my feet. I reached down to pull on my leash, but the force of the wave kept my leash outstretched. I thought to myself that I might be in a little situation. I felt for the bottom with my feet to see if I could push off. Thank goodness it was there. When I reached the surface I got some slack to free my legs. It was really sketch out there. As I duckdived a wave, I took a look at the ocean bottom. It wasn’t clear at all. So many disturbed and floating particles made the sun’s rays impenetrable. All I could see was my board, dark brown water, and endless blackness beyond. There was a dark murky world down there; it looked like death, and I didn’t want to be a part of it.
I paddled back to the line and tried feel comfortable. Shan, Christina, and Rick weren’t there yet; no one was out there. I saw Old Man Mark (Surfing Santa) and another guy watching me from the rocks. Right about then I caught my wave of the day. A left came through, and I was able to stay on the open face and keep ahead of the section. It, then, reformed towards the inside, and I changed direction going right. It wasn’t pretty, but I felt that I was at least trying to make the best of the situation despite my inexperience and nervousness in the lonely surf. I paddled back with ease. The ocean seemed calm for a moment. As I sat out there by myself I felt something special. No one else was there, barely anyone was out in the parking lot, and I had the break all to myself. I didn’t like being alone, but it felt like it took something special to be there: will, determination, dedication, courage, adversity, etc. I couldn’t help but toot my own horn. I would later find out that I tooted it too quick.
Rick was just to my south. He yelled, “You’re hands aren’t cold?”
“Not yet!” I replied. He had all of the gear: head warmer, booties, and gloves. We talked about the conditions as we scanned the horizon. More surfers were on the sand now, and they started popping up randomly in the line up. Dave Takanaka was out there, too. I didn’t even realize that there was a current dragging us south, and we were almost by 42nd already. I saw Shan and Christina in the line up. I was surprised that Christina was out there. When I was long boarding, I would’ve questioned my abilities to paddle out on a morning like this one, but there she was, the only chick out there. She said she was tired and she got worked on the inside. I told her bail out early on any waves she caught to avoid that. I got a couple more rides. The waves seemed to close out a little bit more. Shan and I paddled for this right together, I was on the inside, and I got the drop. It was like micro-Waimea style, with nothing but a big drop followed by an explosion of white water. I felt dominant in my power stance as I slid past a surfer duckdiving out of the way. My glory would end there.
I caught that wave farther than I intended, and this time I was the jerky on the inside getting worked. I let the waves crash over me without my board at first. When I began to paddle out again, it seemed that the waves never let up. I was duckdiving wave after wave, my face felt icy and cold from submerging so much. My duckdives got less and less ducky, then I was barely even able to penetrate the white wash. I finally made the decision to walk out and see if I could paddle out somewhere easier. I was way past the bathrooms; the current and rip pulled me so far from where I initially paddled out. I looked at the line up and could barely identify who was there because everything was so turbulent. I walked back south and paddled out there. I saw a guy catch a wave and wipe out right by me. I got worked all over again. It seemed that the white wash started in one area, and I was so close to getting past it. I was frustrated. I let out a loud “FUUUUUCK!” I turned to my left and saw that other surfer struggling right next to me. I finally got past the white water machine, my face numb, and my nostrils blowing like a frigid AC. I couldn’t even start celebrating because in front of me were the actual waves breaking that made all the white water. It was another “aww fuck.” Again, the waves just didn’t seem to let up. At first I thought it was just me that sucked ass, but the water just seemed so unrelenting and powerful; it was a combination of both. I saw Rick in front of me again, but I couldn’t reach him.
The bravado and manliness was no longer in me. I felt like I lost my balls. I staggered towards the shore frustrated, defeated, ashamed, unworthy, and beaten. I was back where I was the first time that I gave up. I turned and saw Christina getting out of the water. I stopped and waited, then I walked further on the shore, looking to see if I should try to paddle out again. It was past 8:00 A.M. The water definitely changed. Smaller, much more choppy, there was a stronger wind, and the inside was nothing but roaring white. Shan turned to me and said, “Rick is still out there.” Yes, yes he was still out there, and I didn’t even have a chance to say bye. I couldn’t hang with him, not with the big dogs today.
I drove my car into the lot and parked by my crew. We saw Klaude returning from the beach with his feet wet and sandy. “Where were you guys?” Klaude said.
We told him that we were done for the morning. Once we were all dressed it seemed that the ocean calmed down again. There was a welcoming channel by 45th that wasn’t challenging at all. The sets slowed down; the peaks looked amiable and fun. I felt like Mother Ocean was laughing at me, showing me who’s boss and who’s calling the shots, and that she was the real show while I was chancing on her mood every time I paddled out. I wanted to go back and redeem myself, but I was already dry, dressed, and my wetsuit lay cold and soaked in its tub.
Yup, hero to zero. I felt like a hero at first, but the ocean took all that away from me. I drove home ashamed of myself. I thought about what I could do to prevent that from happening again, or to get stronger to punch through to the line. I thought about some intense cardio training in addition to surfing. I felt like I didn’t deserve to call myself a surfer. I hated myself. I should be punished by having a match put out on my anus. Klaude stopped by after the session. He gave me a Power Balance Bracelet. It was a nice way to bring me back up a little after being demoralized. I’m going surfing again tomorrow, and I hope to redeem myself a little bit.
Saturday, November 27, 2010
DRC’S FIRST WINTER SESSION: 11.27.2010 SAT
Last night I told Shan that I’d meet him at Porto at first light. At first light I was snuggled under my blankets with Lauren’s warm body right next to me. I shut off the alarm and told myself that I’d take a break from surfing. My left shoulder has been bothering me lately, I went to sleep late, I hade a little sinus headache, and the surf was going to be small any way. Shan called me and said he’d check it out later. A little after eight o’clock Cheryl and Shan text that they were already there. Klaude also called me and told me he was on his way to hang out. Well, there was no way I could’ve sat this one out while all of my DRC peeps had their toes touching the sand, and I was at home, butt naked with my pubes pointing out every which way. I told Lauren to get her ass in gear because we were going to the beach!
I called Jon and gave him the invite. As Lauren and I pulled into the Porto lot I saw Klaude, Cheryl, Shan, and Christina on the sand getting ready to paddle out. Lauren picked a spot next to Klaude’s gear. I gave that Japanese guy a hug and wished him a late Happy Turkey Day. He told me that Dais was on the way. All we were missing was Jon (our Token Mexican); if he was there we would’ve almost had a full crew.
It was small, but the conditions were a little better than yesterday. It was sunny, there was no wind, the surf was consistent, and the waves were thigh to waist high on the plus sets. There was a little crowd out, but everyone seemed easy, and there was enough for everyone. I greeted the rest of the bunch in the line up. Christina and Cheryl showed me their recent purchases. It seemed that I was the only jackasses that didn’t have any winter gear yet. I was amped from the cup of coffee I drank, and it made me anxious and over-excited. I was stoked to surf with my friends and to have Lauren with me (even though she wasn’t in the water). I already saw Shan catch a nice little left from the shore. He brought out his seven footer. Everyone else was getting waves except for me. Costco-Christina was paddling into waves, and Cheryl, AKA Fish Killer, was catching them with ease, too. I saw Shantasm paddle into a wave with only two strokes. Cheryl told me that her gloves helped her paddling. I guess they all have bionic paddling capabilities now. It was great seeing Cheryl catch so many waves. She’s the gnarliest female surfer that I know, just from the fact that she’s usually really consistent, and she’ll be the only chick in the line up at times.
The waves were kind of soft, and I was having a hard time getting the drop on some of them. I fell on a lot of waves; they were weak. I think I wanted to do more than the wave allowed, so I finally just drew a narrow line and focused on staying on the face and keeping speed. I had to freeze my stance on a lot of waves to make sure I didn’t lose momentum. My wave of the day was a right that I had to trim from top to bottom to keep up with the section. I think I stayed on that one all the way to shore.
I would turn back to wave at Lauren, then I’d wave at Klaude. Poor Klaude. I’m glad that he could make it out to watch us surf, but I knew that he wished he was in the line up with us more than anything. I told everyone else that it would be cool if we could push him on a couple waves, but any accident could cause a major setback towards his recovery.
Dais showed up and joined in on the wave buffet. We dominated a whole peak to ourselves. It’s rare that we all get a chance to surf together, and the energy in the water was positive. Just before 11:00 A.M. the wind and tide came up a little, and the waves got blown out and softer. Team CC (Cheryl and Christina) left first, then the rest of us followed. We shot the shit in the parking lot and decided to meet again tomorrow for the bigger surf. It’s supposed to be three to four feet tomorrow. Let’s hope they are right. DRC all the way, I’m glad to be part of this group
I called Jon and gave him the invite. As Lauren and I pulled into the Porto lot I saw Klaude, Cheryl, Shan, and Christina on the sand getting ready to paddle out. Lauren picked a spot next to Klaude’s gear. I gave that Japanese guy a hug and wished him a late Happy Turkey Day. He told me that Dais was on the way. All we were missing was Jon (our Token Mexican); if he was there we would’ve almost had a full crew.
It was small, but the conditions were a little better than yesterday. It was sunny, there was no wind, the surf was consistent, and the waves were thigh to waist high on the plus sets. There was a little crowd out, but everyone seemed easy, and there was enough for everyone. I greeted the rest of the bunch in the line up. Christina and Cheryl showed me their recent purchases. It seemed that I was the only jackasses that didn’t have any winter gear yet. I was amped from the cup of coffee I drank, and it made me anxious and over-excited. I was stoked to surf with my friends and to have Lauren with me (even though she wasn’t in the water). I already saw Shan catch a nice little left from the shore. He brought out his seven footer. Everyone else was getting waves except for me. Costco-Christina was paddling into waves, and Cheryl, AKA Fish Killer, was catching them with ease, too. I saw Shantasm paddle into a wave with only two strokes. Cheryl told me that her gloves helped her paddling. I guess they all have bionic paddling capabilities now. It was great seeing Cheryl catch so many waves. She’s the gnarliest female surfer that I know, just from the fact that she’s usually really consistent, and she’ll be the only chick in the line up at times.
The waves were kind of soft, and I was having a hard time getting the drop on some of them. I fell on a lot of waves; they were weak. I think I wanted to do more than the wave allowed, so I finally just drew a narrow line and focused on staying on the face and keeping speed. I had to freeze my stance on a lot of waves to make sure I didn’t lose momentum. My wave of the day was a right that I had to trim from top to bottom to keep up with the section. I think I stayed on that one all the way to shore.
I would turn back to wave at Lauren, then I’d wave at Klaude. Poor Klaude. I’m glad that he could make it out to watch us surf, but I knew that he wished he was in the line up with us more than anything. I told everyone else that it would be cool if we could push him on a couple waves, but any accident could cause a major setback towards his recovery.
Dais showed up and joined in on the wave buffet. We dominated a whole peak to ourselves. It’s rare that we all get a chance to surf together, and the energy in the water was positive. Just before 11:00 A.M. the wind and tide came up a little, and the waves got blown out and softer. Team CC (Cheryl and Christina) left first, then the rest of us followed. We shot the shit in the parking lot and decided to meet again tomorrow for the bigger surf. It’s supposed to be three to four feet tomorrow. Let’s hope they are right. DRC all the way, I’m glad to be part of this group
DESPERATELY SEEKING SIZE: 11.26.2010 FRI
I was smart after my last session. I dried both sides of my wetsuit and even hung it by my heater to ensure I wouldn’t have a moist suit in the morn. I woke up at 5:30 A.M., suited up in my apartment, and was at the Porto lot right after it opened. On the way over there I could tell that the surf was minimal. Dockweiler and Hammers had small and dribbling waves breaking on shore. The tide was low, and the parking lot was deserted, except for a small handful of longboarders. I parked next to another guy who was just like me: sitting in his car, scratching his chin, phone I hand, and looking at the surf. It was small. There were some really clean waves, but they were barely two feet high. I looked, and looked, and looked. I text the whole DRC and reported my findings. Rick kept telling me to grab a longboard and to meet him and his brother, Manny, a little later. I cruised to 26th St.; it was worse. I drove to Manhattan Pier in desperation. No Dice. Literally, my friend Dais wasn’t there, there were no actual dice, and on top of that there were no fucking waves. It was just as small as Porto. I hoped for there to be some kind of shoulders off of the pier, but they were tiny. I saw the locals, too, just standing there debating. Everyone was a little sketch to paddle out that morning.
My problem was that I was already in my wetsuit, and I’ve never returned home in a dry wetsuit before, so I was obligated to paddle out. I text Rick and told him I’d be by 45th. When I returned, there were a couple more cars there and more heads in the line up, but I scored free parking anyway. I paddled out at about 7:30 A.M. I took the same peak by 45th, just like the day before. It was bright and sunny, and the sand wasn’t cold like yesterday, but the water was another story. Even though it was flat; the waves were clean, and at first the waves seemed pretty consistent. A lot of longboarders waited on the outside for waves, and right when I got to the line, I caught three waves in a row towards the inside. I got a nice left that let me pump all the way down the line for a long ride. I had my own peak and didn’t have to share it with anyone. The first half hour of surf was great, and the paddle out seemed worth it. Once eight o’clock hit, there was a long wait between sets. That long wait killed me. There was no need to move around; I just sat there and gazed at the horizon, searching, praying for a bump in the surface. I got cold. The cold was magnified by my stagnation. Another guy paddled close by and commented on the temp. I was able to get a couple more waves, but I had to call the session at eight-thirty. I got to the parking lot and was welcomed by Rick and his daughter, Jane. Manny flaked, and I guess Rick decided it wasn’t worth it. I was so cold that I didn’t bother to shower off or use my hot water bottles I brought, despite taking two hot pisses in my wetsuit. I got back to my car and was too cold to take off my wetsuit. I put a towel on my seat and drove off still suited up. I’ve never done that before; I was that fucking cold. I could barely even turn the fucking key because I couldn’t feel my thumbs. When I took a piss when I got home, I swear I saw steam coming from my dickhole.
I later found out that Cheryl, Christina, and Dais paddled out a while after I left. They said it was still fun. I thought that the wind was picking up when I left, but I guess it didn’t. It was an ice session with tiny surf. I guess, this winter, I’ll just have to get used to life without thumbs, and a life with steamy piss.
My problem was that I was already in my wetsuit, and I’ve never returned home in a dry wetsuit before, so I was obligated to paddle out. I text Rick and told him I’d be by 45th. When I returned, there were a couple more cars there and more heads in the line up, but I scored free parking anyway. I paddled out at about 7:30 A.M. I took the same peak by 45th, just like the day before. It was bright and sunny, and the sand wasn’t cold like yesterday, but the water was another story. Even though it was flat; the waves were clean, and at first the waves seemed pretty consistent. A lot of longboarders waited on the outside for waves, and right when I got to the line, I caught three waves in a row towards the inside. I got a nice left that let me pump all the way down the line for a long ride. I had my own peak and didn’t have to share it with anyone. The first half hour of surf was great, and the paddle out seemed worth it. Once eight o’clock hit, there was a long wait between sets. That long wait killed me. There was no need to move around; I just sat there and gazed at the horizon, searching, praying for a bump in the surface. I got cold. The cold was magnified by my stagnation. Another guy paddled close by and commented on the temp. I was able to get a couple more waves, but I had to call the session at eight-thirty. I got to the parking lot and was welcomed by Rick and his daughter, Jane. Manny flaked, and I guess Rick decided it wasn’t worth it. I was so cold that I didn’t bother to shower off or use my hot water bottles I brought, despite taking two hot pisses in my wetsuit. I got back to my car and was too cold to take off my wetsuit. I put a towel on my seat and drove off still suited up. I’ve never done that before; I was that fucking cold. I could barely even turn the fucking key because I couldn’t feel my thumbs. When I took a piss when I got home, I swear I saw steam coming from my dickhole.
I later found out that Cheryl, Christina, and Dais paddled out a while after I left. They said it was still fun. I thought that the wind was picking up when I left, but I guess it didn’t. It was an ice session with tiny surf. I guess, this winter, I’ll just have to get used to life without thumbs, and a life with steamy piss.
SWELL DWINDLING: 11.25.2010 THU
Even though the surf reports said that the surf would go flat, Shan and I were too pumped to pass up another morning session at Porto. None of us scored on the free parking this time around. I saw Ray in the parking lot before Shan showed up. By the time he pulled up, I was already in my wetsuit. I told him I’d look at the jetty, but if it didn’t look good that I’d be at 45th or the tanks. It was just after 6:00 A.M., so the sun wasn’t up yet, and the sky was still an unlit blue. My feet began to hurt as soon as they touched the sand; it felt like I was walking on packs of ice. The jetty wasn’t pumping at all, but the usual breaks were still producing some little rides. We got there before high tide, so the waves were about waist high. Ray and I looked at each other, and without saying anything we acknowledged the freezing sand. The water wasn’t much better either. Shan showed up with his surf gloves that he bought from 9star, and he praised them for keeping the water out of his wetsuit and his hands warm. I told him that my brother would look at me in disdain if her ever saw me wearing such things. We saw our little friend, the seal, on the inside. This time he was shaking something in his mouth. Indeed, he got a fresh kill. Good … good for him. I guess it was Thanksgiving for the animals, too.
We were catching the lefts from the peak off of 45th. They were soft, spilling, waves with medium power on the drop. That morning had a lot more surfers than the previous mornings. There were black suited figures all the way from 45th to Manhattan. Luckily, everyone wanted to hog the main breaks, while Shan and I had no crowd troubles where we were. The wind and tide picked up a little, and the waves got smaller and softer. It turned into a longboarder’s wave again. It was 8:00 A.M. Shan and I had the opportunity to feed the meter or call it a day. We decided that it wasn’t worth it and headed out.
It was a Thanksgiving Day session. We got some waves, but nothing significant. However, It was better than nothing.
We were catching the lefts from the peak off of 45th. They were soft, spilling, waves with medium power on the drop. That morning had a lot more surfers than the previous mornings. There were black suited figures all the way from 45th to Manhattan. Luckily, everyone wanted to hog the main breaks, while Shan and I had no crowd troubles where we were. The wind and tide picked up a little, and the waves got smaller and softer. It turned into a longboarder’s wave again. It was 8:00 A.M. Shan and I had the opportunity to feed the meter or call it a day. We decided that it wasn’t worth it and headed out.
It was a Thanksgiving Day session. We got some waves, but nothing significant. However, It was better than nothing.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
JUICY SECONDS: AFTERNOON 11.24.2010 WED
After Shan and I parted ways in the morning, my brother and I went to Good Stuff in El Segundo for some breakfast. I had to burn off a ten dollar gift card that they gave me because of hair in my omelet the last I was there. I had a huge carne asada and eggs breakfast. We watched Busting Down the Door at my apartment, dropped off Lauren at work, stopped by 9star, then we drove down Vista Del Mar to have another look at the waves. I thought that the tide would be too low and that the waves would go to shit. As we past by Dockweiler, we saw some heads out surfing the breaks that are usually waveless wastelands. We actually saw some rideable peaks at Shit Pipe and the man made jetties. It was a good sign.
We drove by Hammers and had a little look. We talked to a longboarder that said the waves were getting better. We heard enough. It was about 12:45 P.M., and we headed back to my apartment to grab our gear and go out for seconds. We parked at the main lot and decided to paddle out at 45th. There were more guys out now: the crowd that avoided the morning cold. The sun was pretty high, so it gave the ocean a bright, metallic-like, blinding shine. The wind was a little off shore, the water was a lot more settled than the morning, and there were some clean sets coming through. We were in the mix of a scattered crowd, but we still managed to get some waves.
My brother struggled at first, being in a bad spot. I got three good waves before my brother got any. I got a nice, head high, right. I decided to grab my rail, crouch down, and take a straight line as long as I could. It was a fun and easy way to take that wave. I also got two lefts in a row, robbing a guy on my inside that tried to drop in on me. I practiced carving the lip on my front side again as much as I could.
One sight, forever ingrained in my memory, was seeing my brother on this wave. I had just finished catching a wave and was on the inside trying to gather myself and my board. I looked in front of me. Here comes my brother, going backside on a little four foot wave, grabbing his rail, and getting mini barreled right in front of me. He looked determined and focused, oblivious that I was there, only fixed on the path that lay ahead of him. I stopped and watched, and I thought to myself how fun that must’ve been. I can’t read waves that well to know which ones I could do that with, or if I could ever pull something like that off. I’ve still never gotten barreled, ever!
At about 2:20 P.M. the wind turned onshore, people started to leave, and the waves got blown out. Some people were still parking and suiting up to paddle out. Those poor bastards. They definitely got the shit end of the stick.
My brother and I were satisfied. Another session for the Ramelb Brothers went down in history. By nightfall I was exhausted, dreaming about some front side carving.
We drove by Hammers and had a little look. We talked to a longboarder that said the waves were getting better. We heard enough. It was about 12:45 P.M., and we headed back to my apartment to grab our gear and go out for seconds. We parked at the main lot and decided to paddle out at 45th. There were more guys out now: the crowd that avoided the morning cold. The sun was pretty high, so it gave the ocean a bright, metallic-like, blinding shine. The wind was a little off shore, the water was a lot more settled than the morning, and there were some clean sets coming through. We were in the mix of a scattered crowd, but we still managed to get some waves.
My brother struggled at first, being in a bad spot. I got three good waves before my brother got any. I got a nice, head high, right. I decided to grab my rail, crouch down, and take a straight line as long as I could. It was a fun and easy way to take that wave. I also got two lefts in a row, robbing a guy on my inside that tried to drop in on me. I practiced carving the lip on my front side again as much as I could.
One sight, forever ingrained in my memory, was seeing my brother on this wave. I had just finished catching a wave and was on the inside trying to gather myself and my board. I looked in front of me. Here comes my brother, going backside on a little four foot wave, grabbing his rail, and getting mini barreled right in front of me. He looked determined and focused, oblivious that I was there, only fixed on the path that lay ahead of him. I stopped and watched, and I thought to myself how fun that must’ve been. I can’t read waves that well to know which ones I could do that with, or if I could ever pull something like that off. I’ve still never gotten barreled, ever!
At about 2:20 P.M. the wind turned onshore, people started to leave, and the waves got blown out. Some people were still parking and suiting up to paddle out. Those poor bastards. They definitely got the shit end of the stick.
My brother and I were satisfied. Another session for the Ramelb Brothers went down in history. By nightfall I was exhausted, dreaming about some front side carving.
THE UNPREDICTABLE JETTY: MORN 11.24.2010 WED
Randy planned to surf Hammerland in the morning. According to him, there has been a lot of onshore wind in HB, and that L.A. looked better on the surf cams. Shan said he’d meet up with us, too. I had a hard time sleeping, so I effortlessly got out of bed at 5:23 A.M., had a cup of green tea and watched some local news while I prepped my gear. I text my bro and asked him to bring some wax since I was all out. He replied that he would be arriving late, and to head out without him. On the way to the beach I drove around El Segundo to see if there were any liquor stores open that might sell surf wax; nothing was open. I stopped at the Chevron on top of 45th St., and they didn’t sell any either. I was in line to get into the El Porto parking lot when a parking space freed up right beside me. Lucky me, I had another morning of free parking. I turned on the heater to thaw out my sunblock and text Randy and Shan that if Hammers wasn’t going off, I’d be on the south side of the jetty. I combined all the tiny bits of wax that I had left and made the best of it. I greeted the long haired Asian guy in the parking lot. We exchanged names. It was Ray. We talked about how yesterday was good, even though he missed out. Another surfer chimed in on the conversation and added that he had waves all to himself yesterday morning.
I was on the sand a little after six, power walking to my destination. The water was a little crazy, meaning that there were scattered peaks everywhere. The swell was weird. The water wasn’t smooth at all. There were numerous scattered peaks all over the place, and the inside had consistent white water roaring to the shore. I took a look at Hammers, and it looked like shit. I went back on the other side of the jetty to assess the situation. The waves weren’t breaking off of the Jetty, they broke off just a little to the south of it. The tip of the jetty would jack up and have shape, but then it would bog out. I was all alone out there, and the Porto lot was barren enough when I walked through. I saw a lone dolphin a ways out, but only its fin. I paddled out alone and felt kind of “sketch” the whole time. I didn’t know if being out there was a good idea, then a lone head high peak came my way. It was an asymmetric peak that opened up beautifully with a long right shoulder. I was caught by surprise, so all I did was trim down the line. It was hard to believe that there were good waves like that out there, plus I had it literally all to myself. I turned around for more. I was even able to get some lefts that had more than enough clearance from the rocks. The peaks feathered at the top and needed to be caught a little late, but once on the wave the shoulders were more than rideable. I was able to work on my front side. Instead of developing my bottom turn, I was instinctively shifting my weight to carve the top of the lip. I didn’t pull anything ground breaking, but I started to get the feeling of aggressively changing the board’s direction on the top turn to get back into the pocket, then pumping my board to get down the line again. I felt the fetal stages of progressing more on my front side. Some fishermen showed up on the rocks, which gave me a false sense of security. A little seal showed up, popping its little head out of the water. It was chillin’ by the fishing line, probably trying to steal some breakfast.
I kept looking towards the Grand Ave. parking lot to look for my brother; it was still a little lonely out there. I turned around to my south, and I saw Shan holding his board up high, signaling his arrival. Right as I saw him, another peaky left came. It had a nice steep drop with a quick building shoulder. I pumped my board top to bottom, but I stalled when I failed to carve the lip. None-the-less, it was a nice long ride, and that wave sold the morning’s potential to Shan who watched from the shore. He paddled up and said, “It looks like Norcal up here, the way that the waves are breaking, and the rocks.” He was right. The scattered peaks everywhere gave an ominous look to the place. On top of that, it was really hard to predict and pick out the good waves. Some waves jacked up really far on the outside, but they rolled through and didn’t break until they were close to shore. Some of the most defined peaks hid behind the swell bumps, and only revealed themselves at the last moment.
Shan and I had a decent wave count, and still no one else arrived to join us, not even my brother. The inside was another story. There was no easy paddle out. Every time I caught a wave too far to shore, I got worked by white water. It took forever to get back to Shan. It was the groundhog day effect; I felt like I didn’t even move. I was lucky to get a little lull in the sets, and I finally got back. There was a longboarder watching us from shore, waiting for the right time to paddle out. He ended up trying his luck elsewhere.
I got a lot of air on the rights, but I’m not talking about maneuvers. Going back side, the waves built up pretty high, and I had to jump backwards over the lip to get out of the wave. The first time I failed, and my right ear got smacked by the curl. The second time I bailed out and did a back flip. Well, it was a half back flip. I landed in the water upside down, but it felt like I was in the air forever, and I remember seeing the sky for seconds before I landed. The third time I landed on my side. Shan saw it and called it a “back flop.” Those waves were perfect set ups for aerials, but that’s way above my level.
My wave of the day was another big left. This time I was able to carve the lip and do a half ass cut back. It was half ass because as I turned, completely facing the other direction, I failed to recover to turn back towards the section. Either way, it was something new, and something I hope to pull off with more practice. Towards eight-thirty the tide rose, and that waves took a lot of work to paddle into. They were breaking closer to shore. A paddle boarder showed up and started getting fun rides for himself. We figured we got the best that the morning had to offer, and we headed back to 45th.
There still weren’t many guys out. It was a cold morning, and I guess a lot of people in the South Bay just don’t believe in charging the Winter. I called my brother, and he said he didn’t bother to check his texts, and that he paddled out at 42nd because it looked so good. Most important, he said he had fun, which was all that mattered to me.
It was a good session. I was glad that Shan showed up to enjoy the experience with me at the vacant jetty. Surfing solo is alright, but it’s always great to share great waves with a friend.
I was on the sand a little after six, power walking to my destination. The water was a little crazy, meaning that there were scattered peaks everywhere. The swell was weird. The water wasn’t smooth at all. There were numerous scattered peaks all over the place, and the inside had consistent white water roaring to the shore. I took a look at Hammers, and it looked like shit. I went back on the other side of the jetty to assess the situation. The waves weren’t breaking off of the Jetty, they broke off just a little to the south of it. The tip of the jetty would jack up and have shape, but then it would bog out. I was all alone out there, and the Porto lot was barren enough when I walked through. I saw a lone dolphin a ways out, but only its fin. I paddled out alone and felt kind of “sketch” the whole time. I didn’t know if being out there was a good idea, then a lone head high peak came my way. It was an asymmetric peak that opened up beautifully with a long right shoulder. I was caught by surprise, so all I did was trim down the line. It was hard to believe that there were good waves like that out there, plus I had it literally all to myself. I turned around for more. I was even able to get some lefts that had more than enough clearance from the rocks. The peaks feathered at the top and needed to be caught a little late, but once on the wave the shoulders were more than rideable. I was able to work on my front side. Instead of developing my bottom turn, I was instinctively shifting my weight to carve the top of the lip. I didn’t pull anything ground breaking, but I started to get the feeling of aggressively changing the board’s direction on the top turn to get back into the pocket, then pumping my board to get down the line again. I felt the fetal stages of progressing more on my front side. Some fishermen showed up on the rocks, which gave me a false sense of security. A little seal showed up, popping its little head out of the water. It was chillin’ by the fishing line, probably trying to steal some breakfast.
I kept looking towards the Grand Ave. parking lot to look for my brother; it was still a little lonely out there. I turned around to my south, and I saw Shan holding his board up high, signaling his arrival. Right as I saw him, another peaky left came. It had a nice steep drop with a quick building shoulder. I pumped my board top to bottom, but I stalled when I failed to carve the lip. None-the-less, it was a nice long ride, and that wave sold the morning’s potential to Shan who watched from the shore. He paddled up and said, “It looks like Norcal up here, the way that the waves are breaking, and the rocks.” He was right. The scattered peaks everywhere gave an ominous look to the place. On top of that, it was really hard to predict and pick out the good waves. Some waves jacked up really far on the outside, but they rolled through and didn’t break until they were close to shore. Some of the most defined peaks hid behind the swell bumps, and only revealed themselves at the last moment.
Shan and I had a decent wave count, and still no one else arrived to join us, not even my brother. The inside was another story. There was no easy paddle out. Every time I caught a wave too far to shore, I got worked by white water. It took forever to get back to Shan. It was the groundhog day effect; I felt like I didn’t even move. I was lucky to get a little lull in the sets, and I finally got back. There was a longboarder watching us from shore, waiting for the right time to paddle out. He ended up trying his luck elsewhere.
I got a lot of air on the rights, but I’m not talking about maneuvers. Going back side, the waves built up pretty high, and I had to jump backwards over the lip to get out of the wave. The first time I failed, and my right ear got smacked by the curl. The second time I bailed out and did a back flip. Well, it was a half back flip. I landed in the water upside down, but it felt like I was in the air forever, and I remember seeing the sky for seconds before I landed. The third time I landed on my side. Shan saw it and called it a “back flop.” Those waves were perfect set ups for aerials, but that’s way above my level.
My wave of the day was another big left. This time I was able to carve the lip and do a half ass cut back. It was half ass because as I turned, completely facing the other direction, I failed to recover to turn back towards the section. Either way, it was something new, and something I hope to pull off with more practice. Towards eight-thirty the tide rose, and that waves took a lot of work to paddle into. They were breaking closer to shore. A paddle boarder showed up and started getting fun rides for himself. We figured we got the best that the morning had to offer, and we headed back to 45th.
There still weren’t many guys out. It was a cold morning, and I guess a lot of people in the South Bay just don’t believe in charging the Winter. I called my brother, and he said he didn’t bother to check his texts, and that he paddled out at 42nd because it looked so good. Most important, he said he had fun, which was all that mattered to me.
It was a good session. I was glad that Shan showed up to enjoy the experience with me at the vacant jetty. Surfing solo is alright, but it’s always great to share great waves with a friend.
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