THERE CAN ONLY BE ONE: 11.23.2010 TUE

    Shan and I were supposed to surf yesterday morning.  Of course, it was so cold when my alarm went off at 6:00 A.M.  I squeezed Lauren for warmth, then I text Shan and said I couldn’t make it.  Luckily, he didn’t make it out either.  I was not going to let the same thing happen twice.

    Last night we planned to surf this morning again.  He told me that it looked shitty yesterday on the surf cam, so I didn’t expect much for the next sesh.  My alarm went off at 5:30 A.M.  I snoozed until six.  I finally accepted the fact that I was leaving my warm and cozy bed for the dark, cold, yonder outside.  I didn’t even want to change into my wetsuit in my apartment; it was so cold that there was no way I was stripping down.  On my way to Porto I could see bushes and branches swaying in the wind a little.  My first thought was that it would be blown out and crumbly.  I got a free parking spot on 45th.  The sky wasn’t lit yet, and the early morning still had a dark grayish blue tint.  The world outside my car door looked biting cold.  My car temperature gauge was at fifty degrees.  I took a look at the water; it was hard to tell what it was doing.  I saw some lefts breaking in front of 45th, slowly rolling to the shore.  Not one body was out from what I could see.  It didn’t look big, but it was consistent.

    I text Shan.  I didn’t want to lead him on, so I told him that it wasn’t exactly “firing,” and that I would be by 45th.  While prepping my gear I realized that I forgot my wax and my watch.  “Doh!”  I used my comb to raise as much wax as I could.  When I got to the sand I saw a couple heads out by 42nd and a couple more in front of the bathrooms.  The lot was almost empty.  Despite the frigid air temp, the sand didn’t feel like ice.  I stood on the shore with 45th St. right behind me.  As I watched it, a set came rolling through.  It turned out I was wrong.  Besides that one phenomenal September afternoon when there was six foot surf, this morning was the most peaky that I’ve seen Porto since I’ve been home.  Some peaks were breaking so clean that you could go either left or right.  Me, I was more interested in the lefts, and the lefts were going off.  It was almost too good to be true.  The waves were about four to five feet, and the peaks were so defined that the shoulder had a sharp angle and didn’t form until the wave broke.  That made the drops nice, steep, critical, but leading to an open face at the same time.  I saw this long haired Brazilian guy running towards me, trying to get first dibs in the line up. …  Not on my watch.

    I walked my board out and braced myself against the white water from the set that came in.  It wasn’t freezing.  After the last set wave, I jumped on my board and paddled out.  Today was such an easy day for duck diving.  I was lucky enough to unintentionally avoid the impact zone.  Once I got to the line I took a look at the puffy popcorn-like clouds over Manhattan.  This morning that sight had no significance because all I cared about was the oncoming waves before more.  I panted and felt tired for no reason.  My adrenaline boosted through my veins.  There was so much anticipation within me.  Yes, today would be a day that I would actually get some waves, and good ones at that!  To add to my nervous energy, I had the peak to myself.  How long would this last?  I was like a child molester in a preschool. I finally told myself to relax and to get some waves while the window was still open.

    I blew the first left that I caught, but what a sight it was to see it approaching:  the undeniable bump in the surface, the pocket of the wave turning dark blue because of it’s depth, the building wall to my right, and the steep slide leading to a rising shoulder to my left.  Something happened when I popped up, and my foot slipped because I didn’t have any wax.  Next, I blew a right.  Same thing.  I paddled back to the line and told myself to make sure that I firmly planted my feet and to make sure that they stuck.

    I got a lot of rides, but I’d like to write about two standouts that will be ingrained until I catch another wave, better.  I got a head high left.  It was magnificent and steep.  It approached like a phalanx, determined to let its presence be known.  Time stood still.  I turned to paddle for it.  The serious look on my face was fake …  because deep inside I couldn’t believe that I had this delicious juicer all to myself.  I popped up, and the shoulder was already building fast.  I bent my knees and pumped down the line.  I did my best to use the whole wave.  I drew curves from the bottom all the way to the top.  I didn’t focus on getting my rail in to attempt a crack at the lip; there was no way, I was just having too much fun.  I caught that wave far.  I saw the Brazilian guy paddle for it:  one stroke, two strokes, then he backed off.  I silhouetted over the top and came back down.  I did a half ass attempt at a top turn and stalled at the lip.  No biggie, I got a lot out of that ride.

    For some reason, the couple guys that were to my left and right didn’t try to steal my position.  I paddled right past them and went back to the best part of the peak.  There were two guys about thirty meters to the north catching the left off of the peak from the tanks, the Brazilian was close by, and there were two other dicks a little south.

    I caught a head high right that would be my absolute wave of the day.  The peak was gorgeous; its shape was almost man made it was so defined.  In the back of my mind I thought of Shan.  Oh, Shan, laying in your bed counting sheep.  So warm, so very warm and toasty without a care in the world.  Oh, Shan, my friend, you’re missing out, I thought to myself.  As I got the drop, I grabbed rail to keep myself at midline to build speed.  Time stopped again.  I made every effort not to fall.  This was a beautiful wave with a long and welcoming section building before me.  I pumped twice before I bottom turned.  I projected up the wave.  BAM, hit the lip.  I came back down, same thing.  BAM, another crack on the lip.  One more time?  Why not?  Sweet, sweet bottom turn, don’t you stop until I burn.  BAM!  I turned around as my wave ended.  The Brazilian and the two dicks were watching.  Yes, I got that wave.  Yes, it was fun.  Yes, I hit the fucking lip three times on that one.

    I’m not being cocky.  In fact I know I’m still a beginner.  I think I was fortunate that those guys weren’t rippers, which usually come out of the woodwork on good mornings like this one.  Someone was nice enough to tell me what time it was.  By 8:30 A.M. the tide was rising even higher, and the waves were getting softer and drowned out.  The waves changed to favor longboarding.  As I changed up the hill, I could see that it was still consistent, and it looked fun.  I was just glad that I caught it in the early hours when it was at its best.  I dominated that peak today.  There could only be one, and it was me.

    I told Shan that it was good.  He told me that he’d check it out when the tide dropped.  I drove by at one in the afternoon.  It was drained, choppy, and blown out.  I told him it wasn’t worth it.  I felt fortunate.  If I never had stumbled out of bed, I never would have known.