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.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
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.
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