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.
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