ADRENALINE SESSIONS: MON 1.03.2011 EVE

CREW:  Solo Bolo

TIME:  1500 - 1700

WIND:  Offshore

WATER:  It was cold, but when the surf is good … who gives a shit?  Head high to overhead, walls mixed in with clean shoulders, low tide, surprisingly clean ass conditions.


    I knew that the report would be good for today.  I knew, but I have been let down so much lately by Surfline’s inaccuracy that I didn’t prepare for today.   In fact I went to bed at about 0130 this morning.  I played World of Warcraft until I couldn’t keep my eyes open.  At about 1330 I decided to pack up to go to the gym.  I had a feeling that I should check the surf report.  Surfline had it at 4-5 with occasional six.  I thought about it for a while and decided that a drive by at El Porto couldn’t hurt.  I left my new JSI board (with its repair unsanded) in the corner collecting dust.  Usually Surfline is off, and the afternoons have been known to be blown out. 

    As I made my way up Imperial Ave. I noticed that the wind was offshore, a good sign.  Once Hammerlands was in sight I saw a pack of surfers hanging out at the point.  I took another glance and saw a guy get a long clean right off of the jetty.  I glanced at the smoke stacks and saw clean head high sets rolling through.  I immediately turned around and went back home to finish the repair on my JSI board.  Ironically, I had just received a text from Klaude about how awesome the surf forecast was.  Every surfer impulse that lay dormant was fully charged, locked and loaded.  I cursed World of Warcraft and the pleasant delights of completing quests and leveling up.  I stayed up late as hell and missed out on this perfect day of surf, I thought to myself.

    The Suncure was hardened where the ding was, but I still had to sand it.  It was about 1400, and I was on my balcony sanding away furiously.  At about 1430 I accepted the imperfection of my repair and headed back to the car with my board.  The jetty was still packed as I drove past it again.  I parked in full anticipation of getting in the water.  I could hardly contain myself as I stumbled through my normal routine to change into my wetsuit.  Another guy parked next to me was doing the same thing.  I put exactly two hours and ten minutes in the meter, and I was on my way. 

    Low tide was at 1500, and it was totally drained out.  A long stretch of wet sand expanded across the whole beach until it met the water.  The morning was overcast and drizzling, but when I got there, the sky over the ocean was blue, and it welcomed all beachgoers despite our late arrivals.  When I looked out I saw something rare, something that I’ve been waiting for for months.  The conditions were clean.  Usually low tide equals waves breaking right on shore.  That wasn’t the case.  The offshore wind didn’t affect the glassiness of the water.  There was maybe just a slight texture, but it was minimal.  There was no current, and there was no funky water movement on the inside.  The waves were consistent with a predictable lull in between which made paddling out easy for anyone who was willing.  Best of all … six foot to over head waves were breaking everywhere.  The peaks were scattered.  Thank the Gods, the sandbars were doing their thing.

    After a quick warm up I took the long walk to get to waist high water.  Just then a set came.  I backed off a little and waited for the lull.  When it came, I took advantage of it, and I only had to duckdive one inside wave.  I was in front of the tanks, and there were only two guys near me, one to the north and south.  It took a while to find the sweet spot in the line up.  Initially I was too far out, and I scratched out on a lot of waves that came.  I was 0 for 6.  Finally a six foot right came.  I had to catch it really late, being on a smaller board.  I rail grabbed and turned out of the wave before it closed out.  It was a fun drop, but obviously not the best wave.  Another right came; it was fast.  I fought to get my balance and stand up.  Success!  Although, it was my first time catching big and fast waves on my board.  I tried to set up for my bottom turn, but my board was literally skipping across the water from the speed, so I ended up eating shit.  As I got pounded on the dark sandy bottom, I ended up in a kneeling position.  It felt like a thousand gallons exploded on my back and pinned me in place.  It was like a thousand hit combo from a Street Fighter video game.  I found myself in the impact zone.  From my experience, duckdiving big waves in shallow water has been a lose-lose situation, so I ditched my board, got pounded, and waited for the lull.  As bad as that sounds, it was all manageable. 

    I caught more waves but failed to milk the most out of them.  The crowd started to appear, and my secluded spot was now spotted with black wetsuits.  I watched this guy catch the set waves and kick out once he was down the line.  Usually I’d be a hater, but that actually gave me hope that I could be that efficient, too.  I used to let that discourage me, but I could only imagine what kind of dues everyone else has paid, and I just need to keep paying mine. 

    I was frustrated with the crowd.  I paddled further north in between the stacks and the tanks.  One would think that I went to a spot where the waves were shitty, but it was exactly the opposite.  The sun was down, the tide was coming in again, it was 1630, and the surf actually got better.  The guy that was ripping, and I, had that spot to ourselves.  That’s when it happened.  I had to catch some of the waves so late that I couldn’t tell how big some of them were.  All I would see was the bump in the surface, then I’d paddle my ass off with no regard.  I can’t recall how big this left was, but I managed to drop in.  It was a steep fucker.   I managed to lift my rail with my right hand to point  my nose in with the wave.  I barely grab rail when I’m going front side.  The wave, once again, was so fast, that I was struggling to get my footing down and stand up.  I remember I was feeling for the traction pad when I looked up.  The wave began to go over my head.  I remember seeing white foam engraved in the water; it looked like swirled marble.  I then realized that the wave took a different shape; it was like a fuckin’ cavern!  I looked ahead and saw the eye at the end of the cylinder.  As I got to my feet it started to envelope me and began to close.  I forced my face to penetrate out the top of the wave and paddled back to the line.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a fool, and this absolutely does not count as a barrel.  To look back and think about that moment fills me with so much emotion that I don’t even know how to put it on paper.  It was beautiful.  I once experienced something like that, but I was tenfold the novice that I am today.  This time I was able to slow things down, take a look around, absorb what was happening, and click, save.  My heart races just thinking about it.  When I paddled back I smiled and let out a little laugh.  I saw the white faces of the Manhattan homes turning orange.  There were streaks of silver clouds above P.V.  Patches of orange and yellow hung behind the dispersed clouds.  I wish I could’ve had a friend there to share that with.

    My wipeout of the day happened after that.  The other guy that was sharing the peak was on the inside, finished with a wave.  It was about 1645.  I had a long wait before I was in the right position for a wave.  The sun had already set.  The texture in the water formed shadowed, angular, shapes; the pockets of the waves turned darker.  I saw a peak forming, so I turned around to paddle hard for it.  I didn’t realize how far towards the inside I was.  I ended up catching the wave really late.  As I popped up going right, I grabbed the rail, but the lip was already on me.  I ended up doing a freefall rail grab as I had one of the most awkward positioned wipeouts.  That still counts as an air, right?  My head bobbed to the surface rather quickly.  However, I was quite embarrassed because that guy saw the whole thing.  I tried to play it off while I was in out there, but at that moment it was obvious that I was a beginner. 

    I only had about ten minutes left on the meter, so I was determined to get one last wave, especially after my debacle.  A set wave formed in the distance.  Before I knew it, it jacked up and formed into an overhead, rolling, right.  I watched it the whole time as I set up for it, and the wave began to break.  I caught it at the perfect spot, inside the shoulder where the wave begins to ramp up.  I popped up on the lip, but I didn’t get a fast drop.  I took a high line, and by the time I made my way down, the section was running away.  I went back up the face but had to reenter before it closed.  That was my last wave of the day.  So much potential for a good ride, but due to surfer error I didn’t get to milk it.

    I jogged back to my car to avoid the ticket.  As I got my key out of my lock safe, Lauren pulled into the parking lot.  She arrived with her HD camcorder, but my session was already done.  I changed back into my clothes and put on some Gregory Isaacs as I drove home.  I thought about the session.  I was shaking, but not from the cold, it was from all my different senses and endorphins that fired off during the session.  I was drained both physically and emotionally.  Sure, I didn’t really conquer any waves, but any time that Porto is pumping good waves, it’s special just to be out there in the line up, even if you don’t catch one.  To be able to witness good shaped, overhead, waves and be in the water next to them is one of the purest pleasures that any oceanlover could ask for.  I was truly privileged to be out there, wipeout or not.  Either way, I walked away unscathed and high on life, high on surfing.  Days like this … I’m glad I’m alive.