TWENTY DICKS TO ONE CHICK: THU 3.31.2011 EVE

TWENTY DICKS TO ONE CHICK: THU 3.31.2011 EVE

CREW: Shan & J
FLAKES OF THE DAY: None
RAN INTO: No one
TIME: 1730 - 1930, 2 hrs.
CONDITIONS: Mid tide, glassy, ridiculously crowded, walls, a few shoulders with ten guys on each rideable wave, three to four feet, head high on plus sets, bigger waves closed out.

    I supposed to be doing homework over my spring break, but it’s so hard when the weather’s so nice. Lauren and I had lunch at the beach today. The sun, the heat, the glassy water, and the surfers out there just made me want to get some for myself. Even though the shape wasn’t quite there, I was optimistic that things could change later.

    I tried to fight the need to surf and failed. Shan, J, and Rick told me that they were going to pull an evening session. By 1630 I was heading out the door with my gear, and at 1650 I was parked and lotioning up.

    There was more wind on the land than there was at the beach. The air temp was seventy five degrees. It was just as beautiful as the day before, but the surf didn’t look like it was giving too many shoulders.

    Shan and J passed me while I was parked. I told them that I’d be by the 45th St. tower. J was the first to show. He was meeting up with one of his friends in the water. I didn’t see Shan, but I couldn’t wait any longer. I paddled up to J and met his friend. I decided to leave them two alone and work my way south. As I paddled through the water it looked like someone dumped their lawnmower bag into the ocean. There was a long stretch of broken twigs, wood chips, and branches past the line up. I paddled past wrappers; I noticed a broken plastic cup a foot under water.

    I caught a glance from a stand-up paddle boarder and said, “That’s the advantage of being on one of
those things. You don’t have to paddle through this shit!”

    “Yeah, it’s nice to see what’s down there,” he said.

    I was in front of the bathrooms and miraculously caught a left, but the shape was pretty funky. No turns, I just trimmed and tried to stay on the face. When I got back to the line up I saw Shan. We drifted a little further south. The whole time we were surrounded and right in the middle of the throng of afternoon deviants. We scratched and failed. I tried to paddle into a wave which turned into a wall. It took my board, and then I followed behind the wave. I somehow got a right, which I was able to force one ugly top turn before it bogged out. Every time I saw a wave that looked good, there were already a gang of people going for it. I would try to paddle in at the shoulder, but there was always someone else that had the right of way.

    There was no etiquette out there. I saw so many guys get dropped in on. A SUP yelled out to a surfer trying to drop in, “I GOT IT, I GOT IT, I GOT IT!” The Brazilian Rastaman was surfing, and someone even dropped in on him too. He had to boost off of the lip and out the back to avoid a collision.

    The Rasta guy and his crew dominated that peak at the sandwich shack. I tried to get in but didn’t have a chance. A freak set popped up, and out of frustration I paddled for the first wave. It was a head high right and was building into a wall. I thought I had a chance to get a shoulder out of it. WRONG. I got pitched in front of the whole crowd. Yes, I know it was in front of the whole crowd because everyone else was paddling for their lives trying to beat the set, and I was the only dumb ass paddling into it. Well, DRC dump rider style I guess. I was in the impact zone for the next wave. I knew I was in the worst place to try to duck dive it, but I tried. The wave had so much power that it flipped me upside down while I was underwater. I had a BMS sandwich: board-me-sand. I was pinned with my back to the sand with the board on top of me. The water pounding down from the wave kept applying nonstop pressure on the board. I couldn’t help but think, this can’t be good. Eventually I was able to muscle the board off of me. Embarrassed, I paddled back to the line up. Shan and I eventually caught up with each other.

    Shan looked cheerfully exhausted as he said, “Dude, did you see me get that wave?”

    “No,” I said. “Was it good?”

    “Dude, it opened up and started throwing out over my head. I was like ‘Oh shit!’ Then I got barreled. It was awesome.”

    “Wow, nah, man, I didn’t see that. I’m gonna start calling you the barrel master.”

    The Rasta guy stopped to chit chat with Shan. Shan told me that he always surfs where he is because that’s where the waves are. Shan also commented on how good today was. I hated that I was so pessimistic, but I wasn’t stoked at all about anything. I told Shan that I had it with that spot and that I was going back towards J.

    I floundered around on the way back north, but I still couldn’t get a wave without someone already on it. I guess I’m just a pussy that’s not aggressive enough. I tried to be aggressive, but there was always another guy that beat me to the inside spot.

    I found J. He introduced me to his friends Ben and K. J said that it was a longer wait, but they were getting some waves. I got a little frustrated for the endless wait, so I went by the tanks. I probably should’ve just stuck to my old habits and stayed there because there were less people, and some waves would come through. K paddled by me and ended up taking the prime positions away. Fuck, I thought. The quest for finding a wave turned into finding the last wave of the day; I never got it. I caught an inside close out. It was getting dark.

    I was over it. In my mind I cursed this place. I couldn’t believe how much I bought into Porto so much in the past. I’ve spoiled myself too much perhaps; I spoiled myself surfing those cobble stone bottoms that produce consistent, well shaped shoulders. I’m a whiner now, picky. My days of suiting up for overcrowded close outs are over. Yes, part of it is due to my lack of ability, but despite the lack of it, I still pull better sessions down south. I feel like I’ve wasted the last two days when I could’ve been doing other stuff. From now on, I save myself for the drive down south. I think I’m changing the name of my blog. I’m disconnecting from El Porto.