CATCHING THE WINDOW: TUE 4.19.2011 MOR

My camera sucks. After my session I parked by the bathrooms to see if I could get a good pic.

CREW: Solo
FLAKES OF THE DAY: None
RAN INTO: No one
TIME: 0745 - 0845, 1 hr.
CONDITIONS: Zero wind at first, switched to a faint onshore, low tide, 3 feet, a little disorganized, lefts and rights, severe overcast.

    Failing to find the balance between school and surf, especially with my semester ending next month, I decided to surf on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays since those are my lightest days. My alarm was set for 0600, but I stumbled out of bed at 0700. Waking up late was a good thing for a couple reasons. One, low tide was really early, and I wanted to paddle out after the tide filled in a little. Two, I read an article dated 16 MAR 2011 on the Surfer Magazine website, http://www.surfermag.com/blogs/how-to/page/4/, written by Brad Melekian titled “HOW TO SURF BY YOURSELF EVERY DAY (IN SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA).” One of the things he mentions is surfing at odd times of the day when the crowd is thinning out instead getting more packed, so I thought that getting a late start might actually help.

    As I warmed up the car I noticed that none of the trees’ leaves were swaying in any direction, a good sign. I pulled up to 45th and saw a vacant parking spot on the hill. Score. I had exactly one hour to surf, which was fine because I have a paper to write this morning. I looked down and saw that there was no onshore wind messing things up; it was the perfect window of opportunity to get my quick fix for the day.

    I jogged down to the water and the tide was obviously low. There were quit a few people out. The main peaks, even 45th, had swarms of black rubber bees hovering about. The tanks, which are usually desolate, had a little crowd there but smaller. I jogged in between the tanks and inserted myself between three surfers. Yes, I know that “inserting” yourself between surfers can be bad etiquette, but it was crowded enough that I would’ve been all the way in front of the smoke stacks if I wanted to be all by myself. Either way, it was the trail end of the crowd and probably an undesirable spot. I didn’t care.

    The guys there looked a little frustrated. I recognized two of them, French or Brazilian. I hate to stereotype, but they have accents, and they aren’t Hispanic. I paddled out with a purpose, avoiding the breaking waves and squeezing in the channels only having to duck dive once. I saw the irritated looks on their faces that said, “God damn, why did he have to come here.” I smiled, tried to let off a positive vibe. By all means, if any waves came I was gonna let them have the first couple.

    The water was so glassy, but the waves were a little disorganized. Some of the peaks were doubled up, some were long and closing out, and some were short and tall with a clean little shoulder to paddle into. Summed up in into one word, this morning was “unpredictable.”

    I hope those guys didn’t resent me for it, but a wave came straight to me without anyone else going for it. It was a racy left with a little face. It was good for a few pumps and trims. I turned around and paddled my hardest to get back to the line. Another one left came. The deformed section actually opened up at the midpoint, which allowed me to do my impression of a front side top turn that came out sloppy. Regardless, I didn’t think I’d get so lucky so quick. I paddled back and saw the French guy watching me. I smiled, threw up a peace sign, he smiled back, and then we both directed our attention to the baby seal that was playing past the line up.

    This is how glassy the water was. Thanks to the windless atmosphere, the peaks didn’t break until the last second, almost like a hand with curling fingers. The lip seemed to be frozen in time, defying gravity, purposely stalling to see if the untrained eye would notice. Some of the peaks looked so smooth like a hill of water, more of a display you’d expect to see in a museum and not the ocean. The overcast gave the water a metallic grayish light blue color. I looked at my submerged board and saw the reflection of the sky, everything was in layers: the water had slight wrinkles that resembled a sheet of Saran wrap, miniature ripples moved in opposing directions, and my board was immersed in the dark green screen that grew dark and colder down below.

    Exceeding all expectation for what Goofy Kook would call a “hit and run” session (refer to http://goofykook.blogspot.com/2011/04/493-hit-and-run.html), another left appeared. There was nothing technical about this ride, but I trimmed smooth and stylish, more so enjoying the ride than forcing anything on it. The joining right hand section approached for a close out. I bottom turned and tried to hit the lip but fell. All in all, still a fun wave if you ask me.

    I must have sold the spot, for more surfers approached the peak. What comes around goes around. “Why did they have to come right here?” I thought. Oh, the irony.

    I paddled further south to the edge of the tanks, but I didn’t want to venture as far as 45th. I shared a peak with this small Japanese shortboarder that most of my friends know (unfortunately I don’t know her name) before five other guys showed up. I had a perfect right, one of those short and tall peaks that I described earlier. Too bad that Japanese chick was in my way trying to paddle back out. I turned towards the crumble to avoid an accident.

    My last wave was a closeout, but all I wanted was a quick ride to shore because my time was up. I picked up some milk at Rite Aid and returned home for a hot shower. Wow . . . I know it wasn’t perfect out there, but . . . that was the best one hour “hit and run” sesh that I’d ever had in my life! This morning wasn’t about catching an epic ride; I just wanted something to hold me over until the next time I was in the water. I wanted that sensation of being on a wave ingrained in my mind that I could think of throughout the day. Thank you, El Porto. I know it’s been a “love-hate” relationship, but I hope we can be on better terms now.