THE DOLLAR MENU, MON 5.23.2011 EVE

It's amazing, the effect that a "home break" can have over someone.

CREW: Solo
TIME: 1900 – 1945, 45 min.
CONDITIONS: High to mid tide, windy, blown out, disorganized, choppy, three feet, cold.

    I had "uncle duty" this morning, and everytime I have to play uncle, that means I don't get to surf in the morning. What a task. At one hand, I want to be there for my nieces. On the other, I'm bummed out every time I have to miss the surf on account of helping out my family. By the time I made it to Porto this morning, it was 0815, and the wind was already on it.

    In the early evening I could see the trees shaken by the wind outside my window, but I thought I'd take a look to see how things looked in person. Porto didn't have very many heads out. I recently saw a repeat episode of Fuel TV's Drive Thru. It was an episode where Andy Irons was complaining about paddling out in shitty conditions, and he said, "I guess we're groms all over again." Well, to paddle out this evening you had to be just as stoked as a grom. Ironically, there were no groms out. Instead, there were the elite, consistent locals that you'd see there every day and in any surf condition. Maybe it's one of the factors that establishes the divine right of the Porto heirarchy. If that's the case, then I'm still a serf or a peasant.

     I waited until 1900 thinking that the wind would die. It died a little, but not by much. I saw a couple guys get some long rides on some sloppy and choppy surf. I debated. I could go home . . . it's not worth it . . . but it would be nice just to get one ride . . . I'm sure I could get something, I thought. The verdict was that I wouldn't forgive myself if I drove off.
   
    As I walked down the stairs I crossed paths with a guy on his way out. He said, "Good idea, you waited until the wind died!" It didn't matter anyway. The water was pretty cool, too cool for gawd damn late May. Boadshorts, will it be in our future soon? Because it doesn't look like it.

     I had a well timed paddle out. The line up seemed far, and the wind was less tangible in the air. The chop and rise and fall of the sea picked up where the wind left off. I started in front of 45th, and then the current pulled me past the sandwich shack within minutes. It was frustrating. The waves weren't breaking, or the top would crumble, reform, and then burger-out again. There were still guys getting more rides towards the inside.
   
    My first right hander was jumbled up. I dropped in, it bogged, reformed with an inside double up section, and closed out. I can't even recall the second one. I kicked out of my third wave as it collapsed into white wash. It seemed like a good idea to go home at that point, but I had about ten minutes left, and I still had hope that it might get just a little better. The ocean punished my indecisiveness, as I caught the incoming set on the way back out. Once I was past the impact zone, I appreciated how the sun turned the ocean into what looked like golden honey; that was probably the best thing about being out there. My last ride was a closeout, but a satisfying and long one all the way to the shallows.

    Session ended. I just needed to get wet. So I paid about a buck-fifty to paddle out for a little, and I got four waves. Not bad for about a buck. Worth it.