CLASSIC PORTO EVENINGS, MON 8.01.2011 EVE

Crew: Khang

Time: 1900-1945, 45 min.

Conditions: Windy, choppy, really consistent, 3 ft. +, sunny, and fun.

     In my fetal stages of surfing, I didn't even look at the forecast. There was a time when all that existed was El Porto. There was no thought of going down to Orange County, Oceanside, San Diego, or even Malibu. Porto, that was it. My friends would urge me to take a road trip somewhere, but I didn't. Porto was all that I needed. I progressed from my NSP with the lame ass flames painted on it, to my medium Becker board, and then finally to a beginner thruster. My surf roots are here. On many of those days after work, I'd drive straight to Porto, and I'd find the choppiest and blown out conditions possible. I never complained. It was all that I knew. I was so grateful just to get in the water. There was no bloodlust for a turn. I could catch a wave going straight with rideable shoulders peeling away from me in opposite directions. It didn't matter. There were those few, glassy evenings where the ocean looked like honey from the way it reflected off the sun. But most days were windy and choppy. Peaks would rise out of no where for a quick turn and slide situation. Those conditions are “Classic Porto” to me.

Surf or Clean?:

     How long has that shit stain been there, I'm thinking to myself when the phone rings. It's Khang. He says that he's at Porto, but it's windy and blown out. It's 1745. I tell him that I'll probably check it out at 1845, let the tide rise, and may be the wind will calm down a bit. I go back to scrubbing and head out the door just before seven.

     On my drive to Porto I look for any sign of wind. It doesn't look that bad. However, as I pull in to the Porto lot, it's pretty fucking windy. I spot Khang's van and park next to it. Well, I told him I'd be here, and it'll be a short session anyway. This time I don't forget my wetsuit. It looks so cold. The wind is making things brutal, and the inside is a stampede of white wash. He said he'd be in front of the bathrooms, but I can't make him out from the crowd. I make my way out to the line up, and the waves are much bigger than they look from the shore. I duckdive a couple rideable peaks. Oh yeah, there's potential. At the lineup I make out Khang. He's surfing next to someone. I don't know who it is, but I assume it's DK. I use my water, stealth tactics to catch him by surprise. He turns and sees me. The guy he's surfing with is named Jamar. He introduces us. Jamar's another local guy that Khang's seen surfing out here for the last couple years. I can't believe that I've never met either one of them on my own. And then again I was in Iraq for a year.

     Khang catches a wave, it's a right. He disappears and pops up above the lip. He comes back and catches a wave again. I see his face above the wave; he's focused. His eyes are wide open, and he's taking these choppy bastards for a good distance. The fucking guy's on point today. I try to get one for myself. I catch a right as well. It's an ugly wave, but it has a shoulder. I bottom turn, pump, and hack the lip. It's not a clean hack, but it's one of the better shoulders that I've had in a while. We three have this spot to ourselves, but Khang and Jamar are sitting right where the waves are breaking. I go a little south of them in hopes to catch one of my own, but all the rides are going to them. They trade off, one after another. I get another wave, but not as good as the first. It's a messy evening of surf, but despite the harsh conditions, these random three foot waves stand up out of nowhere, without warning, and right in front of us. The inside is a lot of work, there's a lot of duckdiving, but it's a welcomed change. A wave jacks up in front of me, I turn, paddle, and drop in. I see Khang paddling back out from the inside. Oh yeah, he's gonna see this, I think to myself. The lip turns rabid and vicious as I pop up. I'm pitched. I push my board to the side, and then I'm fucking air dropping. My goodness, it's such a good wipeout, if there is such a thing! I don't expect it. I resurface and see Khang. “Did you see that?” I ask.

     “Awwww yeah, dawg! That shit was craaaazy!” I should be embarrassed, but I'm not hurt . . . physically. Khang keeps catching more waves.

     “You're a fucking wave magnet!” I shout at him. The wind dies a little, but it's still hard to hear each other over the ocean's activity.

     “Yeah, I know! It's good right now, but I came earlier when it was shitty.” Well, he did, but he paid his dues appropriately and caught the window of good surf in return. I wish that I came earlier, but I actually was busy. We discuss tomorrow's plans. Khang says he's down for 26^th in the morning. Jamar says he's down too. I catch my last wave in. I don't mean for it to be my last wave, but I have five minutes left on the meter, and it's a long paddle back.

     I checked the surf cam before driving down, and it looked like shit. I drove down, and it looked like shit. I never would've expected for the surf to be this good, and I never would've known if I didn't paddle out. Sometimes you just have to do it, and when it's good, it's fucking sweeeet!