THE PORTO 500, TUE 8.02.2011 EVE

Crew: Dais & Khang

Time: 1845- 1945, 1 hr.

Conditions: Onshore wind, scattered peaks, choppy, consistent, fast, sunny, cold water temp, 3 feet.

     Yesterday Khang said that he and Dais would surf this afternoon for sure. Dais texts me in the afternoon to let me know that they'll be there around five. I catch up with my blogs today and make it out the door by 1820. I don't have any quarters, so I stop at the laundry mat to make some change. There's a long line at the traffic light just to make that right turn down 45^th St. Dais calls and asks if I have wax. I'm actually down to a couple wax strips from my last bar. I tell them I'll be there in ten seconds. The parking lot is crowded, but at least there isn't a line of cars. I give Khang some wax and ask, “What happened to you this morning?”

     “Oh, we ended up surfing here at about eight. We stayed in until ten. It wasn't that good.”

     “Really? 26^th was all right. I thought it was fun.” They offer to wait for me, but I tell them that time's wasting and to just go out without me. I have my wetsuit, but I decide to trunk it like this morning. As I approach the shore, I see them making it past the white wash. I enter the water, and it's fucking cold. I tell myself that it'll pass. The inside is bombarded by white wash; it never lets up. I'm surprised at the effort that it takes to get out. It looks a little smaller than yesterday but with the same effect. It's windy and choppy, but the waves are coming in steep and fast. Dais is the first one I see to catch a wave. My first wave is a left, but I slip on the drop and spend my short ride on my ass. The section is too fast on my second wave and leaves me behind. Meanwhile Khang sits near his same spot as yesterday and gets long rides right off the bat. I turn to Dais and say, “Khang's new name is Magneto!”

     “Why?”

     “Because he's a fucking wave magnet!” I'm only twenty minutes into the session, and I'm shivering. I don't know how Dais and Khang aren't cold. Maybe it's my drop in weight, I barely have any fat covering my body; I'm like a skeleton nowadays.

     Khang says, “Hey, my body fat is probably just as warm as your 2/2.” He must be right because I'm wondering if I should go back to the car to change real quick. I get some nice T&Gs that shoot me down the line fast. I have to point my nose and steer down the line. I can't get any turns, but it's fun and fast. We're all catching waves. Dais paddles, disappears, and then I see that he actually snaked Khang who's behind him. My best wave is a right-hander that jacks up in front of me. The mooshy shoulder reforms on the inside, and I'm able to do two top turns. I try like hell to get some spray, but the shape is ugly. 

     The whole session is like a race. The waves never stop, the inside is consistent, and the rides are fast and pitchy. It seems that none of us have a chance to rest. I'm panting the whole time. At one point I feel my chest just to feel my heart; it's beating furiously to keep me in the game. These evenings are like the surfing version of the Indy 500.

     I get another set wave, but it closes out. I catch the white wash to shore. There's still some time to surf, but all I want to do is grab my bottle of hot water and pour it over myself. The guys come out ten minutes later. It's another score for an evening session. Right now, the South Bay seems to be delivering.