RETURN OF THE DUMP RIDER, WED 12OCT2011 NOON

 

Crew: Shan

Time: 1230-1430, 2 hrs.

Conditions: Hot, sunny, glassy, mid to low tide window, 5 feet, fast, nothing but closeouts.

            I’ve been so busy since returning from Baja that I haven’t had time to see what the surf’s been doing. Francis hit me up via text on Tuesday saying that there’s swell coming in Wednesday, but it won’t arrive until later in the day. Shan told me that the swell should be here by 1100. 

            Wednesday rolls around. The consensus from both of my friends is to surf it later, not at first light. I agree. As 1200 hits, Francis tells me that he got called in to work. Looks like it’s just Shan and I. 

            I step out the house a little after noon. Surprisingly, the wind is good right now. It’s hot, the first day of this heat wave that we’re supposed to be getting. I drive to Parks and only find a couple empty parking spaces. I’m lucky enough to snag one. The atmosphere is more like a hot summer’s day. It’s an Indian summer, and this is rare. I expect nothing less than for it to be packed with surfers as we drift into the late afternoon. 

            I park on the hill and walk down to check out the water. I see Shan’s car parked, so I know he’s out there somewhere. I can’t tell what the water’s doing. It looks about 3-4 feet, and some of the local guys are getting some rides. It’s not packed at all. I walk back to the whip, change, and hit the sand. I spot Shan and his girlfriend Veronica. They are playing with a bodyboard. I wave out to him, he sees me. Looking out at the line up, I see two of the 26^th St. regulars tearing it up on the “right” in front of the tower. I see a lefthander start to work. I let out a “woooooooh!” It looks promising; I’m stoked. As I don the upper half of my wetsuit, Shan comes up to me. “It’s nothing but closeouts,” says Shan.

            “What? Really? I just saw a couple waves right now.” I continue to look out. It still looks good to me.

            “Nah, dude, I was out there. At like eleven it was good. But now it’s just closing out. I got right out. I was sitting next to that guy out there.” He points to a single surfer sitting out by his lonesome. The lineup is bare with only five guys out. My face is completely caked with Vertra because of the noon hour. I head out, and Shan says he’ll watch me to see if it’s any good. 

            A wave approaches in the distance when I’m halfway out. It’s a straight line without rideable shoulders. I can tell by the way it’s forming that it has power. I duckdive and feel the concussion underwater as it explodes. I make it out the back, but that wave was a straight up dumper. I paddle towards the left hoping I can practice some frontside rides. I talk to one of the surfers next to me, and he confirms that it just started shutting down. I’m still optimistic. 

            There are areas in the water where brown swirls congregate. They are mixed with trash. Also, more wrappers and plastic junk are scattered every couple strokes. I don’t know if the glassiness is just making the trash more visible that would otherwise appear normal. On my first wave, I’m right at the peak. Or . . . it’s really hard to tell what the peak is because the section looks fast all around, ambiguous of which way it will break. I paddle and kick for it, feel it jacking up, and I choose to go right. When I’m at the base of the wave, I see the section racing away behind me, leaving a little open slot to get barreled. Going back to the lineup, I wonder if I can somehow get shacked, but it just seems so fast. My next wave is a left but same thing. It’s a steep drop that I manage, but the section is just racing before completely turning over in a display of white explosion. I see Shan paddle out by the right. I go towards him. By this point my optimism changes. I was really positive paddling out. Despite the claims that I missed the window, I had hoped to still get some shape. Shan and I catch some waves with nowhere to go but straight. After another dumpster, I paddle back to the lineup. In the far distance, I see what looks like a rogue wave. Yes, this dirty bastard is already building even though it’s so far out. It’s by far the biggest wave since I’ve paddled out. I make it over the wave, look back, and Shan is still on the inside. I know I’ve had serious issues with my duckdive, and I become concerned if Shan can make it out or not. After the first explosion I see him still paddling, fighting to get to the line. Unfortunately, that’s not the only wave; it’s the first wave of the set. Two more monstrous bombs roll through. After the chaos, I don’t see Shan. Later, I make him out on the shore walking back to Veronica. Poor guy. I wonder if I would’ve been able to make it back out myself. 

            My goal now is to sit way on the shoulder. Sometimes in these conditions, if you sit where the corner ends, you might be able to get a little something. On my next wave, I’m so far on the corner that it looks flat, but since today is so dumpy, it jacks up enough where I can drop in. It’s the blessing I’ve been waiting for. The small corner turns into a three foot face that holds open. It’s so clean and brown under this high sun. There’s no indication of it breaking yet. It’s just a smooth wall that my rail cuts through as I pump my way along. When it closes, I practice a little floater to end the ride, but in reality I’m just on the lip as it closes. Oh well. I look to the shore to see if Shan saw me. I see him and Veronica packing up. We wave goodbye. 

           

‘Tis better to have ridden and lost than never to have ridden at all:

            That last wave was my curse. Even though I surfed a whole fucking hour of nothing but closeouts, I was feening for another wave just like the one I just caught. That fuckin’ wave gave me hope. I turned around and headed back to the lineup. Sure, I had a lot of homework to still do at home, but I was counting on today; I had to catch some waves. Especially with this fricken’ new swell; I was invested for at least two hours before I even parked. I sat, waited, got desperate, and then finally just paddled into anything that looked like it had a shoulder. Nothing . . . as the seconds ticked the tide got lower; it got worse out there. Afternoon enthusiasts began to trickle onto the sand and into the water. Fuck my ass . . . the rest of the session was absolutely not worth it. Damn, all because of that one wave. Is it just me? I’m sure it’s happened to all of us; we’ve all gone through this. Of course, I’m grateful for any wave I can catch, but that wave had me lingering around for another one for a whole hour, unfulfilled.

Power:

            I know today’s waves have some power behind them. I did have another chance for a shoulder, but some longboarder in front of me still tried to paddle for the wave. Even though I had priority, I backed out. These waves are so fast. The last thing I want is to be caught in a closeout next to a longboard. I was pissed. There was only another guy besides us two in that spot. Is it not obvious that I’m going for this wave and you are dropping in on me? I hate it when people don’t look behind them. How hard is it? Even if he didn’t give a shit, I didn’t say anything anyway. I hate stewing in those situations. Getting snaked or snaking, it happens. 

            Sitting in the glassy, hot, sea, I wished this man harm. I hope his board cracks his fuckin’ head open. I can’t help it; this is truly what I’m thinking but would feel bad if it so happened. The longboarder catches a close out. Once the wave has exploded and passed, I hear him say, “Fuuuck!” I turn around and see his board heading towards the shore without its rider. A snapped leash is his story of the day. That’s what you get. Some chick on the sand hands him his board back, and the fuckin’ guy, he’s paddling back out. I can understand if it’s a small day, but on a day like this? No way, man. I watch him lose his board three more times before he finally calls it quits. 

            Despite the ocean’s display of power, a couple funboarders paddle out. They got those blue, foam longboards. Once I’m in shallow water after my last wave, I see a body boarder caught on the inside. When I take a closer look, it’s not a body boarder. One of the funboarder’s boards snapped in half, and he appears to be struggling on the inside, getting worked, clutching to the half that has the leash. I remember this clearly, the mountain of white water stampeding towards him like a tsunami. He stood in waist deep water, holding his half of the board in front of him like a shield. In an instant, he’s vaporized. Poor guy #2. 

            At about 1430, I finally head back to the wagon. I love the South Bay. I’m proud to call it my home and represent for the surfing community, but it’s a bummer when this place can’t hold swell; it just shuts down. And it’s not like it was even that big. It was only like five feet, and it was pretty walled up. Well . . . maybe I just need to quit my bitching. Maybe I’m just venting. I just got back from Baja. I’m just transitioning. I’ll try the surf again on a higher tide. I should score then . . . should.