THE ONLY THING MISSING WAS SNOW, SUN 06NOV2011 MOR

Crew: Rick and the WHC, Christina, Klaude, Khang, and Shan

Time: 0630-0945, 3 hrs & 15 min

Conditions: Rain, dark sky to light and then rain again, consistent, crowded, anywhere from 3-5 feet, and freezing.

            As Klaude says, “Saturday is for travel, Sunday is for staying local.” On Saturday night I sent texts out to the girls who I haven’t surfed with in a while. Christina and Cheryl said that they’d show up. Shan even text me and suggested an early sesh because of the time change. It made sense. The plan was to get up super early before anyone else, score a good parking spot, and try to paddle out before 0600.

            Waking up at 0515, I’m alarmed by a certain text. It’s from Christina: “It’s raining . . . are you still going to surf?” 

Raining . . . what? I look outside my window. The street’s dry as a bone. “Not raining in El Segundo,” I reply. I’m delayed now. I pull up the weather forecast, and learn that rain is expected. I had no idea. I brew up some tea and grab my thickest wetsuit that’s 3.5/2.5, but it’s still wet. I open the closet and whip out the Hurley 3/2. I anticipate the morning chill. 

Donning my wetsuit, I head out just before 0600, and water starts tapping my windshield just as I drive off. I arrive too late; there’s no free parking anywhere. There’s a line of cars waiting for the lot to unlock. I can’t really tell what the surf is doing, but I see a couple peaks working. I drive round and round, Marine to Rosecrans and find nothing. For the first time, I venture east of Highland Ave. and park all the way at the top of the hill. It’s not close to the ocean, but it beats paying a quarter for every ten minutes. I text Rick and he’s already suiting up. 

The view outside my window is dismal. Clouds are blowing in, the ground is wet, and the offshore wind makes everything sway. The sun is rising; I’ve never had this view from atop this hill. It’s gorgeous, but it makes me cold at the same time. It’s so bitter.  . . . It’s winter.

I’m in my Hurley disco wetsuit, the 3/2. I’ve never owned a 4/3 before. I don’t know how I survived last winter because all my wetsuits had holes in them. Thinking back, I think I pulled a lot of short sessions. 

Walking down the hill, it’s extremely overcast, but there’s a patch of clear sky where the sun is, so things might clear up. It’s an isolated walk down; no other surfers join me in the trek to the water. As I cross Highland Ave., I see something that I’ve never seen on a South Bay morning: a rainbow. It’s so feint. I take a picture. As the sun rises a bit more the rainbow becomes more apparent. I can’t stop taking pics of it; it’s beautiful. 

Once near the lots I see Dave T., Manny A., and Jimmy B. As we walk out to the tower, we already spot Rick in the lineup. The crowd isn’t too thick yet, and there are some decent waves despite the high tide. I do a light warm up and make my way out. The water’s cold, but I can manage. What’s worse is that the water smells like shit, literally. I try to put that in the back of my mind. After all, everyone out here is taking shit-water in their sinuses as well, why can’t I? Just don’t drink it. 

I can only imagine how good yesterday was if today is this good. Waves are forcing themselves to break, even with the high tide. Solid peaks with four foot faces roll through, and they open up all the way to shore. Usually I get some form of wave anxiety because of the over excitement, but since I’m local, I’m calm in waiting. My best waves are just before 0700. I get a steep, fast, right hander that I get three turns on. My first top turn hooks, and the speed still propels me. I stall on the last turn, but I’m already on the shore anyway. My second wave is a left. The whole time I’m fighting to get to the open face, and I end it on a small carve and slight tail drift. I’ll keep these waves brief, as they are not what “makes” the session.

Christina paddles up to me on her Becker board and says, “I haven’t been in the water for a while. I have to catch one today.” Rick surfs by us as we exchange small talk between waves. I’m a little bummed that no one else made it out. I’m sure Cheryl and Klaude saw the rain and went back to bed. The crowd thickens a bit, and it gets harder to catch waves without someone on them already. The morning drizzle starts to pick up to a steady consistency, and that’s about when I see Khang and Klaude warming up on the sand. 

It gets so crowded that it’s hard to keep track of everyone. Even Manny drifts to where I am before heading back south almost a hundred yards away. I can’t tell if everyone else is getting waves, but the rain starts coming down in a torrential down pour. Surf scenes are usually mellow, but this is more like a battle—chaos in the water. And still, despite these conditions it’s crowded. How could it be this stormy with offshore winds and clean surf? The DRC huddles for a moment. I overhear Khang and Christina talking. She’s stoked. “It was my best wave ever!” she says.

“Yeah,” says Khang. “It was one of those waves that just like . . . opens up everything for you, like you know you can do more.” I know what he means. I wish I could’ve seen her wave, but I’m glad that she got a good one. Water splashes all around us, the current pulls us north, and there’s nothing but darkness in the horizon ahead of us. The darker shadows formed in the pockets of the forming waves add to the eeriness of it all. It’s like we’re in some kind of time warp. With the clocks back an hour, lack of sun, and blanketed darkness, it could almost be any time of the day, even sunset and it would be hard to tell. I see Klaude in front of me. He holds out his hands as the rain falls upon them. He looks back at me. We both know what we’re thinking. How remarkable to be out here surfing on a day like this. This will be a hard one to explain to anyone not here. Madness and beauty combined into one with surf piled on top of it; it’s unbelievable. This is a morning where one belongs sitting at home in front of the TV, wrapped up in blankets with pajamas on, and with a hot chocolate in hand while the sound of rain and wind pelts and roars outside the window. Not us . . . we’re at the motherfuckin’ beach!

Even though my waves of the day are done, we are all still catching some. Wave of the day goes to Klaude. A plus-sized wave rolls through. I’m too deep in the peak to go, but I see Klaude paddle for a late take off on his fish. He disappears then skirts the highline before reentering. He takes it all the way to shore. It looked like a critical drop, and he managed it on the fish. It’s clutch. 

After 0900 we spot Shan in the water. By the time he paddles up, most of the crowd leaves. By now I’m shivering my ass off. The rest of the crew leave before us, and goodbyes are exchanged through distant waives. The sky clears over Santa Monica, and we can see bright white clouds mixed with patches of blue. The offshore wind gets strong, and the shape becomes long and racy. Shan and I catch one in to end the morning. 

I’m home by 1000, but it feels much later. I take a long, scalding hot shower followed by breakfast and a long power nap. When I wake, it’s a clear day with nothing but blue skies, almost like this morning never happened. But it did happen, and those that never made it out will never know nor understand. It was more than a session. All of us out there together, it was like we were a part of something. Long live the DRC.