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| A Thanksgiving sunset |
Crew: solo
Time: 1500-1645, 1 hr & 45 min
Conditions: 3-4 ft, walled-up on the bigger sets, mostly close outs with occasional shoulders, negative tide, drained out, onshore wind, nice weather, and EMPTY.
After the morning session I came home, showered up, and got ready to face Lauren’s family to be the “monkey in the middle.” I figured that as long as I ate as much food as possible, complimented her mom’s cooking, and didn’t stray from using utensils that I’d be all right. I was dressed and ready to go, and then Lauren told me that her parents wanted her to spend the night, especially since her sisters came home from college. The original plan was to do an early Thanksgiving at Lauren’s and then go to my sister’s house in the evening. Since she wouldn’t be accompanying me I told her that I wasn’t going. This hurt a bit. She left the house, and with a turkey sized appetite I was stuck eating dry spaghetti from four days ago. A nappy-poo ensued.
At around 1400 I figured that I’d better work up another appetite, so I packed up and headed back to the beach. The drive down Vista Del Mar wasn’t positive. I didn’t see anything happening at Hammers. I cruised through the Porto lot. A couple guys were out, but it wasn’t until I got to the end of the lot that I saw some waves. It was hard to tell if it was rideable or not. The tide was completely drained and shallow, and there were still four-foot sets rolling through. The waves broke close to shore with long peaks, but some of them tapered off sharply at the end producing a small shoulder. Rideable? There were only a few heads out there. I watched a couple guys go, but they kept getting caught behind the sections.
I knew I had to paddle out regardless. I was adamant on being famished before the big meal; that’s what’s so awesome about surfing: driving yourself to the point of famine and exhaustion, and then that first bite of food you get tastes soooooo gooooooood.
I went to Parks . . . no one out, but there weren’t any waves there. I found an open spot on Rosecrans. I really missed Lauren, though. I felt guilty—selfish. I pictured her with her family. She said her mom made extra food for me. And there I was, alone, on a day for families by myself pulling a solo evening sesh. Maybe I’m an asshole. . . .
I didn’t expect much. This was a paddle-out just to burn calories. I only went a little north of Rosecrans where I spotted two guys. It was a little sketchy walking out. The waves were a solid four feet and bigger on the plus sets, fast, walled, and breaking close to shore. I stood in the shallows for a while waiting for the lull. I finally chanced it and only had to duckdive one wave.
It was an exclusive group. Even in front of the snack stand, there were only a couple guys. We were the only antisocial degenerates out there. For shits-and-giggles I paddled into a couple closeouts, no biggie. The peaks consistently broke in the same spots, and I sat on the left. The next one that rolled through was walled, but it had that taper I was talking about earlier. I was so far on the shoulder that I thought I was going to scratch-out, but it jacked up fast, and next think I knew I was propelled down the line with speed. The section was racy but makeable. I pumped three times but lost balance right before I got to the open face. I blew it, but that didn’t matter; there were rides.
Since my forehand turns still suck, fast waves are good for me right now; the momentum keeps me from bogging out. On the next left I made sure to keep my balance. I pumped, got to the open face, and got two turns. I felt good, especially seeing that the guys around me couldn’t make the sections. I must’ve been doing something right.
The shore pound on the bigger sets was brutal. Another guy tried to join us but got caught inside for a while, on such a short paddle out to the lineup. I eventually drifted to the next peak and started catching rights as well, getting two turns, maybe three on a couple. I love surfing with friends, but I enjoy my solo sessions too. They’re all business. Not too much talk, just silence, reflecting, awareness, and existing. Each ride becomes more personal, etched and ingrained only for yourself to recollect.
The lulls were short with plenty of waves to go around, but the wave of the day didn’t go to me. One guy took off deep on a right; I didn’t think he would make it, but he got so much speed that he flailed his arms, unbalanced, until he got to the shoulder. Another guy and I hooted him on. We acknowledged his ride when he paddled back.
My last wave was another right, fast but still keeping me on the shoulder with each turn. I got to the shallow water again with a satisfied grin, not as hungry as I was in the morning but still ready to do some damage.
Changing at my car, the surfer with the wave of the day was walking up the hill. I didn’t expect a greeting, as my view on people is cold any way. The guy ended up talking to me, introduced himself as Elian, shook my hand, and wished me well. What a cool guy.
I drove to the valley with salt water still trapped in my sinuses. It was a small gathering of family and friends, a modest celebration. I got to see my cousin from Maui that I haven’t seen in months. Turkey was followed by Kahlua cream pie and ice cream, and then my brother-in-law whipped out the PS3 for some Modern Warfare 3. I missed Lauren, but I made the best of the day: double sesh followed by a feast. Bring on Christmas.
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