WINTER LETDOWNS PT.4 TUE 20DEC2011

Crew: Khang, Francis, Tom, & Ryan

Time: 0830-1100

Conditions: 3-5 ft, fast, walled, hollow on some sets. Clear skies, sunny, and glassy.

            I don’t know if it’s just me, but the mornings have been fucking cold. I don’t believe I used my heater this much last year. I wake up at around 0700 and check on my wetsuit that’s been hanging in front of the fan all night. It’s still a little damp, but at least it’s not soaked.

Things that Suck for a Surfer: putting on a cold, wet wetsuit early in the morning.

            I text Ryan to let him know I’m running late. Once I pick him up and start our journey, I key him in on some local knowledge, pointing out the Jetty, smoke stacks, and finally cruising down into the 45^th St. parking lot. It’s packed, but that’s no surprise. We park by the bathrooms for a look, and there’s definitely some size out there. A small wave holds shape towards the inside, but the next sets are horizontal lines with barely anywhere to go. The surfers that do get rides can only go straight or kick-out early. I tell him that we should switch spots because it’s better to surf close-outs for free rather than pay for them. 

            We show up just in time to see a lady pulling out of her street parking space. The crowd is at average capacity, and we paddle out just south of the tower. It’s not much better here, but there seems to be a chance for a good ride if I sit on the shoulder. I’m in prime position for two waves, but guys already have priority on my inside. On the third one I catch it to the shallows, but it’s a small wave. Right then I see Khang and Francis paddling out. I turn and see Ryan paddle into a plus-sized wave and air drop into oblivion. After wiping-out a few times and catching a handful of closeouts, I already write the day off as a loss: nothing but dumpsters. However, the rest of the crew is going for broke. I see Khang pull-in to a suicide barrel; no way out. The curtain comes down on him, and he’s standing in the inside for a while. “Fuck,” he says. “My board hit me in the head underwater.”

            “You all right?”

            “Yeah, it’s just unexpected when that happens. You can get hurt out here.”

            Francis tells me that he got some good barrel time on a wave before he got pinched. I paddle up to Ryan, shrug my shoulders as if to say, “Sorry, bro . . . it can be good out here but not today.”

            Ryan says, “I barely surf glassy conditions; I’m having fun!” I guess I’d have to be from Oregon to understand, but he tells me that there’s always wind, and the sky’s usually gray. One thing for sure, the guy must charge. I’m passing up the big sets because they are just pounds of charged water waiting to explode—no shape whatsoever. Still, I watch him paddle hard, drop in, and disappear behind the concussion. Khang is on a mission too, on Ryan’s same note he is just going for it, not holding back, and milking whatever comes his way. I don’t know what my issue is. Maybe I’ve turned into a cynical asshole, but I’m feeling too picky; I want better surf. 

            Tom shows up, and we shoot the shit with him. He says that yesterday was good, still walled, but held up by the offshores. I’m skeptical at hearing this, as walls don’t sound fun at all. Towards the end of the session everyone is gone. Literally, it is just us four. I’ve only seen 26^th this empty a few times. For it to be this empty is a bad sign. I call the last wave and head back in. Ryan stops once we’re on the sand, turns around, and expresses how beautiful the weather is. He can’t let go of the scene as he stares out towards PV. Somehow, I get the feeling that he doesn’t see conditions like this where he comes from. In the parking lot we run into Jonathan G. I haven’t seen him since Baja. Nicole, Francis’s girlfriend, pulls up too; Ryan’s getting the full dose of meeting everyone this morning. So some of us decide to go out for breakfast. Nicole, Francis, Ryan, Natasha, and I meet up at Bob’s Hawaiian Restaurant in Harbor City. I kill off the Keiki saimin, Da Big Hawaiian Plate, and the short stack of pancakes that comes with it. The whole time, the waitress is fucking with me, telling me that there’s no way I can’t eat all of it. I do, every single bite, and I leave a big, brown pinecone in their toilet to prove it. The post session makes up for the surf. Ryan and Natasha blend in with everyone after their first introduction; they have good energy. Strangers connect through surfing, we’re all here sharing this moment that wouldn’t have happened if it wasn’t for our love of the ocean. Our laughs are so loud that other people start turning around glaring at us; we’re disrupting the “family atmosphere.” 

            Right now it’s 1229 in the morning, I just farted, and it smells like buttermilk pancakes. Man . . . I hope tomorrow’s surf will be better.