STAYING LOCAL: FRI 2.18.2011 MOR

CREW: J
FLAKES OF THE DAY: None
RAN INTO: No one
TIME: 0645 - 0800, 1 hr. & 15 min.
CONDITIONS: High tide, mushy peaks, bogged out waves, off shore wind, cloudy with exposed sun on the horizon.

    Until this morning, it was a whole week since I last surfed. In my attempt to balance surfing, working out, and school, I found out that I was surfing too much. Officially, surfing will have to take a “back seat” for the rest of this semester of school.
    J hit me up last night and asked if I was surfing local. For the last three Fridays I traveled to Surf. Three weeks ago I went to HB, two weeks ago I went to Trestles, and last week I went to Oxnard. Since I had so much homework to do, I stayed local. I told J that I’d surf with him in the morning, and then I sent the bat sign out to anyone else that wanted to surf.
    J text me at about 0600 and said he was on the way. I got up, ate a breakfast bar, filled up some hot water jugs, grabbed my gear, and I was out the door. The sky was already turning light blue. I guess the days are getting noticeably longer since the winter solstice. Personally, I can’t wait for the days to get longer again, as well as some warmer water so I can get my dusty board shorts wet. I’m sure Dais will be the first out of all of us to “trunk it” this year.
    I thought that I was going to be way behind J, but when I showed up he was checking out the water. I parked next to him, and we had our gander. The eastern horizon was clear, but gray skies filled the west. We could tell that the tide was high and that it was mushy, but we saw some clean peaks rolling through by the shitters.
* SHITTERS: New name for the peak in front of the El Porto bathrooms.

Shitters.  Good peak, but too many people.

    There were some other good peaks, but shitters was the best one, and the left going off of it looked clean as hell. It was an optimistic view from out vantage point, and we changed as fast as we could. J was in the water before me. I had to warm up a little bit longer since I was out of the water for a bit. The paddle out on Tiki was fairly easy.
*TIKI: My DMS board’s name because her design looks like a tiki statue. 
    J chose to hang just north of shitters which was really crowded. He tried to paddle into a wave that some guy was already on. The guy yelled, “HEY, HEY, HEY, HEY, HEY!” It’s gonna be one of those mornings, I thought. Last week, Michaelson told me that he doesn’t perform well in crowded and aggro spots. I concur. The current was pulling north a little, so I let my self drift between the tanks and 45th. I fell after I popped up on a potential left which was also the potential wave of the day. I was rusty and had to work off some old cob webs. As the tide rose, the wave quality changed a little. It was a better day to have more board. The mushy waves didn’t have enough incline for Tiki and I to gain speed. I had no problem paddling into the wave, but the face wasn’t angled enough for me to get some easy pumps. Whenever I was on a wave, I trimmed to stay on it; it was all I could do.
    When the sun came out it reflected so bright off of the water that I couldn’t face the shore without getting blindingly pierced by its rays.
    When I woke up I really didn’t feel like bracing the cold, but when I was out there paddling on my board I knew I made the right decision. I can understand why surfing gets in the way. As soon as my feet touched the sand, everything just made more sense to me; life made more sense, and it’s too easy to want to surf all morning instead of work out or study … or eat, drink, piss, shit, play WoW, watch TV, play with my pet Croco-Stimpy, etc.

The right is pretty mushy in front of 45th.  Big difference from shitters.

    My best wave was a fast right; I caught it on the shoulder. Even though it was fast, I had to keep speed from staying on the high line since the slope was dull. I grabbed rail and stayed in that position until I had to get away from the lip. I was riding the impact zone, and I could see the open face just in front of me. Despite my desperate attempts to pump and gain speed, I couldn’t catch up with the section. Most of my rides were like that: all trims and no turns.
    I didn’t mind getting out of the water at 0800. I had a lot to do, and it’s not like it was that great. As always, the conditions looked better once we were back on shore. That happens a lot.  Porto … she will do that to you. J got more waves than I; good for him. Because of the current we didn’t get much face time in the water, but we headed out to Mandy’s in El Segundo to have the $3.99 pancake special.
    It didn’t matter that the session wasn’t epic.  What mattered was that I went out there to get a taste of what I’ve been missing. I can’t believe I stayed away that long. When I paddled out I felt like an old gang member that hasn’t shown his face in the hood for a while, and I didn’t want to get my Porto Pass revoked. 
    One week without surfing … that’s too long.

High tide

THE OXNARD SHUFFLE: FRI 2.11.2011 MOR

CREW:  Rick, Michaelson
FLAKES OF THE DAY:  None
RAN INTO:  No one
TIME:  0900 - 1100, 2 hrs.
CONDITIONS:  Howling off shore winds, some fast corners, close outs on bigger sets, hollow walls, colder than Porto. 

    Thursday night, Rick called and said he wanted to take me to a secret spot.  As a natural tendency, I wanted to follow the path of least resistance.  It would have been easier to say, “No, Rick, I’d rather sleep in a little and just stay local.”  But how could I?  There’s so much of California coast line that I haven’t seen yet, so I opted for the unfamiliar. 
    The plan was to meet him at a local donut shop at 0500 so we would drive separately from there.  I woke up and had my car loaded by 0455.  At the last minute he called and said I needed to pick up his friend Michaelson.  The change of plans sat uneasy with me.  It’s just a thing of principle:  it’s not right to make someone else’s plans, especially five minutes before everything’s supposed to kick off.  I told Rick that I needed more time to grab more things to prepare for the extra body.
    I went back upstairs, grabbed my back pack, and my wetsuit case for me and Michaelson.  As I loaded up my car Rick called again.  He said we were burning time, so he’d give me directions to Michaelson’s house.  I was only minutes behind him when I got to Venice.  When I got there I told him that it wasn’t right to obligate me the way he did.  He apologized and said he’d make it up to me by fixing my JS board this weekend. 
    The sky was changing to a dark blue, cars were parked in front of homes in their cold slumber, and Washington Blvd. was deserted under the hazy orange street lamps.  Michaelson was still wiping the sleep from his eyes when I grabbed all his gear and threw it in the back of my car.  Something was missing; I couldn’t find my backpack.  I searched every crevice of my wagon, then the feeling of emptiness sunk within me when I realized that I probably left it right where my car was parked. 
    There was an urgent change of plans, we cross loaded Michaelson’s stuff into Rick’s truck, and I started the mad dash back to the Gundo.  My car smelled like burning brakes when I got there.  And there my bag was:  next to the tree, out in the open, full with my personal belongings, and unmolested.  I got back on the 405 N, then the 10 E, and then the 1 N.  I was a little behind those guys, but not by much.  It was a tranquil drive after that, and the thought of surfing somewhere new filled me with anticipation.  It was a long time since I seen Santa Monica in the early morning.  The different colored lights in the darkness looked like Christmas never left.  If there are any images that screams out, California, then the Santa Monica coastline is definitely one of them. 
    Things didn’t go that smooth once we reached our destination.  There was a long line of cars to get to the spot, and some paperwork had to be filled out.  By the time we got through security it was almost 0700.  The surf spot was only occupied by two fishermen.  The wind was side shore, the shape was clean, but it was a south facing break.  There wasn’t much south swell, so the waves were about thigh high.  We stopped at the local store, grabbed some snacks, filled up gas, and made a shit stop for Michaelson.  Rick said our best bet was to check out Oxnard to get some of the NW swell. 
    We arrived at Silver Strand, home surf break to Tim Curren.  I’ve seen the place on surf porn, but never in person.  The vibe seemed a little localized.  Their parking lot was tiny, but there were no meters.  Off the south side of the pier was the best looking peak that I’ve ever seen in Cali thus far.  There was size, about head high, and the peak was so clean that symmetrical shoulders built on each side.  Of course, that’s where all the locals were, so it was crowded.  There were some smaller peaks more south, but they were totally eclipsed by the main one off of the pier. 
    Rick drew us into a huddle as he started to whisper.  He knew off another spot where we would get the same swell direction with less people.  It was 0845 when we got there.  It was considerably smaller, fairly consistent, the off shores were still blowing, and there were only two surfers out.  Finally, we slipped our cocks into our wetsuits to start our surf session. 
    Being further up north, the water was a bit colder.  Rick and I timed it right and paddled out pretty fast.  The current was pulling north, but I maintained and stuck to our spot.  We were in between two peaks.  Within the first fifteen minutes Rick already caught at least four waves.  I caught two that didn’t hold shape.  The waves were a little racy, and the plus sets were walled.  Michaelson paddled out as a set came in, got worked on the inside, and got sucked north by the current.  When he caught up to us I got my wave of the day.  It was a chest high left.  I was surprised that it opened up.  The shoulder almost cascaded away, but I trimmed and stayed away from the foam to meet the open section.  I was going top to bottom until I stalled out on my attempted cut back and fell.  I resurfaced and gained eye contact with Mike.  I held up my index finger to signal that I got “one” good one. 

    The wind picked up fast, and next thing we knew, it was howling on our backs.  Every time we paddled, water sprayed into our faces.  Every wave shot out so much mist from the wind that it stung when it hit our skin.  Popping up on waves became more difficult with the salt water jizzing all over our faces.  I got caught on the inside after I got a dumpster.  When I resurfaced I saw Rick go kamikaze on a hollow wall and get semi barreled before the whole thing chomped down on him.  What balls, I thought.  I used to go for anything, but now … I am trying to get more out of my rides, so I’m picky as hell.
    There was this one guy to our south that was getting some clean barrels and long rides.  I couldn’t understand why no waves like that came to me.  If they did, I sure as hell couldn’t tell.  Michaelson got a lot more waves than I did, and the wait for a clean ride seemed to take longer and longer.  I missed out on a perfect right.  A peak came towards me and that other guy next to us.  I wasn’t sure if he was going to go left so I could take the right.  I stalled too long to see where he was going.  He did go the opposite way, but it was too late, and my wave had left me. 
    Cold, wind chilled, and weakened from paddling, we called our session after two hours.  On the drive home Michaelson pointed out all the different breaks to me along PCH.  I was glad that he was there.  Until then I barely had the time to talk to him, and now I could see that he’d be a good surf buddy.  I promised him to take him to Del Mar next time. 
    The conditions weren’t phenomenal, but I’m still glad I went.  If I didn’t, I would’ve been stuck looking at Rick’s pictures of the places he goes to.  After that weekend, my backyard is now a little bigger.