Crew: Shan
Time: 1915 – 2000, 45 min.
Conditions: ridiculous wind, choppy, disorganized, random peaks within the chaos.
After the morning session I had pho in Fountain Valley with my friend Tim. It was $3.50 for chicken pho, now that's a no-brainer right there. After that I drove to Compton to look at a 7'2 Merrick gun that was near immaculate except for a hairline crack next to one of the fin plugs. I snapped some pics, went home, went to the gym, and then I received a text from Shan. He said it was windy as all hell, but there were still some shoulders, and he was paddling out. There's no way, I thought. Not in this friggin' wind. Everything that wasn't a building flapped and swayed. I had an errand to run: go to Surf Concepts and pick up over thirty bars of tropical wax. If that was the case, why the hell did I drive back to my apartment to grab my surf gear?
I pulled up to Porto and saw the mayhem in the ocean―pure disorganization. Sure, there were some peaks, but the random and choppy kind. No, they weren't peaks, just huge chops in the water. The air temp was colder due to the wind. I saw a pack of surfers in front of the shitters and one lone guy in front of 45th; I knew it was Shan. I looked at my watch, just past seven. I debated, deliberated, was intent on leaving, but I somehow couldn't. I put on my wet wetsuit, struggled; it was stuck. I looked out again and thought about leaving.
I snuck up on him when I paddled out. I thought it would surprise him; he didn't see me coming. He turned to see one dark bastard paddling up. There's nothing like joining a buddy or having a buddy join you unexectedly, especially in the shittiest of conditions. We joked around in our greeting, and Shan caught two consecutive waves while I still waited for something to jack up. I caught a left that was slopey and warbled, but it was a nice long ride that let me pump pretty far down the line. I forced one turn out of a right that bogged out. With my eyes blurry, I did a blind drop-in on a left but kicked out early on accident. The irony . . . my rides were longer than any this morning, and I was actually having more fun. Could it have been because I was surfing at home or sharing the experience with a friend?
The sun was going down, and we said we'd catch one in. I caught another long left. They were the kind of waves that barely jacked up enough to get your momentum to slowly drop in. Despite the conditions, a ride is a ride, and those long, easy, sloppy ones were well worth it. I paddled back out for one more. The right hander I took actually stood up, good for a couple pumps, and a little top turn before it closed out.
Wow, not bad . . . not bad for the sixty cents in the meter. I got my money's worth and some. So Surf Concepts was closed by the time I got there. Still, a sacrifice well made. I feel myself being more open minded to shitty conditions. Maybe I was too harsh on Porto?
Thursday, May 26, 2011
HB―ALWAYS A CHALLENGE, WED 5.25.2011 MOR
Crew: Solo
Flake of the day: Shan
Time: 0800 – 1020, 2 hrs. & 20 min.
Conditions: constantly changing. Clean at first, then outgoing tide caused choppiness, then consistent four foot and fast peaks, etc.
According to surfline, North OC had a 2-3 feet and fair forecast. It was better than what was predicted for the South Bay. Since I had to meet a seller for a 7'2 gun that my bro needs for Bali, it was convenient to head to OC for a morning session.
After Tuesday's session, I extended the HB invite to my buddies. Shan said he was down and to pick him up in the morning. Of course, I woke up to a text from him saying that he couldn't make it. I would have to say that the flake ratio for surfing has to be much higher than any other art or activity. I can understand that getting up in the morning is a bitch, but it's funny how the level of commitment drastically changes from the day before to the morning of.
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| So much more space than the Porto lot. |
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| The road to getting your ass kicked |
I paddled out at 0800 and had no one around for at least thirty yards to my left and right. The water had minimum texture and no current. It looked like an easy morning, so I paddled easy, watching the oily liquids on the surface slide past as I moved with the grace of a sea manitee. My memory gets a little blurry after this.
The peaks were clean but just a little fast. I've always said that HB is more “pitchy” than Porto (at least to me). My pop-up was a bit slow to begin the session which resulted in an old and familiar theme of seeing the section run away. I managed to pump to the face on some waves for quick rides. Nothing spectacular happened for the first third of the session. Then the tide started to get sucked out which caused the water to get all wierd and choppy. It seemed like the session would be a disappointing one. Still, some peaks did form amidst the confusion, and I caught a wave to the inside when things started to change.
The last third of the session started with what seemed like a nonstop barrage of waves. I was stuck on the inside and had to duckdive over and over again. I nervously watched the guys paddling into waves to avoid being skewered or barked out of the water. When I finally made it, two guys were talking about how good it was getting. Unexpectedly, even with the tide going lower, the conditions cleaned up again, and it was similar to the morning. I made sure to make a mental note of the time: 0925. The locals must have knew what was up because people started showing up. I paddled further north to get some space. The peaks formed cleaner, but still over a shallow tide. I remember wiping out and feeling embarassed amongst the locals, then I scratched out on a wave that I had all to myself because I paddled in on the “safe” shoulder. I sulked in my poor judgement, and even worse, the thought of that I may have passed up the best wave of the session. I made an internal pact to say “fuck it” and paddle in at the peak. The unexplainable forces from above gave me a “do over,” as another wave came my way. It was a fast, peaky four footer. I took the peak, dropped in with speed, and set up for a clean, first bottom turn. I got one more top turn before it was over. I took another peak on a left, and I made another mistake. I jumped ship too soon when it looked like it started to get hollow. I don't know anything about tube riding, but I regretted not tucking into face more and just going with it. Either way, it was low tide . . . risky.
The “take the peak” approach didn't work on every wave. In fact, I had the worst wipeouts since school ended. I was getting pitched and even fell in front of my board on a couple wipeouts. Fuck . . . I was paddling back out, and this guy caught a wave just to my left. I had no idea how to get out of his way because he was so goddam close. Thankfully, he knew his shit, and he went down the line right in front of me. I swear, I try to avoid these situations all the time, and they still happen. I never want to be “the guy in the way.” I know that you're supposed to paddle towards the part that's breaking, but sometimes shit is happening with barely any time to adjust.
The wind started to knock down the waves a little, and I was getting tired. Despite my own battles, I saw guys just paddling into waves and popping up with ease. I saw guys getting long rides, and the bottom of boards fully exposed from vicious snaps off the lip. To be a good surfer you have to be able to perform well in all conditions wherever you surf. I'm still a one trick pony, and I always have problems in HB. I was humbled, and my goal is to be just as good as those guys eventually.
Satisfied, taking in the good with the bad, I walked that lone trail back to my car, the same trail I walked so many times with my brother that I now walked alone. The late morning was even more inviting. The desolate sandy beach lay unoccupied on both sides as far as I could see, the air was warm, the sun beat down on me, and a family cruised by in their bicycle cart with baby included. I changed out of my wetsuit to the faint whizzes of cars passing by on PCH. Silent with a peaceful smile on my face, I didn't say a word.
CLASSIC EVENINGS, TUE 5.24.2011 EVE
Crew: Dais, Khang, Shan
Time: 1830 – 1945, 1 hr. & 15 min.
Conditions: dying onshore wind, some texture in the surface, long burgery peaks, fun slopey shoulders.
After surfing El Porto's version of the dollar menu on Monday, I realized two things. One, I refused to freeze my ass off from my defective wetsuits. Two, I forgot how much I love summer evening sessions. I didn't surf Tuesday morning because I needed a new wetsuit. Trust me, my wetstuits have been holy since February, and I've been toughing it out since then. The line had to be drawn. I called Surf Concepts in Manhattan Beach. Billy answered the phone. I gave him my height and weight, and he let me know their deals and what they had in stock for me right off hand. I drove there right after and bought a brand new Rip Curl 3/2 E3 E-Bomb. I'm usually a cheap bastard, but this purchase was more of a need than a want.
Dais hit me up and said the he and Khang would be surfing Venice. I told him that I'd be surfing local. From there, they decided to check out Porto instead. I pulled into the lot at about 1750. The water looked choppy with a lot of texture on its surface. The wind was weaker than Monday but still prevalent. I texted Shan and let him know that if the wind died, it may be worth it.
Itching to try out the new hardware, I paddled out at 1830. The current was pulling north. I couldn't believe how warm and dry I was under my new gear. For months I've paddled out and felt that cool chill of water bathe my balls and run up the small of my back. It sucks. The feeling of being completely sealed up made me feel impervious to the cold.
I caught a weak right which turned into a burger, but I caught a pretty long left that I pumped down the line on. It was the perfect conditions to practice on, so I bottom turned and attempted a layback snap on the lip. I pulled it off, but with my lack of speed it looked more like a “layback wipe”―all movement, no power, and no spray. Still, it felt nice to play around and try something different. I befriended a guy next to me who commented on how fun it was. His name was Chris from PDR.
I turned around to see Dais's long hair blowing in the wind, and then I realized it was actually Khang's long hair blowing in the wind. When they got to the line up, the wind had died even more. The onshores turned faint and continued to dissipate. The afternoon was perking up to be a classic, golden sunset session. I caught a right which reformed on the inside and changed direction, and just as I dropped into the left I saw Shan paddling out. We were all sharing the peak in front of 45th.
There seemed to be a lot of people in the water but rightfully so. All the elements were perfect: warm water, the beige sand adjusting its colors with the sun's fading light, and palm trees behind us silhouetted by the dark blue sky.
I can't recall all my thoughts at that moment, but the peace and serenity was overwhelming. It was almost satisfying enough just to be there regardless of the waves. Khang caught a left where I was kookishly in his way. I was at the point of no return as far as paddling left or right. I duckdived but didn't go deep enough. When I resurfaced, I saw that he had ditched his board to avoid jousting me. I apologized, and we returned to the line up. Shan and I spotted a bump in the ocean in the distance. We both wanted to paddle for it, but Dais was already sitting in the perfect spot to receive it. We called him onto the wave. As he paddled into it he disappeared and got a nice ride out of it. He came back to thank us.
I had to leave early but without regret. There was no way I could've taken that experience for granted. I couldn't imagine anywhere else that I would've wanted to be.
Time: 1830 – 1945, 1 hr. & 15 min.
Conditions: dying onshore wind, some texture in the surface, long burgery peaks, fun slopey shoulders.
After surfing El Porto's version of the dollar menu on Monday, I realized two things. One, I refused to freeze my ass off from my defective wetsuits. Two, I forgot how much I love summer evening sessions. I didn't surf Tuesday morning because I needed a new wetsuit. Trust me, my wetstuits have been holy since February, and I've been toughing it out since then. The line had to be drawn. I called Surf Concepts in Manhattan Beach. Billy answered the phone. I gave him my height and weight, and he let me know their deals and what they had in stock for me right off hand. I drove there right after and bought a brand new Rip Curl 3/2 E3 E-Bomb. I'm usually a cheap bastard, but this purchase was more of a need than a want.
Dais hit me up and said the he and Khang would be surfing Venice. I told him that I'd be surfing local. From there, they decided to check out Porto instead. I pulled into the lot at about 1750. The water looked choppy with a lot of texture on its surface. The wind was weaker than Monday but still prevalent. I texted Shan and let him know that if the wind died, it may be worth it.
Itching to try out the new hardware, I paddled out at 1830. The current was pulling north. I couldn't believe how warm and dry I was under my new gear. For months I've paddled out and felt that cool chill of water bathe my balls and run up the small of my back. It sucks. The feeling of being completely sealed up made me feel impervious to the cold.
I caught a weak right which turned into a burger, but I caught a pretty long left that I pumped down the line on. It was the perfect conditions to practice on, so I bottom turned and attempted a layback snap on the lip. I pulled it off, but with my lack of speed it looked more like a “layback wipe”―all movement, no power, and no spray. Still, it felt nice to play around and try something different. I befriended a guy next to me who commented on how fun it was. His name was Chris from PDR.
I turned around to see Dais's long hair blowing in the wind, and then I realized it was actually Khang's long hair blowing in the wind. When they got to the line up, the wind had died even more. The onshores turned faint and continued to dissipate. The afternoon was perking up to be a classic, golden sunset session. I caught a right which reformed on the inside and changed direction, and just as I dropped into the left I saw Shan paddling out. We were all sharing the peak in front of 45th.
There seemed to be a lot of people in the water but rightfully so. All the elements were perfect: warm water, the beige sand adjusting its colors with the sun's fading light, and palm trees behind us silhouetted by the dark blue sky.
I can't recall all my thoughts at that moment, but the peace and serenity was overwhelming. It was almost satisfying enough just to be there regardless of the waves. Khang caught a left where I was kookishly in his way. I was at the point of no return as far as paddling left or right. I duckdived but didn't go deep enough. When I resurfaced, I saw that he had ditched his board to avoid jousting me. I apologized, and we returned to the line up. Shan and I spotted a bump in the ocean in the distance. We both wanted to paddle for it, but Dais was already sitting in the perfect spot to receive it. We called him onto the wave. As he paddled into it he disappeared and got a nice ride out of it. He came back to thank us.
I had to leave early but without regret. There was no way I could've taken that experience for granted. I couldn't imagine anywhere else that I would've wanted to be.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
THE DOLLAR MENU, MON 5.23.2011 EVE
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| It's amazing, the effect that a "home break" can have over someone. |
CREW: Solo
TIME: 1900 – 1945, 45 min.
CONDITIONS: High to mid tide, windy, blown out, disorganized, choppy, three feet, cold.
I had "uncle duty" this morning, and everytime I have to play uncle, that means I don't get to surf in the morning. What a task. At one hand, I want to be there for my nieces. On the other, I'm bummed out every time I have to miss the surf on account of helping out my family. By the time I made it to Porto this morning, it was 0815, and the wind was already on it.
In the early evening I could see the trees shaken by the wind outside my window, but I thought I'd take a look to see how things looked in person. Porto didn't have very many heads out. I recently saw a repeat episode of Fuel TV's Drive Thru. It was an episode where Andy Irons was complaining about paddling out in shitty conditions, and he said, "I guess we're groms all over again." Well, to paddle out this evening you had to be just as stoked as a grom. Ironically, there were no groms out. Instead, there were the elite, consistent locals that you'd see there every day and in any surf condition. Maybe it's one of the factors that establishes the divine right of the Porto heirarchy. If that's the case, then I'm still a serf or a peasant.
I waited until 1900 thinking that the wind would die. It died a little, but not by much. I saw a couple guys get some long rides on some sloppy and choppy surf. I debated. I could go home . . . it's not worth it . . . but it would be nice just to get one ride . . . I'm sure I could get something, I thought. The verdict was that I wouldn't forgive myself if I drove off.
As I walked down the stairs I crossed paths with a guy on his way out. He said, "Good idea, you waited until the wind died!" It didn't matter anyway. The water was pretty cool, too cool for gawd damn late May. Boadshorts, will it be in our future soon? Because it doesn't look like it.
I had a well timed paddle out. The line up seemed far, and the wind was less tangible in the air. The chop and rise and fall of the sea picked up where the wind left off. I started in front of 45th, and then the current pulled me past the sandwich shack within minutes. It was frustrating. The waves weren't breaking, or the top would crumble, reform, and then burger-out again. There were still guys getting more rides towards the inside.
My first right hander was jumbled up. I dropped in, it bogged, reformed with an inside double up section, and closed out. I can't even recall the second one. I kicked out of my third wave as it collapsed into white wash. It seemed like a good idea to go home at that point, but I had about ten minutes left, and I still had hope that it might get just a little better. The ocean punished my indecisiveness, as I caught the incoming set on the way back out. Once I was past the impact zone, I appreciated how the sun turned the ocean into what looked like golden honey; that was probably the best thing about being out there. My last ride was a closeout, but a satisfying and long one all the way to the shallows.
Session ended. I just needed to get wet. So I paid about a buck-fifty to paddle out for a little, and I got four waves. Not bad for about a buck. Worth it.
Monday, May 23, 2011
GOOD AT LOW TIDE, SUN 5.22.2011 MORN
CREW: Cheryl, Christina, Dais, Khang, Klaude, Shan
FLAKES OF THE DAY: None
RAN INTO: No one
TIME: 0915 – 1115, 2 hrs.
CONDITIONS: Low tide, awkwardly cold for being this close to June, faint onshore wind, just a little texture, peaky, 3 feet.
Last night Cheryl had her graduation party. Her, Christina, Klaude, and I discussed on where we'd go. 26th St. was the call. I text Shan to let him know the plans.
I woke at 0800 and saw that Rick had sent me a text at 0630 saying that Porto was good and peaky. I was surprised seeing as how the tide was low in the morning. He gave me a call, said it was still offshore, and that it was a lot of fun.
I pulled up to the 26th lot at about 0900. Khang and Klaude were right behind me, and Christina showed up within minutes. They sky was overcast just like yesterday. I think we could've used the sun because the water was pretty damn cold. Again, I cursed my holy wetsuit.
There seemed to be a lot of people in the water, so we chose a saddle between two peaks north of 26th. Surpringly, Rick was right. Since the tide was low, the waves were a little close together, almost doubling up, but there were some nice peaky waves that came through, giving both left and right handers. Since the tide was low, the rides were short, but at least the shape was there.
I caught a peaky left right when I got out, and I believe everyone else caught waves too. Christina ended up hanging out on the inside and catching some waves over there.
The current was deceivingly strong. It gently pulled us south, and just past the tower there was a rip current. Before we knew it, we were by the volley ball nets.
My wave of the day was a fast and peaky right. Two guys were on my outside waiting to go if I blew it, but I didn't. Unfortunatly, I'm still a little rusty, so I took a while popping up, and when I did I just drew a line without any turns.
I saw Shan on the shore with Christina, and they paddled out to our south. Soon Cheryl would join them as well. I didn't get to see any of Khang's rides, but he and Klaude were paddling back out a lot which signaled all the rides they were getting.
Something funny happened as a single peak headed towards Klaude and I. I motioned like I was going to go for it, but it didn't look like it was going to break. I said, “Klaude, going, going, going?”
He said, “Yeah,” turned around, and disappeared behind the peak. He went left, and I saw him pull off a semi floater. Clearly, he was falling back, but his nose and rail was fully exposed and over the lip, everything but the tail.
There were these two local groms, but the stand out was this kid (maybe Brazilian or Black) with long curly hair. He was killing it. I've seen him out there before and on big days too. It was another reality check. You see, the winds turned onshore, the water got choppy, and the wave quality went down. However, these groms were killing it. The kid with the long hair was doing these cracking power snaps on the lip. Fuckin' A, I thought. Everytime you think the waves suck, there's guys just pulling off nice turns and clean maneuvers still. The problems aren't the conditions; it's us.
Our group rallied and exchanged greeting in the water. Cheryl woke up late, and Shan said that the waves were much better where they paddled out at. We caught our last waves and ended the session. Dais had just showed up as I was leaving.
Lesson learned, sometimes skipping the low tide is not the answer; low tide can still be good. The window for good surf is small; take it.
FLAKES OF THE DAY: None
RAN INTO: No one
TIME: 0915 – 1115, 2 hrs.
CONDITIONS: Low tide, awkwardly cold for being this close to June, faint onshore wind, just a little texture, peaky, 3 feet.
Last night Cheryl had her graduation party. Her, Christina, Klaude, and I discussed on where we'd go. 26th St. was the call. I text Shan to let him know the plans.
I woke at 0800 and saw that Rick had sent me a text at 0630 saying that Porto was good and peaky. I was surprised seeing as how the tide was low in the morning. He gave me a call, said it was still offshore, and that it was a lot of fun.
I pulled up to the 26th lot at about 0900. Khang and Klaude were right behind me, and Christina showed up within minutes. They sky was overcast just like yesterday. I think we could've used the sun because the water was pretty damn cold. Again, I cursed my holy wetsuit.
There seemed to be a lot of people in the water, so we chose a saddle between two peaks north of 26th. Surpringly, Rick was right. Since the tide was low, the waves were a little close together, almost doubling up, but there were some nice peaky waves that came through, giving both left and right handers. Since the tide was low, the rides were short, but at least the shape was there.
I caught a peaky left right when I got out, and I believe everyone else caught waves too. Christina ended up hanging out on the inside and catching some waves over there.
The current was deceivingly strong. It gently pulled us south, and just past the tower there was a rip current. Before we knew it, we were by the volley ball nets.
My wave of the day was a fast and peaky right. Two guys were on my outside waiting to go if I blew it, but I didn't. Unfortunatly, I'm still a little rusty, so I took a while popping up, and when I did I just drew a line without any turns.
I saw Shan on the shore with Christina, and they paddled out to our south. Soon Cheryl would join them as well. I didn't get to see any of Khang's rides, but he and Klaude were paddling back out a lot which signaled all the rides they were getting.
Something funny happened as a single peak headed towards Klaude and I. I motioned like I was going to go for it, but it didn't look like it was going to break. I said, “Klaude, going, going, going?”
He said, “Yeah,” turned around, and disappeared behind the peak. He went left, and I saw him pull off a semi floater. Clearly, he was falling back, but his nose and rail was fully exposed and over the lip, everything but the tail.
There were these two local groms, but the stand out was this kid (maybe Brazilian or Black) with long curly hair. He was killing it. I've seen him out there before and on big days too. It was another reality check. You see, the winds turned onshore, the water got choppy, and the wave quality went down. However, these groms were killing it. The kid with the long hair was doing these cracking power snaps on the lip. Fuckin' A, I thought. Everytime you think the waves suck, there's guys just pulling off nice turns and clean maneuvers still. The problems aren't the conditions; it's us.
Our group rallied and exchanged greeting in the water. Cheryl woke up late, and Shan said that the waves were much better where they paddled out at. We caught our last waves and ended the session. Dais had just showed up as I was leaving.
Lesson learned, sometimes skipping the low tide is not the answer; low tide can still be good. The window for good surf is small; take it.
Sunday, May 22, 2011
TRESTLES--DECEPTION: SAT 5.21.2011 EVE
TRESTLES--DECEPTION: SAT 5.21.2011 EVE
Countdown to Bali: 17 Days
CREW: Solo
FLAKES OF THE DAY: None
RAN INTO: No one
TIME: 1315 - 1445, 1 hr. & 30 min.
CONDITIONS: Chest to shoulder high, inconsistent, sunny, stronger on shores, choppy.
Damn, after roughly a three hour break, I paddled back out again. I was supposed to wait a little longer, but once the sun burned off the marine layer and shined through, it was hard not to get back out. I sat in my car and watched Churches do its usual consistent thing, so I decided to paddle out and join the crowd.
I sat on the outside first to practice some good surf etiquette, but the waves seemed to stop once I got there. I paddled further north and got an insignificant close out. I guess it still counted. My next wave was a racy right that I caught right at the peak. I was too slow at popping up, so I had to pump to get to the open face. I had actually made it, and right when I looked up I saw two other guys drop in on me.
I kept paddling further north in the middle of each lull until I was on the north side of Churches. The inconsistency was worse than the morning. The sets seemed to break far out, or they would form but only break towards the inside. It was frustrating; everyone was.
I caught an unexpected right hander that took me all the way to shore. I was too damn slow. I looked above my shoulder and saw the open face, walling up, just waiting for me to hack it or do something. I felt stuck to my board, as I rode the middle of the face against my instincts.
Everything looked so much better from the shore, but then when I got back to my car it looked like Churches was working again. Oh well. I’m still glad I paddled out, but I definitely need to iron out the wrinkles fast.
Countdown to Bali: 17 Days
CREW: Solo
FLAKES OF THE DAY: None
RAN INTO: No one
TIME: 1315 - 1445, 1 hr. & 30 min.
CONDITIONS: Chest to shoulder high, inconsistent, sunny, stronger on shores, choppy.
Damn, after roughly a three hour break, I paddled back out again. I was supposed to wait a little longer, but once the sun burned off the marine layer and shined through, it was hard not to get back out. I sat in my car and watched Churches do its usual consistent thing, so I decided to paddle out and join the crowd.
I sat on the outside first to practice some good surf etiquette, but the waves seemed to stop once I got there. I paddled further north and got an insignificant close out. I guess it still counted. My next wave was a racy right that I caught right at the peak. I was too slow at popping up, so I had to pump to get to the open face. I had actually made it, and right when I looked up I saw two other guys drop in on me.
I kept paddling further north in the middle of each lull until I was on the north side of Churches. The inconsistency was worse than the morning. The sets seemed to break far out, or they would form but only break towards the inside. It was frustrating; everyone was.
I caught an unexpected right hander that took me all the way to shore. I was too damn slow. I looked above my shoulder and saw the open face, walling up, just waiting for me to hack it or do something. I felt stuck to my board, as I rode the middle of the face against my instincts.
Everything looked so much better from the shore, but then when I got back to my car it looked like Churches was working again. Oh well. I’m still glad I paddled out, but I definitely need to iron out the wrinkles fast.
TRESTLES--CELEBRATING THE END OF SCHOOL: SAT 5.21.2011 MOR
Countdown to Bali: 17 Days
CREW: Solo
FLAKES OF THE DAY: None
RAN INTO: No one
TIME: 0745 - 1015, 2 hr. & 30 min.
CONDITIONS: Shoulder to head high, inconsistent, a little lined up, overcast skies, minimum onshore wind and south current.
Thank the Lord, last night I turned in my final assignment for school. The last time I surfed was May 1st, that’s how busy school has had me. Not only did I have to cut surf out of my schedule but exercising too, quality time with Lauren, and even my friends didn’t see me. Being out of the water was bad enough, but all the while I was supposed to be preparing for Bali. Today was planned for the longest time, in the sense that I knew I’d surf as soon as I had the chance. With the buzz about the south swell, it made me itch even more to get down to Trestles.
I talked to Klaude last night, but he said that if he came to Trestles that he’d have to leave around noon. Unfortunately, I couldn’t do that. Nowadays, if my broke ass is driving to Trestles, then you can bet that I’m staying there for at least two paddle-outs. As Whiffleboy told me, “The gas is gonna kill ya eventually.” I asked Dais, but his knee was messed up, Shan said he had plans today, Jon had his graduation to tend to (not like he would’ve went anyway), and Reptile Rick chose to surf Malibu. As I packed for the morning, I looked forward to the solo, early morning drive on the road.
I woke up a little late, but after two trips to the car I was on the highway by 0545. It must have been a while since I’ve done a staycation session because I don’t recall the sky being lit up so early. Everything was fine until the police stopped the traffic near the junction with the 605. After that little hiccup it was smooth sailing.
I was beaten to the punch, as I saw the little black dots scattered all across Old Man’s. Parking all the way up to Churches was scarce, but I scored when some guy left. It was about 0700. This morning was only the third time that I’ve seen San Onofre with any size. It was shoulder to head high, and the peaks didn’t seem as defined as usual. The surf wasn’t clean, and when I say “clean,” I’m referring to the image that most Trestle addicts think of from just hearing the word “Trestles.” By South Bay standards, the conditions were good, but not for that area. On top of that, the sky was extremely overcast which gave the water an ominous gray color.
I stepped out, snapped a pic, and walked towards Middles. Churches looked all right. The tide was in the negatives, and it was affecting the surf a little. Middles didn’t have much. Lowers, of course, had the waves with the crowd that comes with it. North of Lowers wasn’t holding shape, and I expected the crowd factor at Uppers to be worse, so I paddled out south of Lowers at 0745.
The twenty days out of the water was noticeable. Just from getting on my board I felt those inactive surf muscles tighten and cramp in protest. The sets broke farther out, so I had to take a couple on the head. My duckdive definitely suffered, but I kept telling myself that Bali will probably be less forgiving, so I did my best to punch through.
Lulls . . . there were a lot of them. The surf was a bit inconsistent, and there was something about this swell that messed up the shape. From Surfline’s forecast, I expected so much more. I expected perfect, overhead, peaky, right handers, visible and rolling in as far as the eye could see. The waves were liny, and the sections stayed open jut a little before meeting the oncoming rights and lefts that closed the wave out. There were peaks, just not as many as usual, and you had to be in the right spot (with the exception of Lowers that has that consistent peak). Today was not the day for practicing the things that my mind tricks me into thinking that I can do--too much Modern Collective and Who is JOB in my life. I was nervous about my rusty surfing abilities, and I was happy that I didn’t eat shit as much as I expected.
The waves I caught would stand up and just hold in that position. I struggled to turn and maneuver, but just being on the wave was fun enough. I only ate shit on one that I really shouldn’t have went for anyway.
The wind was light, and the lulls so prevalent that I could only hear the waves breaking in the background, some birds chirping, and faint conversations between surfers. The line up was packed, but you could almost hear a pin drop; everyone seemed to be on the same sheet of music.
Something rare happened. Two guys paddled for a wave, the guy about to drop-in ceased, and the longboarder rode his wave, turned to the other guy, and said, “Thank you.”
After a set, I had just returned from catching a wave. This one guy said to his buddy, “How could we have missed all those waves?” As the next peak formed in the distance he talked out loud, “Come to me . . . come to me . . . come to me. . . .” It’s funny how as surfers, we all know exactly what that guys was going through.
The lulls got longer with the tide rising, but the crowd didn’t thin. I paddled to north Churches where I called it a morning.
I just took a shit in the porta-potty. I took a shit on top of another guy’s shit. Our shit combined looked soooo huge. I took a picture and sent it to my friends. A woman just walked in that same stall then fearfully backed out and used a different one. “Amateurs . . . they do their part.”
Now the sun is shining bright, the overcast has burned through, and I’m in my car watching Churches’s consistent, four foot rights giving longboarders the stories that they’ll take home with them tonight. I think I’m gonna get some of that.
CREW: Solo
FLAKES OF THE DAY: None
RAN INTO: No one
TIME: 0745 - 1015, 2 hr. & 30 min.
CONDITIONS: Shoulder to head high, inconsistent, a little lined up, overcast skies, minimum onshore wind and south current.
Thank the Lord, last night I turned in my final assignment for school. The last time I surfed was May 1st, that’s how busy school has had me. Not only did I have to cut surf out of my schedule but exercising too, quality time with Lauren, and even my friends didn’t see me. Being out of the water was bad enough, but all the while I was supposed to be preparing for Bali. Today was planned for the longest time, in the sense that I knew I’d surf as soon as I had the chance. With the buzz about the south swell, it made me itch even more to get down to Trestles.
I talked to Klaude last night, but he said that if he came to Trestles that he’d have to leave around noon. Unfortunately, I couldn’t do that. Nowadays, if my broke ass is driving to Trestles, then you can bet that I’m staying there for at least two paddle-outs. As Whiffleboy told me, “The gas is gonna kill ya eventually.” I asked Dais, but his knee was messed up, Shan said he had plans today, Jon had his graduation to tend to (not like he would’ve went anyway), and Reptile Rick chose to surf Malibu. As I packed for the morning, I looked forward to the solo, early morning drive on the road.
 |
| Unexpected early morning traffic. Sucks. |
I woke up a little late, but after two trips to the car I was on the highway by 0545. It must have been a while since I’ve done a staycation session because I don’t recall the sky being lit up so early. Everything was fine until the police stopped the traffic near the junction with the 605. After that little hiccup it was smooth sailing.
 |
| An all too familiar sight. |
I stepped out, snapped a pic, and walked towards Middles. Churches looked all right. The tide was in the negatives, and it was affecting the surf a little. Middles didn’t have much. Lowers, of course, had the waves with the crowd that comes with it. North of Lowers wasn’t holding shape, and I expected the crowd factor at Uppers to be worse, so I paddled out south of Lowers at 0745.
The twenty days out of the water was noticeable. Just from getting on my board I felt those inactive surf muscles tighten and cramp in protest. The sets broke farther out, so I had to take a couple on the head. My duckdive definitely suffered, but I kept telling myself that Bali will probably be less forgiving, so I did my best to punch through.
Lulls . . . there were a lot of them. The surf was a bit inconsistent, and there was something about this swell that messed up the shape. From Surfline’s forecast, I expected so much more. I expected perfect, overhead, peaky, right handers, visible and rolling in as far as the eye could see. The waves were liny, and the sections stayed open jut a little before meeting the oncoming rights and lefts that closed the wave out. There were peaks, just not as many as usual, and you had to be in the right spot (with the exception of Lowers that has that consistent peak). Today was not the day for practicing the things that my mind tricks me into thinking that I can do--too much Modern Collective and Who is JOB in my life. I was nervous about my rusty surfing abilities, and I was happy that I didn’t eat shit as much as I expected.
The waves I caught would stand up and just hold in that position. I struggled to turn and maneuver, but just being on the wave was fun enough. I only ate shit on one that I really shouldn’t have went for anyway.
The wind was light, and the lulls so prevalent that I could only hear the waves breaking in the background, some birds chirping, and faint conversations between surfers. The line up was packed, but you could almost hear a pin drop; everyone seemed to be on the same sheet of music.
Something rare happened. Two guys paddled for a wave, the guy about to drop-in ceased, and the longboarder rode his wave, turned to the other guy, and said, “Thank you.”
After a set, I had just returned from catching a wave. This one guy said to his buddy, “How could we have missed all those waves?” As the next peak formed in the distance he talked out loud, “Come to me . . . come to me . . . come to me. . . .” It’s funny how as surfers, we all know exactly what that guys was going through.
The lulls got longer with the tide rising, but the crowd didn’t thin. I paddled to north Churches where I called it a morning.
I just took a shit in the porta-potty. I took a shit on top of another guy’s shit. Our shit combined looked soooo huge. I took a picture and sent it to my friends. A woman just walked in that same stall then fearfully backed out and used a different one. “Amateurs . . . they do their part.”
Now the sun is shining bright, the overcast has burned through, and I’m in my car watching Churches’s consistent, four foot rights giving longboarders the stories that they’ll take home with them tonight. I think I’m gonna get some of that.
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