CRUMBS, FRI 8.05.2011 EVE

Crew: J

Met: Haena (J's GF), Steve, and Trish

Time: 1830- 2000, 1 hr. & 30 min.

Conditions: Low tide and getting lower, sunny, warm, onshore wind, choppy, 1-2 feet, close-outs.

     I get released from work early. I don't plan on surfing at all today, but J shoots me a text and says that he's surfing Porto around five o'clock. Based on the surf cams, the tide, and the forecast, it's too easy to be picky this evening. However, the last time I saw J was weeks before I left to Bali, so the paddle out feels worth it just to see a friend. Besides, why have lunch or coffee with someone to catch up when you can just paddle out for a surf?

     He gets there late because his bus broke down on the 105. I haven't seen him in a while, so I can tell he's lost some weight. He's holding his fun board and wearing boardshorts with a rash guard. I have my trunks with me, but I remember my recent hypothermia session and easily pass. He introduces me to his girlfriend Haena. He doesn't realize that I've met her before when they were just dating, but I go along with it. The waves are crumbly, breaking close to shore, and small. It's not the fun evening sessions that I've caught with Khang and Dais, but I want to catch up with J.

     In the water he tells me about his summer trip to Alaska and his recent trips surfing Mexico. I get as much intel from him as possible. I've feared Mexico from all the recent kidnappings and other drug related violence, but he assures me that you can play it safe. Unfortunately, the trip that he was planning for this month conflicts with a prior obligation, so it looks like it won't happen until September.

     I'm tired from my long day, but I try to scratch into a small left that breaks late. Since the waves break closer to shore, they close out faster. I wipe out on my first wave. On my second, I fall prematurely. I'm having an “off” session. Meanwhile, J and Haena are effortlessly catching these small pounders early with their big boards.

     J converses with other people around us, and then I realize that members of his surf group are there. J surfs independent of the DRC, and his outgoing personality gains him many friends in the water. He introduces me to his friend Steve, who he went to college with, and his other friend Trish. In conversation, J reminds me that he's already been to Bali, and he tells me a story about how he and Steve unexpectedly ran into each other on their last trips there. I feel like an idiot. I've been fooling myself thinking that Bali is surfing's equivalent to climbing Mount Everest, when in reality lots of people go there all the time. Their ability to relate keeps me humble.

     It's a mellow sunset surf session. I start catching waves, but none of the rides are quality. Regardless, J's people are cool, the energy is good, and I'm happy to catch up with a friend. The current takes everyone north, but I paddle to maintain in front of the volley ball net by the bathrooms. On paddling back out after a wave, I see a seal swimming where the waves are breaking, and then I start to think about Shark Week on the Discovery Channel. I see J walking back to his car. It's almost eight o'clock, so I catch a closer in. J invites me to dinner with him and Haena, but I opt to go home. He says, “I'm sure you learned a lot in Bali. I can't wait to get some surf time with you to see you rip!” I laugh at his comment and tell him that Bali humbled me, and that I don't think I'll be ripping.

     J's going to Trestles tomorrow. Lucky bastard. I'll be at work this weekend while the surf is thumping at all south facing beaches. I hope my buddies get it while they can.

BREAKFAST BUFFET, WED 8.03.2011 MOR

Crew: Francis, Christina, Deathwish Dave

Time: 0700- 0930, 2 hrs. & 30 min.

Conditions: Light onshore wind, extremely foggy with low visibility, cool temperatures, 2-3ft.+, consistent.

     Francis really wanted to head to HB, but I've been holding out, especially with the likeliness of the wind. After all, it's also nice to just surf local and drive a couple miles to get home for a change. I told him that I'd be at Parks, and he was down. I tex'd Chris, Khang, and Dave in case they wanted to join.

     Low tide is just after 0600, so I take my time waking up and head out at 0630. I score a free parking spot on 27^th. It doesn't look very appetizing out there. I haven't seen a clean, glassy morning since my first two Porto sessions upon my return from Bali. Texture's all over the surface as the wind knocks down the waves. I can see the sets coming in, and there's potential for some short rides. I shoot the text to let everyone know where I'll be. I almost regret not bringing the full suit. The morning air is much cooler than the last couple of mornings. I wonder if I'll suffer because of my short sleeves.

     It's too early for the place to be packed. There's an old Japanese longboarder in the water that I've seen for the last four days straight. The tide is still low, so I walk out just behind the line up. On the way out I duckdive a couple rideable waves. Once I'm sitting in the water, the waves look much better than they did from shore. Three foot waves form in the distance, but the low tide makes them close out. I talk to the longboarder, and he comments on how the inside is shallow. Then he looks up and says, “Oh no, clouds!” It's sunny, but the wind is pushing the low marine layer over the Manhattan homes. Ten minutes later the sun disappears, and we can barely make out the waves over the deep sea.

     Despite the poor rating from surfline, the waves are rideable and consistent. Sure, the wind is messing it up, but there are still shoulders mixed in with the closeouts. Also, the pulse from the new swell is undeniable. I catch a lot of fast rides to start the sessions. Some of the waves hold shape on the inside, good for a little distance and pumping.

     At about 0730 I turn around to see Francis walking out. The tide's come up a bit, it's still shallow, but the waves don't lose their energy. We both trade off waves; it's literally another wave buffet, just a messy one. I've always felt that foggy conditions make the waves look bigger. Since you only see them at the last second, they are always a surprise. And honestly . . . I don't mind the change of scenery. The South Bay tends to do this, and there's no doubt about the sun shining just over the hill.

     At 0815 Christina joins us. Her and Francis talk about Power Yoga. Apparently, Francis and Nicole went yesterday, but they missed the class with Christina. I manage to get a couple waves with good shape. I pull off a couple turns on some rights, but I pump and go for imitation barrels on the lefts.

     Maybe ten minutes later, Deathwish Dave is in the water; there are four of us. It's not a bad showing of people. The overcast keeps the crowds light, and surfers are so spread out that we all have freedom to maneuver. At about 0830 is when the window of good surf opens. The tide is at the perfect height where it's no too swampy, and the inside's not so shallow any more. Junky peaks continue to form in the distance, but all that matters is that they have shoulders. Christina and Dave let the current take them north, pretty far away from us. I'm tired, but I continue to fight the current.

     After the second hour, things get a little swampy. There are still waves, but we get our first legit lulls of the morning. I'm surprised at how empty the lineup has been. People must've looked out their windows or looked at the surf report and thought that it wasn't worth it. Excellent. Stay home, everyone. Leave the waves to us. At 0930 I'm spent. My paddling arms are weary, and I'm getting hungry. I wave to Christina. She waves back, but she doesn't understand the message that we're leaving. 

$3.99 are you out of your mind?!

     Francis and I go to Mandy's in El Segundo for their breakfast special: 2 hot cakes, 2 sausages, 2 strips of bacon, and 2 eggs. And for how much? $3.99. It's a no brainer. The sun's nice and bright away from the ocean, and we sit outside to enjoy its rays. We part ways and leave the option for an evening session open. I head to Surf Concepts in Manhattan Beach. I'm not sure about surfboards, but everything is 25% off until Sunday. I need to buy wax, but I splurge on an FCS poncho towel. The price is knocked down to $33. Why not make changing at the beach a little bit easier? Now I'm home, Francis just tex'd me to ask about an evening session. I really think that I'll just take it easy. I have work on Friday, and I've surfed for the last ten days straight. Tomorrow will be dedicated to preparing for the weekend. Next week my friend has a camping spot at San Onofre, so I plan to get more surfing in there. All in all, the South Bay has been fun after getting skunked so much down south. Wind, gray skies, cold water, and short rides, we make them worth it.

THE PORTO 500, TUE 8.02.2011 EVE

Crew: Dais & Khang

Time: 1845- 1945, 1 hr.

Conditions: Onshore wind, scattered peaks, choppy, consistent, fast, sunny, cold water temp, 3 feet.

     Yesterday Khang said that he and Dais would surf this afternoon for sure. Dais texts me in the afternoon to let me know that they'll be there around five. I catch up with my blogs today and make it out the door by 1820. I don't have any quarters, so I stop at the laundry mat to make some change. There's a long line at the traffic light just to make that right turn down 45^th St. Dais calls and asks if I have wax. I'm actually down to a couple wax strips from my last bar. I tell them I'll be there in ten seconds. The parking lot is crowded, but at least there isn't a line of cars. I give Khang some wax and ask, “What happened to you this morning?”

     “Oh, we ended up surfing here at about eight. We stayed in until ten. It wasn't that good.”

     “Really? 26^th was all right. I thought it was fun.” They offer to wait for me, but I tell them that time's wasting and to just go out without me. I have my wetsuit, but I decide to trunk it like this morning. As I approach the shore, I see them making it past the white wash. I enter the water, and it's fucking cold. I tell myself that it'll pass. The inside is bombarded by white wash; it never lets up. I'm surprised at the effort that it takes to get out. It looks a little smaller than yesterday but with the same effect. It's windy and choppy, but the waves are coming in steep and fast. Dais is the first one I see to catch a wave. My first wave is a left, but I slip on the drop and spend my short ride on my ass. The section is too fast on my second wave and leaves me behind. Meanwhile Khang sits near his same spot as yesterday and gets long rides right off the bat. I turn to Dais and say, “Khang's new name is Magneto!”

     “Why?”

     “Because he's a fucking wave magnet!” I'm only twenty minutes into the session, and I'm shivering. I don't know how Dais and Khang aren't cold. Maybe it's my drop in weight, I barely have any fat covering my body; I'm like a skeleton nowadays.

     Khang says, “Hey, my body fat is probably just as warm as your 2/2.” He must be right because I'm wondering if I should go back to the car to change real quick. I get some nice T&Gs that shoot me down the line fast. I have to point my nose and steer down the line. I can't get any turns, but it's fun and fast. We're all catching waves. Dais paddles, disappears, and then I see that he actually snaked Khang who's behind him. My best wave is a right-hander that jacks up in front of me. The mooshy shoulder reforms on the inside, and I'm able to do two top turns. I try like hell to get some spray, but the shape is ugly. 

     The whole session is like a race. The waves never stop, the inside is consistent, and the rides are fast and pitchy. It seems that none of us have a chance to rest. I'm panting the whole time. At one point I feel my chest just to feel my heart; it's beating furiously to keep me in the game. These evenings are like the surfing version of the Indy 500.

     I get another set wave, but it closes out. I catch the white wash to shore. There's still some time to surf, but all I want to do is grab my bottle of hot water and pour it over myself. The guys come out ten minutes later. It's another score for an evening session. Right now, the South Bay seems to be delivering. 

SUMMER IN THE SOUTH BAY, TUE 8.02.2011 MOR

Crew: Solo (0/4 showed up)

Time: 0700- 0945, 2 hrs. 7 45 min.

Conditions: Faint onshore wind, average consistency, 2-3 ft., warm, crowded.

     Low tide is around five in the morning, so I give it a good hour to rise a little. I hit the snooze button a couple times, and I get a text from Deathwish Dave. Last night he said he'd roll, but he says he just finished playing video games and is only going to bed now. It's 0539 in the morning. I eat a big bowl of cereal, drink some OJ, take my vitamins, kiss Lauren goodbye, and I'm off to Parks. Again, free parking is rampant. Gawd I love this spot. Fuck the meters. I look at the surf and give a meager report to Khang and Francis. Today I have the full 3/2 wetsuit on because my sleeveless 2/2 is still wet from last night. There aren't many people at at 0700, but Don's already in front of the tower ripping it up with a couple other local guys. I paddle out just south of them. I say good morning, and Don asks about my trip to Bali. Our conversation is cut short by an approaching set. We're both in position, but Don's on my inside. I let him take it without a paddle of my own. Gotta respect the locals.

     I look around for Francis and Khang. Other people near me give me that look like, “What are you looking at?” But I'm not looking at them; I'm trying to find my homeboys. The surf is far from perfect. A lot of waves come in doubled up, some close out, there are small unrideable waves with each lull, and some of the waves are weak. But some of the small waves reform on the inside with a nice shoulder, and some of the bigger waves actually hold shape. It's a picky morning, but there's enough action to keep me busy throughout the whole session.

     The sun makes everything warmer, and the lack of wind brings a heated discomfort in my fullsuit. Definitely a boardshort day, I'm thinking. The waves don't have that shape that make turns easy or plentiful. Instead, I practice going from top to bottom and walking the nose to see how far I can take it. I try to work on my front side turns, but I just can't gather enough speed. Either way, I'm actually on waves with shape, and there are a lot of them.

     I finally give up looking for my people. This session is a lethargic one. I miss a couple waves. I can't flip the switch and get aggressive. I don't know what it is, if my body needs some rest or if I need a break from surfing. Perhaps I ate too much? The line up gets a little more crowded. These last couple days I've noticed that people arrive at the beach late. By 0830 everyone is out there.

     I walk back to my car at 0900. On the way there I pass three chicks and a guy on their way to surf. They all got these flashy wetsuits on. The guy has a thin beard on his cheeks and wears a black wetsuit with green arms and legs. I do a double take. I swear this kid looks like Jeremy Flores. “Oh my God, look how small it is,” one of the girls says. Why the fuck would any pros be here though? It couldn't have been him.

     I change into my boardshorts and walk back to the line up. I was hot and steamy in my wetsuit, but now that I'm all dry, the idea of barebacking it is less appealing. I still paddle out and sit in my exact same spot. My exposed skin has me sliding all over my board, but I feel faster and looser without the wetsuit. I get three waves in a row, each one Immediately after returning to the line up. My arms are working much faster, more like propellers. Even the longboarders are watching me; I'm getting waves that they aren't even going for. They start off small but double up on the inside.

     My wave of the day is a left. It's barely three feet but breaks towards the outside. It's a fast drop, but the inside section is clean. The speed brings me towards the shoulder, so I do my novice cutback and redirect my board in the pocket. The section is still shouldery in front of me, so manage to pull off two top turns. I've been trying hard to work on this, as I'm going for as many lefts as I can. My top turns aren't clean yet, but I'm getting used to the feeling of my tail carving the lip a little. Top turns just feel so different on my forehand. The wave stands up and closes out, but I tuck myself into the face to get slotted when it does.

     Leaving the beach, it's a great feeling to walk away with that small accomplishment. Also, I think I found the problem with my duckdives. Today I gripped the rails lower than I usually do when I submerged my board. I was surprised to make it out the back. Now I can see why people use their knees. I've had wrong hand positioning after all this time.

     I had a good session, and even though everyone flaked it's okay. Two small victories, I'm stoked about them.

CLASSIC PORTO EVENINGS, MON 8.01.2011 EVE

Crew: Khang

Time: 1900-1945, 45 min.

Conditions: Windy, choppy, really consistent, 3 ft. +, sunny, and fun.

     In my fetal stages of surfing, I didn't even look at the forecast. There was a time when all that existed was El Porto. There was no thought of going down to Orange County, Oceanside, San Diego, or even Malibu. Porto, that was it. My friends would urge me to take a road trip somewhere, but I didn't. Porto was all that I needed. I progressed from my NSP with the lame ass flames painted on it, to my medium Becker board, and then finally to a beginner thruster. My surf roots are here. On many of those days after work, I'd drive straight to Porto, and I'd find the choppiest and blown out conditions possible. I never complained. It was all that I knew. I was so grateful just to get in the water. There was no bloodlust for a turn. I could catch a wave going straight with rideable shoulders peeling away from me in opposite directions. It didn't matter. There were those few, glassy evenings where the ocean looked like honey from the way it reflected off the sun. But most days were windy and choppy. Peaks would rise out of no where for a quick turn and slide situation. Those conditions are “Classic Porto” to me.

Surf or Clean?:

     How long has that shit stain been there, I'm thinking to myself when the phone rings. It's Khang. He says that he's at Porto, but it's windy and blown out. It's 1745. I tell him that I'll probably check it out at 1845, let the tide rise, and may be the wind will calm down a bit. I go back to scrubbing and head out the door just before seven.

     On my drive to Porto I look for any sign of wind. It doesn't look that bad. However, as I pull in to the Porto lot, it's pretty fucking windy. I spot Khang's van and park next to it. Well, I told him I'd be here, and it'll be a short session anyway. This time I don't forget my wetsuit. It looks so cold. The wind is making things brutal, and the inside is a stampede of white wash. He said he'd be in front of the bathrooms, but I can't make him out from the crowd. I make my way out to the line up, and the waves are much bigger than they look from the shore. I duckdive a couple rideable peaks. Oh yeah, there's potential. At the lineup I make out Khang. He's surfing next to someone. I don't know who it is, but I assume it's DK. I use my water, stealth tactics to catch him by surprise. He turns and sees me. The guy he's surfing with is named Jamar. He introduces us. Jamar's another local guy that Khang's seen surfing out here for the last couple years. I can't believe that I've never met either one of them on my own. And then again I was in Iraq for a year.

     Khang catches a wave, it's a right. He disappears and pops up above the lip. He comes back and catches a wave again. I see his face above the wave; he's focused. His eyes are wide open, and he's taking these choppy bastards for a good distance. The fucking guy's on point today. I try to get one for myself. I catch a right as well. It's an ugly wave, but it has a shoulder. I bottom turn, pump, and hack the lip. It's not a clean hack, but it's one of the better shoulders that I've had in a while. We three have this spot to ourselves, but Khang and Jamar are sitting right where the waves are breaking. I go a little south of them in hopes to catch one of my own, but all the rides are going to them. They trade off, one after another. I get another wave, but not as good as the first. It's a messy evening of surf, but despite the harsh conditions, these random three foot waves stand up out of nowhere, without warning, and right in front of us. The inside is a lot of work, there's a lot of duckdiving, but it's a welcomed change. A wave jacks up in front of me, I turn, paddle, and drop in. I see Khang paddling back out from the inside. Oh yeah, he's gonna see this, I think to myself. The lip turns rabid and vicious as I pop up. I'm pitched. I push my board to the side, and then I'm fucking air dropping. My goodness, it's such a good wipeout, if there is such a thing! I don't expect it. I resurface and see Khang. “Did you see that?” I ask.

     “Awwww yeah, dawg! That shit was craaaazy!” I should be embarrassed, but I'm not hurt . . . physically. Khang keeps catching more waves.

     “You're a fucking wave magnet!” I shout at him. The wind dies a little, but it's still hard to hear each other over the ocean's activity.

     “Yeah, I know! It's good right now, but I came earlier when it was shitty.” Well, he did, but he paid his dues appropriately and caught the window of good surf in return. I wish that I came earlier, but I actually was busy. We discuss tomorrow's plans. Khang says he's down for 26^th in the morning. Jamar says he's down too. I catch my last wave in. I don't mean for it to be my last wave, but I have five minutes left on the meter, and it's a long paddle back.

     I checked the surf cam before driving down, and it looked like shit. I drove down, and it looked like shit. I never would've expected for the surf to be this good, and I never would've known if I didn't paddle out. Sometimes you just have to do it, and when it's good, it's fucking sweeeet!

SHIVER ME TIMBERS, MON 8.01.2011 MOR

Classic Fransauce

Crew: Christina & Francis

Time: 0745-0945, 2 hrs.

Conditions: A little onshore wind, sunny, cool, inconsistent, weak, 2 feet.

     Francis ended up going to County Line yesterday, and he said he got skunked. That seems to be the theme as of late. I'm not venturing anywhere for a while. I think I'll stay local and play it safe. Maybe it's a better idea to sneak up on good surf instead of making it announced, but for now I'm saving money on gas.

     To my surprise, there's free parking everywhere. I guess the lack of swell has everyone elsewhere. I score a spot on 27^th on top of the lot. Francis and Christina drive by and park. I reach in my bag to prep my gear, but motherfucker, I forgot my fucking wetsuit at home. Shit. Is that payback for Klaude freezing his ass off on Saturday? I didn't enjoy watching him freeze, but I did shake my head at his decision not to bring his wetsuit. Oh well, it's my turn this time.

     I tell Francis how the waves were good yesterday, but this morning the waves are weak and a bit smaller. I touch the water. Cold. I paddle out and get fully submerged. Shock. The sun is burning through a small patch of clouds. It feels so good on my back, but the water's winning the war over my body temperature. I put my arms over my head to avoid them from chilling, but I know it's going to be rough.

     Christina's friend joins us. I forget his name, but he looks like a “Ned.” He looks like one of the cartoon characters from Phneas and Ferb. His head is shaped like the dude in the front of this picture. I'm not making fun of the guy, but it's just my first impression. Christina and Ned end up further South. Francis and I catch a couple waves here and there. He's catching much more than I. I do my best to stay busy. I'm fucking cold. Once I start shivering it's over. Francis says, “Do this.” He puts his hands together, curls his top knuckles down, and rubs his fingernails against each other.

     “This?” I mimic his action. “It's not working!” I can't remember shit from this session. My perspective is off. If you've ever watched footage from a bad camera that doesn't have image stabilization, that's what I see. I scan the horizon for waves, and everything is shaky. I like to interact with my friends when we surf, but I'm silent because I'm suffering.

     Francis sees me turning into ice. “Do this,” he says again. He does the same motion with his hands.

     “This?” I do it again. “You're fucking with me aren't you?”

     “No, the locals up north used to tell me to do that. It keeps your mind off the cold.” I hate being a pussy and freezing like this. It wouldn't be so bad without the wind. Maybe I'm still adjusting to being away from Bali conditions. 

 

     Christina returns to us, where she rightfully belongs, and says to me, “I'm surprised you lasted this long.” Well, not any more. I call the last wave in. Francis invites me over for Japanese food that Nicole just made, but I've cleared my schedule to clean my filthy apartment. Christina says she'll probably opt out of surfing tomorrow, and tells us about Power Yoga in Santa Monica. Maybe one day. As much as I want to say, “It was a great session, I'm glad I paddled out,” I can't. But I can say that I'm happy I got to see Francis. I haven't seen him in a while, and it's always good to surf with friends. At least people showed up. Our surf group is pretty strong right now. Hallelujah.

MAYBE WE SHOULD'VE STAYED LOCAL, SUN 7.31.2011 MOR

Crew: Christina & Klaude

Time: 0740-0940, 2 hrs.

Conditions: Onshore wind early which calmed into the second hour, overcast but turned sunny, choppy but with consistency, 3 foot surf, unexpectedly fun.

My view from behind the bar on barbacking detail.

My best friend hard at work

     This weekend so far is a blur. I'm wiped from all the surfing, all the driving, and to top it off, I had my best friend's party to go to last night. He had a taco man there. I killed off ten, deliciously authentic Mexican tacos. The Al Pastor was the best. I got home around midnight already committed to the morning paddle out with Klaude.

     

    My alarm goes off at 0600, but I keep hitting the snooze button. Klaude finally gives me a wake up call. We discuss our rendezvous and agree that there's no rush this morning. This whole swell is hitting better down south, at least that's what the experts lead us to believe. We're surfing the South Bay which isn't getting much of the brunt. Our expectations are next to nothing, and we're paddling out for the sheer fuck of it.

     On Vista Del Mar I spot Klaude's van in front of me. I pass him up, throw him a shaka, and head to Parks. There's no free parking today, so we go to the lots. We take a look for what the morning has in store. There are waves, but the wind is on shore, the water's choppy, and the peaks look crumbly overall. Francis is a no show, and Christina's on the way. Klaude and I walk out to the tower. It's overcast, so the lineup's not too crowded. Once we paddle out and sit, the waves look different from our new perspective. Sure, the conditions aren't clean, but these choppy waves coming through have a little size. Even better, it's fuckin' consistent. So what, not all of them have shape, but a few do, and enough are coming down the assembly line to score a shoulder or two.

     Klaude gives me my first official introduction to Don, a true, dedicated local at 26^th St. Every time I'm here he's here. You can't miss him. He's an older, light skinned Japanese guy with long hair, and he rips. And then again . . . there are a lot of older Japanese guys with long hair that surf here.

     It doesn't take long for Klaude and I to get our wave count in. We're both scoring lefts and rights. I don't get many turns down, but we're catching so many waves that I don't give a shit. It's so much better than yesterday's surf. Christina shows up and paddles by us, but the current takes her south and away, and then the unexpected happens. The sun comes out and the fucking wind dies. Just like that, the conditions get pristine. By all means, the water's not perfectly glassy, but the chop settles a bit. Klaude and I talk about how Francis is missing out.

     It's a two hour session, and I can't remember any significant rides for the life of me. All I know is that it was worth it. I was stoked to have scored and stoked to have caught it with a couple of good friends. 26^th St., with it's poor conditions that were forecast, turns out to be our surf savior for the day. Traveling to surf is good, but sometimes you have to have faith in your local breaks. Godspeed.

DRC SURF TRIP: TRESTLES (double sesh), SAT 7.30.2011 NOON

Crew: Christina, Klaude, Dais, Khang, Cheryl, Lauren

Time: ??

Conditions: Sunny, warm, inconsistent, 2-3 feet, crowded.

Churches:

It barely counts for a double session, but I didn't make the drive to paddle out only once. I'm watching Khang and Dais in front of me. They've drifted all the way from North Middles to South Churches. There seem to be scattered peaks on the inside, and some are unridden. I change into some shorts for a quick paddle out, an hour tops. I paddle up to the guys. They congratulate each other on going the distance for the first sesh. It's been hours at this point. Five maybe?

I paddle just outside of the main Churches' pack. It's crowded; I'm surrounded by groms. They take all the little waves, and I'm blessed with a few empty peaks here and there. Before I know it, I'm catching a handful of little waves. It's sad to admit this, but in the first twenty minutes I'm having more fun than I did in the morning session. At least there's a little shoulder to work with here and there. I goof around and pull off a couple walking 360s. It's looks stupid doing it on a shortboard, but it's one of the few tricks that I can claim in my vacant repertoire or lack thereof. However, I do pull one off very clean. I turn around for recognition. I think I get a thumbs up from Klaude.

I get more small waves, but it's time to go home. We pack up and GTFO. Damn, what a shame. I guess we all pay our skunk dues today. It's just the way it is sometimes. You can't plan to score; it just happens. Maybe that's why some of our best sessions are when we're alone, when we least expect it.

DRC SURF TRIP: TRESTLES, SAT 7.30.2011 MOR

The few, the proud, the DRC.

Crew: Christina, Klaude, Dais, Khang, Cheryl, Lauren

Time: ??

Conditions: Overcast, cold, onshore wind, inconsistent, long lulls, slightly choppy, no bueno.

Poor Mr. Seal didn't stand a chance. His head is chewed off. Bad omen?

Preblog:

      Despite going to Trestles the last two days, Saturday morning was already planned ahead. On Wednesday Christina suggested that we all go somewhere to surf, so it was a unanimous decision for Saturday to be dedicated to Trestles. After all, the swell forecast had a fair rating. A lot of us work during the week, so it would be perfect timing to score some good waves down south, but would we?

Start Point (SP) El Segundo:

      The plan is to leave as early as possible. I told Klaude the night before that we're going to be real assholes and leave by 0515, no later. I wake up Lauren a lot earlier than she is used to. Most of our stuff is ready to go and prepacked. Klaude shows up in the bang bus at 0500. It's my first time strapping three boards to my roof rack. I pray we don't lose them.

      It's a dark morning with barely a hint of light. Khang's on the road just minutes behind us. We pass Lowers to see its peak working, but we don't see anything breaking at Middles. One good sign is that the wind is calm. As we pull up to the Churches' parking lot we see clean, uncrowded peaks rolling through. There are some longboarders selling the morning surf. It looks good.

Can we score . . . please?:

    Lauren's here for moral support. Actually, she's here to get out of LA and do some work on the sand while we surf. The rest of us are all changed, and we wait for the rest of the gang that park at San Onofre. We exchange the morning greetings in anticipation of catching classic Trestles' conditions. I get everyone together and struggle for a group pic. Just as I set the self timer, my camera falls. A fellow surf patron approaches and offers to take the pic. He does, and we make it official: DRC Trestles trip, it's a picture for the archives.

As we are walking out, the winds begin to pick up. Churches still looks clean, but we're taking a page out of yesterday's book: go straight to the BP or the cliff. Lauren says she wants to look at all the little pools of water from the low tide while the rest of us head out. I stage my gear right on the BP. “The lulls are long,” Klaude says. I look out as a set approaches. It's a little walled, but there's still a fun right-hander in the mix. I'm optimistic. I can only hope for the best, and a long lull is okay as long as the wait is repaid with a rippable wave. We spread out on the sand and paddle out following our own instincts for the best place to sit. There's a small crowd at the cliff, so I stay just outside of it. Christina, Cheryl, and Dais are further south. Khang and Klaude mix right in with the pack to feed the beast. 

      Here we are. We traveled from LA goddammit. Not just me, but seven of us sacrificed our Saturday to get some good fucking waves. Well, I wish I could write about some because as soon as we enter the water, the session starts with a long ass lull. When a set approaches, it's walled and closing. The wind gets even stronger, the overcast is still thick, the water is cold, and instead of surfing, we're just bobbing. Sure, we get waves, but they aren't clean. Christina paddles up to see if my spot is any better. I'm frustrated, so I keep working my way north. The tides still coming up, it can get better. The wind can die, the sun can shine, and conditions may clean up. I'm still hoping for the best. I have to.

      Rewind to the morning. In the car, Klaude told me that he didn't bring his wetsuit. “I had to ditch the wetsuit,” he said. Fuck, I didn't want to piss on his parade, but I knew for a fact that the past couple mornings were cold. It's a bold move. I wouldn't do it, but I let nature takes its course. He could've been the one laughing at us if the weather favored him. We're just about into our first hour of surfing when Klaude paddles up to me. “It's cold,” he says. “I need to keep busy and paddle around.” Damn, I know he's suffering. I'm cold in my 2/2, I can imagine what a wetsuit jacket and boardshorts feel like.

      I keep paddling north, but the rides are the same, the peaks are scattered, and the lulls are long. I'm just south of Lowers hoping that the surf gods will sling something my way. Klaude paddles by me and says, “Fuck this, I'm going.”

      “You're going to Lowers?”

      “I have to. I need some waves,” he says. I commend him. Lowers is the only peak that's working consistently, but it's packed as usual. I can't sit my ass at Middles; nothing is coming. Klaude's going to the lion's den while I'm sitting in a choppy lake. I follow his lead and sit south of the crowd. Klaude goes right into the middle. I get lucky. A wave swings double wide. I paddle and kick as hard as I can. The guy on my inside has priority, but he lets me have it. It's wave number one at Lowers. A little later, a small inside wave forms. I don't know why no one's on it, but I consider it a gift from Mother Ocean. Thank you.

      I'm not sure how much time elapses through these two waves, but Klaude's on the shore, so I make my way in. I thought he was there, but now he's paddling past me making his way back out again. I think he had a cramp that he had to stretch out. We make our way back to the peak. There's a little bit of current dragging everyone north, but everyone is fighting it to stay in position. I hang next to the pack in hopes for a wave. I paddle, I feel the slide, but someone's on my inside pumping down the line. This time I'm in the front row next to the guys who own it. I paddle, I can get it, but one of the stand-out surfers has the inside again. This goes on for a couple more waves. It's really not a hard wave to catch at all, it's just a competitive paddle battle. I'm over it. Klaude remains while I make my way back to the BP. The morning is still filled with lulls and a few shitty rides. Khang and Dais have drifted towards the center of Middles. I see Lauren at the BP, so I catch one in and call it a morning.

      On the walk back I wave to Khang and Dais. I assume that they're letting the drift control their surfing destinies. Lauren and I can't spot Cheryl or Christina, but when we get back to the car, they are there. “You guys could've gotten the keys from Lauren,” I tell them.

      “We couldn't find her,” they reply. We get into some dry clothes and start digging into our lunches. It wasn't a morning of epic surf, but I'm still hungry. PB&J never tasted so good. I savor each bite, chew it slow, and let out a moan of ecstasy with each swallow. I love post surf meals. You're so hungry that even a Saltine cracker will drive you nuts. 

 

      Klaude shows up and tells us the frustrations of surfing with the Lowers' pack. Khang and Dais have drifted in the thick of the Churches' crowd. We all relax on the sand and rest. Lauren's napping next to me while I watch the fellas to see if they catch anything. It's a failure of a trip so far. I contemplate paddling out again.