HOUSE WINS (double sesh), WED 9NOV2011 EVE

Crew: Francis

Time: 1500-1700, 2 hrs

Conditions: Sunny, clear, warm air, stinky and cold water, glassy, 1-2 ft, consistent, low tide, closeouts.

            We go to Café Del Sol for brunch. I order the machaca and Francis gets something so spicy that he rushes his meal. It’s my second time here; the first time was on my way to Baja. We drag out the meal in hopes that the conditions are miraculously improving while we eat. When we get back we can see the cobblestones exposed along the shore. The wind blows steadily onshore, and there are some consistent waves coming in. The main issue is with the size. Everything is about two feet. We watch and try to make the conditions better than they are, but it’s clear that there are no three foot pulses. Again, a small handful of longboarders rule.  

            In desperation, we walk along the San Onofre side to see what it’s doing over there. I’ve never been there during the day, and I show Francis the little hodads that Rick brought me to for the first time months ago. A lot of older people are hanging out in the lot or are laying out on the sand, most likely where they planned to spend their whole day. An old timer greets us with a hello as we walk by. When I respond with good afternoon he says, “Is it that time already for ‘good afternoon?’” I wonder if I’ll be chillin’ at the beach like this when I’m older. 

            The hodads are the highlight while the surf still proves to be tiny. We drive back to Churches but fail to find the worth in paddling out. Just then a truck full of guys pulls up next to us. Their windows are closed, but we can hear the commotion going on inside. They pour out and look at the break. I hear, “Look at that, look at that!” followed by hoots of praise. They reach in the truck bed and pull out assortments medium boards and fishes; they are stoked. 

            The drive back is a little depressing. I thank Francis for taking this gamble with me and coming along. He says, “I’ve been skunked so many times over the years that I’m used to it.” I guess that’s the attitude I need to have. He’s been surfing longer than me, and in my short time surfing I have definitely had my share of “the skunk,” but I still get bummed out the same every time.

            For shits and giggles we stop by 26^th St. to see if it’s worth a local paddle out. The tide is around zero feet. Small little 1-2 foot peaks form and fizzle over shallow water. It’s much worse than Churches. I make the remark that if we could have juxtapositioned both breaks we would’ve paddled out for a second sesh down south. We drive to Porto and it’s just a hair better. We walk all the way to Hammers to see if there are signs of life. Coming back to the car we lean over the El Porto rails and look out. I say, “Dude, I’m with you, man. We can paddle out, but it’ll be like this until at least another hour when the tide comes up a little.”

            “If it wasn’t such a nice day I could just turn around and not even think about it.” 

            He’s right. There is zero wind here compared to down south. It’s one of those classic, El Porto, late afternoons that are super glassy, uncrowded, and warm . . . minus the waves. They look like they want to do something, but because of the tide they close. The thought of going home gives me a feeling of emptiness. We put two hours worth of quarters in the meter and suit up.

            The water’s just as cold, but the surface texture is so smooth, ideal for good shape. We trudge through kelp as we walk towards deeper water. Little bits of trash still linger from the weekend rain, and the water smells like stale garbage. Welcome to the South Bay. Some waves break in front of us. They start off so clean that they look rideable; all we need is more tide. I turn to Francis and say, “I got a good feeling about this one.”

            Immediately after paddling out, we catch waves in rapid succession, but these rides are all short. The drop-ins are fun, and some of the bigger waves actually go a little hollow for an imitation barrel on the closeout. Even though they’re not lining up, I’m having fun just dropping in. The crowd thickens momentarily, but everyone’s spaced out evenly. The low sun is blinding, and the water is so smooth that the light reflects back up as if we’re at an indoor pool. The water is unbelievably still which keeps us from any thoughts of turning around. The tide’s coming up a little, but the shape is still marginal. My wave of the day comes during sunset. I paddle into the shoulder where I have the best chance to get the most out of the shoulder. The face holds long enough for me to get two bouncy and responsive pumps, and then . . . the wave closes out. That’s it, that’s my wave of the day; two pumps culminate the whole day’s surf journey: the drive, the trials, and the search to find more. I’m a two pump chump, and usually I’d be pretty upset, spawning with negative energy all the way home. 

            On the way back to the car I wasn’t sad at all, in fact there was some sense of fulfillment and satisfaction. We tried; we did our best. The conditions were better down south but still not good overall. We came back home and still paddled out despite the meager conditions. It was a fun little sesh to put a period on the day. Sure, there was no shape, but we stayed busy, and the repetition of dropping into smooth faces before tucking into oblivion had its value of fun. Today wasn’t the day to go out searching for surf, but if we hadn’t we’d be indoors surfing the internet instead, maybe going on jizzonline to blow one good load on a dirty T-shirt out of boredom (me for sure, I don’t know about Francis), and we wouldn’t have even gotten our toes in the sand or our feet wet. Despite gambling and losing, we spent the day doing the best thing possible: surfing.

           

            After we changed I started the car to leave, but I took a look up at the ocean. “Damn, check that shit out,” I said. Francis turned. It was one of the most majestic sunsets that I’ve ever seen at Porto. The horizontal lines of the faint pulses of waves moved in as they reflected the orange and pink sky. The oil rig in the ocean shined its lights in the distance looking like a floating city. Streaks of clouds froze as the pink turned to a light purple with every passing second. The sunset remained picturesque until I made that right turn on Grand Ave., officially turning my back and saying good bye to the sun and the sea. No . . . our day wasn’t wasted at all. 

HOUSE WINS, WED 9NOV2011 MOR

Location: Churches

Crew: Francis

Time: 0900-1030, 1 hr & 30 min

Conditions: Sunny, clear, warm air, cold water, building onshore wind, 1-2 ft, inconsistent, high tide.

            With the Veterans Day holiday, I had Tuesday off from school. Tuesday was the day that I really wanted to surf. I woke up at 0530, started getting my shit ready, but then I had the gut feeling that I should stay home and use the time to polish off some assignments. Lauren later told me that maybe it was because I was tired. That too perhaps. Since I’m going out of town this weekend, I’ve been trying to tackle my papers early to make life easier on myself.

            Looking at the surf forecast, Wednesday was  going to be a small day. The South Bay was 1-3 feet with poor conditions while South OC was 2-3 feet and “fair.” There’s something about that color change from blue to green that raises some optimism for the surf fiend. Wanting to at least dedicate one day for surf in the midst of my studies, Wednesday would be the day for a gamble. 2-3 foot surf isn’t promising, but I have surfed Trestles in the most pristine of conditions when small surf is actually consistent, fun, and rideable--ideal 2-3 foot days. Of course, that’s what I was thinking in my mind. Don’t we all approach sessions that way? Even though the end result is usually the opposite, it sure is sweet when it works out.

            I checked the roster and hit up Francis, Khang, Jonathan (formerly known as J but now upgraded to the “new” Jonathan since the other one is a flake), and Shan. Francis was the only one with the open schedule. I briefed him on the operation. I kept emphasizing “it may be small.” Francis is the perfect battle buddy because he doesn’t really care. On his days off he’d rather be looking for surf than stuck at home. I had a taker.

           

Pick up your cards:

            Because of the near six foot tide at 0730, I tell him to meet me at 0700. There’s no rush. The idea is to catch the tide as it’s going down in hopes to catch the window of good surf as it starts. It’s hard to deprogram myself to surf later. As a surfer, dawn patrolling or paddling out early is usually the theme of any morning sesh, so I’m going against my natural instinct to leave before first light. Traffic is a little heavier on the freeway, but the carpool lane saves us. As we pull up to Trestles we get a glimpse of Lowers from the highway. Francis does a count, “One, two, three . . . seven guys out.” I turn my head to take a look . . . I don’t see anything. Worst of all, there’s no crowd at Lowers--bad sign.

            The weather’s gorgeous out. As we pass under the trestle we’re thrust into the scenery of palm trees, sand, and blue skies mimicked by blue and glassy water. We park, and the second I open my car door I can feel that there’s no wind. It’s a cool morning that’s warming up into the low seventies. It’s the ideal mid-week crowd with only a half dozen heads out. Our optimism prevails as we go on about how we love surfing during the week, happy that we’re not stuck in an office and have the opportunity to venture out. Unfortunately, the only thing missing is waves. Most of the surfers out are longboarders. We see one shortboarder crank out a nice turn on a right before the wave fizzles. We tell ourselves that it’s just the high tide and that things are bound to get better. Some clean two footers roll through, and the usual three peaks at Churches seem to be working. We take our time changing and make our way to the sand.

            First we walk north to take a look at Middles . . . nothing. Lowers isn’t doing its signature thing either. Today, Churches is the call. Rick let me borrow his 4/3 wetsuit to use in San Fran. I put it on to test it out. The second my feet touch the water I turn to Francis and say, “The water’s not bad.” By the time I’m knee deep I feel water leaking through my right knee padding and both leg seams. When I get waist deep I feel water leaking through my crotch. The ice-chilled water creeps up my lower back, and the decision is made that I’m not using this thing in Frisco. 

            We sit at the northernmost peak. I try to pick off the lefts. Some waves come through, but they are weak, slopey two footers. Once I pop up all I can do is trim. Francis gets a couple rights, and he converses with the longboarder next to him. When I paddle up to Francis later he says, “That guy said it’s only going to get better.” Yes, so we are hoping. 

            The windless morning is now turning a bit side shore. After the first hour the consistency picks up a little, and we can see some pulses in the distance. The waves are barely over two feet, but we scratch out on them. The wind seems to kill the erectness of the shape, and before we know it the crowd starts to thin. Now sitting at this peak is just Francis and I. The hopes that the surf would get better with the dropping tide fail to materialize. We decide to walk further north to see if it’s any better, but catching a wave in takes so long that I finally paddle in (I hate paddling in). We walk a little north to see Middles and Lowers, and it’s just as bad. What a goddam waste. Back at Churches we see some longboarders going the distance on some small rights. It’s a field day for them. We comment on how it’s a good day for bigger boards then question ourselves on the last time we’ve longboarded. 

            We call the morning session early. The plan is to eat and come back for another look.

THE ONLY THING MISSING WAS SNOW, SUN 06NOV2011 MOR

Crew: Rick and the WHC, Christina, Klaude, Khang, and Shan

Time: 0630-0945, 3 hrs & 15 min

Conditions: Rain, dark sky to light and then rain again, consistent, crowded, anywhere from 3-5 feet, and freezing.

            As Klaude says, “Saturday is for travel, Sunday is for staying local.” On Saturday night I sent texts out to the girls who I haven’t surfed with in a while. Christina and Cheryl said that they’d show up. Shan even text me and suggested an early sesh because of the time change. It made sense. The plan was to get up super early before anyone else, score a good parking spot, and try to paddle out before 0600.

            Waking up at 0515, I’m alarmed by a certain text. It’s from Christina: “It’s raining . . . are you still going to surf?” 

Raining . . . what? I look outside my window. The street’s dry as a bone. “Not raining in El Segundo,” I reply. I’m delayed now. I pull up the weather forecast, and learn that rain is expected. I had no idea. I brew up some tea and grab my thickest wetsuit that’s 3.5/2.5, but it’s still wet. I open the closet and whip out the Hurley 3/2. I anticipate the morning chill. 

Donning my wetsuit, I head out just before 0600, and water starts tapping my windshield just as I drive off. I arrive too late; there’s no free parking anywhere. There’s a line of cars waiting for the lot to unlock. I can’t really tell what the surf is doing, but I see a couple peaks working. I drive round and round, Marine to Rosecrans and find nothing. For the first time, I venture east of Highland Ave. and park all the way at the top of the hill. It’s not close to the ocean, but it beats paying a quarter for every ten minutes. I text Rick and he’s already suiting up. 

The view outside my window is dismal. Clouds are blowing in, the ground is wet, and the offshore wind makes everything sway. The sun is rising; I’ve never had this view from atop this hill. It’s gorgeous, but it makes me cold at the same time. It’s so bitter.  . . . It’s winter.

I’m in my Hurley disco wetsuit, the 3/2. I’ve never owned a 4/3 before. I don’t know how I survived last winter because all my wetsuits had holes in them. Thinking back, I think I pulled a lot of short sessions. 

Walking down the hill, it’s extremely overcast, but there’s a patch of clear sky where the sun is, so things might clear up. It’s an isolated walk down; no other surfers join me in the trek to the water. As I cross Highland Ave., I see something that I’ve never seen on a South Bay morning: a rainbow. It’s so feint. I take a picture. As the sun rises a bit more the rainbow becomes more apparent. I can’t stop taking pics of it; it’s beautiful. 

Once near the lots I see Dave T., Manny A., and Jimmy B. As we walk out to the tower, we already spot Rick in the lineup. The crowd isn’t too thick yet, and there are some decent waves despite the high tide. I do a light warm up and make my way out. The water’s cold, but I can manage. What’s worse is that the water smells like shit, literally. I try to put that in the back of my mind. After all, everyone out here is taking shit-water in their sinuses as well, why can’t I? Just don’t drink it. 

I can only imagine how good yesterday was if today is this good. Waves are forcing themselves to break, even with the high tide. Solid peaks with four foot faces roll through, and they open up all the way to shore. Usually I get some form of wave anxiety because of the over excitement, but since I’m local, I’m calm in waiting. My best waves are just before 0700. I get a steep, fast, right hander that I get three turns on. My first top turn hooks, and the speed still propels me. I stall on the last turn, but I’m already on the shore anyway. My second wave is a left. The whole time I’m fighting to get to the open face, and I end it on a small carve and slight tail drift. I’ll keep these waves brief, as they are not what “makes” the session.

Christina paddles up to me on her Becker board and says, “I haven’t been in the water for a while. I have to catch one today.” Rick surfs by us as we exchange small talk between waves. I’m a little bummed that no one else made it out. I’m sure Cheryl and Klaude saw the rain and went back to bed. The crowd thickens a bit, and it gets harder to catch waves without someone on them already. The morning drizzle starts to pick up to a steady consistency, and that’s about when I see Khang and Klaude warming up on the sand. 

It gets so crowded that it’s hard to keep track of everyone. Even Manny drifts to where I am before heading back south almost a hundred yards away. I can’t tell if everyone else is getting waves, but the rain starts coming down in a torrential down pour. Surf scenes are usually mellow, but this is more like a battle—chaos in the water. And still, despite these conditions it’s crowded. How could it be this stormy with offshore winds and clean surf? The DRC huddles for a moment. I overhear Khang and Christina talking. She’s stoked. “It was my best wave ever!” she says.

“Yeah,” says Khang. “It was one of those waves that just like . . . opens up everything for you, like you know you can do more.” I know what he means. I wish I could’ve seen her wave, but I’m glad that she got a good one. Water splashes all around us, the current pulls us north, and there’s nothing but darkness in the horizon ahead of us. The darker shadows formed in the pockets of the forming waves add to the eeriness of it all. It’s like we’re in some kind of time warp. With the clocks back an hour, lack of sun, and blanketed darkness, it could almost be any time of the day, even sunset and it would be hard to tell. I see Klaude in front of me. He holds out his hands as the rain falls upon them. He looks back at me. We both know what we’re thinking. How remarkable to be out here surfing on a day like this. This will be a hard one to explain to anyone not here. Madness and beauty combined into one with surf piled on top of it; it’s unbelievable. This is a morning where one belongs sitting at home in front of the TV, wrapped up in blankets with pajamas on, and with a hot chocolate in hand while the sound of rain and wind pelts and roars outside the window. Not us . . . we’re at the motherfuckin’ beach!

Even though my waves of the day are done, we are all still catching some. Wave of the day goes to Klaude. A plus-sized wave rolls through. I’m too deep in the peak to go, but I see Klaude paddle for a late take off on his fish. He disappears then skirts the highline before reentering. He takes it all the way to shore. It looked like a critical drop, and he managed it on the fish. It’s clutch. 

After 0900 we spot Shan in the water. By the time he paddles up, most of the crowd leaves. By now I’m shivering my ass off. The rest of the crew leave before us, and goodbyes are exchanged through distant waives. The sky clears over Santa Monica, and we can see bright white clouds mixed with patches of blue. The offshore wind gets strong, and the shape becomes long and racy. Shan and I catch one in to end the morning. 

I’m home by 1000, but it feels much later. I take a long, scalding hot shower followed by breakfast and a long power nap. When I wake, it’s a clear day with nothing but blue skies, almost like this morning never happened. But it did happen, and those that never made it out will never know nor understand. It was more than a session. All of us out there together, it was like we were a part of something. Long live the DRC.