Location: South Huntington
Crew: Khang
Ran into: Jim
Time: 0815-1015, 2 hrs
Conditions: 2-3 ft, inconsistent, started off with good conditions until the winds started howling.
Pre-blog:
I can’t believe it’s been sixteen days since I’ve surfed. It was a sacrifice I had to make. With work, assignments due, and finals, there was no other way. On top of that stress, things at home aren’t so good right now. This is definitely one of the low moments of my life, but you know what they say: “We need those moments to appreciate life,” but I’m not too sure how I feel about that right now. I should be sleeping but can’t, despite plans to surf at first light. I love writing, so consider this my night therapy.
Sesh:
I had finals yesterday which officially put a lid on the semester, the hardest semester of school that I’ve ever had. There were at least two days that I went without sleeping, finishing off my papers and going straight to school . . . brutal. Looking at the forecast for Friday, I didn’t want to waste time on surfing one to three foot, poor to fair conditions locally. Huntington had the best forecast according to Surfline. I sent out the text, and Khang was down to go. Instead of making our start time at 0600, I thought I’d take it easy and shoot for 0700.
I know I’m getting rusty when it takes me twenty minutes to suit up. I broke down and bought some earplugs from Surf Concepts. I had to. I know all that water I get trapped in my sinuses can’t be good. As we walk across PCH the conditions are pristine: slight offshore breeze, not a cloud in the sky, and the sun bringing the air temp just under the seventies. The only question is if there’s surf. Crossing the vast area of sand we finally see the ocean. There are only three guys out, the tide is kind of low, but there are some small waves just under three feet that look rideable. We’re stoked. “Damn!” says Khang. “Now that you’re back the waves are back too!” Maybe I should prohibit such statements and consider them as “jinx.”
Khang eyes a peak a little more to our south. I snap a couple picks and bury my camera in an obvious area where there are tire tracks. Sixteen days ago the water was much warmer. My feet and hands freeze as I make my way out. I’m a bitch all over again; it’s been a while. It takes about ten minutes before the first rideable wave comes through, not even three feet. It’s small and racy, but we both catch it and go straight. After that . . . nothing. There’s a long lull. It’s still a beautiful day. A seal swims towards the inside, harmless, chillin’. We start forcing rides out of the little bumps, catching them more towards the shallows. It’s a quiet session. With these new earplugs I can’t hear a world Khang is saying, so I can only nod my head and say, “Yeah,” but the conversation is beyond me.
We get a couple more insignificant pulses and let the current take us north. I run into one of my brother’s friends, Jim. We catch up and talk about my brother for a bit. He says, “Last spring me and your brother were getting barreled out of our minds out here!” Well, definitely not today. My paddling feels strong, and I feel good on my board, but the waves aren’t happening.
By 0930 the offshore winds start to pick up. Then . . . it turns into a windstorm. The surface is rippling away out to sea. With each crashing wave comes a stinging sheet of needle-sharp water. I look at Khang, and his hair’s all over the place, blowing in his face. Sand from the shore approaches, and rainbows form in the mist. What also sucks is, the surf gets a little more consistent, but the wind makes it hard to drop into the wave. Jim tears it up. He’s just your classic old dude that rips. Shit . . . most old guys I see fuckin’ shred, except for maybe the old-old dudes longboarding at Churches; they’re mellower anyway.
I get two fun little rides. The wind held my wave up, and I hunkered down next to the face and saw the barrel potential if it was bigger. The lip came down and smacked me right in the face, knocking me off my board. It was barely three feet. The second wave jacked up on the inside and had a steep shoulder. I grabbed rail, made the section, then kicked-out unscathed. Nope, no turns today. That’s the best I can do.
We waved by to Jim and made our way back to shore. Our boards resisted our grips and awkwardly sent us staggering backwards. It reminded me of snowboarding through a blizzard in mammoth; we had to keep our eyes closed from the sand. Worst of all, my dumb ass didn’t think about the wind shifting the ground. When I got back to the spot where I buried my camera, the fucking tire tracks (obviously now) were gone; everything was a smooth beige canvas. I still had a good idea where I buried it, so I dug up a couple holes. Keep in mind, the wind is peppering us the whole time. I can’t fucking find it and neither can Khang. I leave in disarray, vowing to return one day . . . with a shovel.
The session was followed up by a large bowl of pho at this Vietnamese spot right by the 405 fwy. Khang treated since I drove. Good man. So that’s it, my first session since being back. I consider it a little teaser. I hope this weekend has some good swell. Lesson learned on the fuckin’ camera too.
