EVERYONE ELSE SAID IT WAS GOOD, FRI 28DEC2012 MOR

My bro asked if I had an extra beanie. "I sure do!" I said.

 

Loc: El Porto

Time: 0815-1000

Crew: Randy.  

Conditions: 4-5 FT, offshore, walled, crowded.

     I haven’t surfed for the last couple of days because it was raining and because I’ve been moving.

#

     Randy and I are at Manhattan Beach. . . . It’s walled here, and barely anyone is out. From there we go to Porto. Khang’s on his way. I send him a text, letting him know that the shape here is a little better and that Randy and I will be in front of the sandwich shacks.

     This is a short post because I can’t remember any decent rides. In fact, I probably didn’t get any decent rides at all.

     When Randy and I left, Khang called. He said he saw where we paddled out but that it was too crowded. He said that it was good at 45^th, which is funny because I saw that 45^th was pretty crowded too. Later, John A. also confirmed with me that Porto was good today. My bro and I had a different experience.

ANNUAL DRC CHRISTMAS SESH, TUE 25DEC2012 MOR

 

Loc: Manhattan Beach

Time: 0700-1030

Crew: Randy, Klaude, Khang, Dais, Hideki.  

Conditions: 5 FT, offshore, consistent, walled with a mix of shoulders, uncrowded.

     My bro flew in last night. He spent the night at my studio, which was a terrible mess. Even though this place fits me well, it doesn’t accommodate a second person. Tomorrow we’d be surfing with the DRC in the morning and having dinner with my family in the evening.

#

     Randy knows the plan and where we’re surfing, but I still suggest for us to at least have a look at Porto before heading further south. On the way there, Rick calls. He says that he has to watch the girls today, so he can’t paddle out. When I tell him I’m not surfing Porto, he says, “Porto has man waves. Where you surf is for sissies.”

     My brother laughs.

     “John’s there right now,” says Rick. “You guys should go check him out.”

     After I get off the phone, Randy says, “At least he tells the truth . . . but I like the crowd better where you surf.”

     When we pull into the Porto lot, we spot John, Gary, and Russell. Randy and I look at the swell. Big, shouldery peaks are rolling in, and it’s not even crowded yet. It’s obvious that the surf is good here. I wave to Russell and say, “We’re gonna check further south.”

     “Really?” he says. He has a tone that suggests that we’re making a bad decision. But I can’t back out. Today I have an annual DRC paddle out. I have to go.

     Randy looks at me, noticing I'm in a bit of dismay. “I’m okay,” he says. “Do your thing. Surf with your friends.”

     It’s easy for him to say this, as he just flew in from Hawaii, catching a solid swell, at least six feet Hawaiian scale. My bro never says “six feet” unless it’s big, and when he says “big” that means that it’s fucking humungous.

     When we drive to the next spot, we catch Klaude and Hideki heading out to the sand. I stop him and tell him that Porto is way better than this spot.

     “Really?” he says.

     I’m trying to convince him to change location. Khang even calls and is interested in my current report.

     Klaude looks at the surf then looks back at me and says, “Yeah, but we can have all of this to ourselves.”

     My bro and I look out. A right hander peels in, nice and soft. It’s close to five feet.

     “Yeah, there’s some shoulders out there,” says Randy.

     “Okay,” I say.

     Klaude laughs. “That was easy!”

#

     Randy and I warm up on the sand together, but I cut my warm up short. I just want to get out there. I meet the boys in the water. We give each other a “Merry Christmas.” My brother paddles out shortly, also exchanging holiday greetings with the other fellas. He paddles out a little north of us, catching a right-hand bomb, drawing first blood. Klaude hoots him on, as a bucket of water sprays out the back. Randy does it again. And then another one.

     Seeing this puts me in the zone. My bro’s here; I wanna surf hard and get me one of those too. I’m not aware if anyone else is on one, but I catch a right too, maybe a little smaller than my brother’s, but I get a good, opening snap. It feels good, like I threw something out as well. I get a second one before the wave bogs out. Klaude, Khang, and Dais are throwing me shakas. It must have looked decent. And then . . . it’s like a Wild West shootout.

     Everyone is catching waves; that first, early window is good for at least an hour. My bro goes late, really late way behind the section, still making it to the open face and cranking turns. I get at least three more solid rights, good down-the-line ones, just begging to be carved.

     Sure, Porto was better, but the surf here is less crowded, I’m with my boys, and we’re having a stoked session. This Christmas session is also special to me because my bro is here, and he’s surfing with all my friends on a good day; it’s a dream come true.

#

     Towards the end of the session, the shape gets more walled, and more surfers start trickling into the lineup. Hideki is now on the sand, taking photos, but I’m so tired that I can’t manage to get any good rides. Even though the waves are closing out, I see my brother in front of me as I’m paddling back out. He’s going on a bomb right, pumping and driving in the barrel. The look on his face is intense. He barely has any room to work with, but he’s focused, staring in front of him while working his board. The wave clam shells before he makes it to the end. I’m lucky he doesn’t, as I would have gotten run over.

     Randy and I are back at the car, changing, just past the three hour mark. I’m so tired and worn out, but I had so much fun. Thanks to Klaude, we made the right call. It’s a DRC Christmas session to remember. We’ll be looking back on this one for sure.

MORE MISSED BARRELS, SAT 22DEC2012 MOR

Not deep enough

Loc: El Porto

Time: 0700-?

Crew: Klaude, Rick, Gary, Russel, Dave T., John A., Jimmy B.  

Conditions: 5-6 FT, offshore, consistent, walled with a mix of shoulders, crowded.

     Klaude had texted me the night before, asking where I wanted to surf. I told him that I had to stay local because of my move. I suggested that he surf Porto because Rick would be there and because Rick just finished repairing his surfboard (Rick jousted it on accident), that he would be taking with him. Klaude implied that he still wanted to surf more south but that he would still meet me at Porto to check the surf.

#

     When I pull up to the bathrooms where Rick is parked, Klaude is already there, and I’m surprised to see that he’s already changing. He must’ve seen something that changed his mind to make him want to surf here.

     I’d like to think that my surf crew is strong, but compared to Rick’s buddies, they eclipse us in experience, ability, and consistency, as KK and I are the only representatives of the DRC. 

     I say hi to Rick, and I’m just stoked to see everyone else who came out to surf with him, guys that I haven’t had a chance to surf with in a while.

     The surf is a little walled, but there are lots of good shoulders to be had, and despite the high tide some of the waves are big and hollow. Klaude and I watch in amazement. Russel, Gary’s son, goes for bombs, getting distance and making it out. We even see him set up on a right-hand drop, getting some cover up down the line. Rick’s the same as usual, scoring with ease on his thick, meaty boards. Gary takes off deep, living up to his nickname Balls Deep; he goes deeper than I would ever go. I can’t believe how good these guys are, how much older they are and able to charge. I hope I will still be able to do the same when I’m fifty.

     I go left, trying to pull in, but choose my waves poorly. I’d like to think that I’m getting barrel practice, but I’m pulling into closeouts or waves that don’t even go hollow; I’m forcing. It’s not until I go right, that I’m able to have fun on some back-hand snaps. Right now, my rear-hand top turn is the strongest thing I have in my arsenal, which isn’t much. But the big, steep drops set me up for a lot of speed. My JS is perfect for this surf, as the six-foot and three-inch length allows me to paddle into bigger waves than my Tokoro. I climb the face from my bottom turn fast, making a nice splashing sound as I disrupt the surface of the smooth shoulder with my top turn. I get one more turn on the inside.

     “That was a nice wave,” says John. “You got some nice spray out.”

     “Thanks,” I say. I appreciate the compliment, but what I really want is a barrel.

Missed Barrels:

     A while later, I catch a left that actually holds shape. I’m drawing a low line, trying to stall a little. I keep an eye on the lip, waiting to see when it will throw out. I try to tuck in close to the face, but there’s no room to get slotted. I fade out a little, but it’s too late. Now I’m on the inside, and the wave is turning to white wash, finished.

     Back on the sand, John is taking pics. He says, “I got some good pictures of you, Donny!”

     I pause, holding my smile until confirmation. “Pics of me wiping out?” I ask.

     “No, you’re going down the line, looking good. Big cylinder behind you, but looking stylish.”

     Fuck . . . I probably missed a barrel is the first thing that comes to mind, and then he sends me the picture later that night. The cylinder is right behind me. The whole time, the barrel . . . it’s behind me, and I didn’t even know it. I should be stoked, but I have to be honest with myself. I lack the experience to know what to do when it comes to barrels. I should have faded out, watched it, waited for it, pulled in, check turned, and then stalled. Of course, all this is easy to say but another thing to do. Time, more time, more wipeouts. But everything is always happening so fast, so fast because . . . I know no better yet. One day.

     I spend the rest of the day moving a couple things in, cleaning my old place. I can’t believe how much shit I own. It’s ridiculous. Even though the journey of finding a new place is over, this current task seems endless.

NEW BEGINNINGS, FRI 21DEC2012 NOON

A quick check before parking on Rosecrans

Loc: El Porto

Time: 1130-1345

Crew: Shan

Conditions: 4 FT, sunny, light offshores, consistent, walled, and crowded.

     A morning session’s out of the question because I must finally do some of my Christmas shopping before my family’s dinner. I shoot out texts to my siblings, asking what my nieces and nephew need. I also have to coordinate where I’m going to look for these items. Shan, Dais, and Khang tell me that they’re paddling out. I tell them I’ll see them soon because I figure I’ll be done in an hour.

#

     I don’t make it to Rosecrans until three hours later. It wouldn’t have been so bad if it wasn’t the women’s clothing that I had to search for; it’s so difficult! I don’t understand women’s sizes. Why not just have it set at XS, S, M, and L?

     Shan’s on his way, and Khang and Dais are already by the sandwich shack at Porto. As I make my way down, I feel the power of the noon-time sun, striking me from directly above. It’s a perspective that I rarely get. I usually surf really early or really late, but not at this time.

     I find Khang’s van in the Porto lot, but I can’t see the guys in the water. In memory of Fransauce, I lift Khang’s wipers to leave him a message. I paddle out between the north end of the Rosecrans break and the south end of the sandwich shack, in the saddle where it’s not breaking that much. I sit next to other stragglers that are avoiding the crowd as well.

     Mostly walls come my way, and I pass. In frustration, I paddle closer to the right that’s breaking near the sandwich shack. And luckily, I catch two rights here but get no more than two turns on each ride.

     I spend a little over two hours in the water with only a few good rides to show for. The wind starts to change. I never run into Dais, Khang, or Shan, so I head back up on Rosecrans.

     As I’m changing, I hear someone yell, “Is that Donny Duckbutter!” I look and see Shan walking up the hill, dripping wet in his wetsuit with board in hand. He tells me he was at the Rosecrans peak and that he got some good rides. I ask if he’s hungry.

Steve’s Burgers:

     I’ve always seen this burger joint in El Segundo but have never eaten here. We order the burger combo which is $4.95. I whip out my wallet when Shan says, “No, man, I got it. Get me next time.” I’m more than thankful . . . grateful.

     Bri calls while we’re eating. She says she left her work shoes at my place. I tell her to stop by the burger joint to grab my keys.

     When she pulls up, Shan and I watch her park. Shan smiles and looks at me. “We’re gonna be dogs forever,” he says.

     I smile and nod my head. I hear the car door slam and her footsteps approaching us. Shan’s eyes widen and rise as she sets her hand on my shoulder and says, “Hey, baby.”

     I stand up, give her a hug and kiss. Shan doesn’t smile. Instead his mouth is slightly open, lagging behind the welcoming lift of his eyebrows. “Shan, this is Briana. Briana, Shan.”

     After she grabs her keys and goes back in her car, Shan turns to me and says, “Good for you, man!”

Official:

     I’m sitting in my realtor’s office, nervous like it’s an interview. He hands me some documents to sign. I do. He hands me the keys to the place. I thank him. The first thing I do is call Time Warner because I need Internet, at least Internet. From there I head to my new place. It’s empty. I’ve done it . . . I’m here, I’m back. I’m an El Segundo resident again. Even though the place is empty, I spend a half hour wondering where I should put my TV, my computer, and the couch. . . . Will they even fit? I don’t know. All I know is this . . . It’s gonna be a BITCH moving all my shit in. I set a goal to be completely moved in by Friday.