DARK FACES (double sesh), FRI 06JAN2012 EVE

Crew: Solo

Time: 1415-1630

Conditions: 4-6 ft with occasional 7, glassy, consistent, light cloud cover, still sunny, warm, and crowded.

     I do my best to take a nap. Really, I should have brought my beach umbrella, chair, sleeping mat, anything that would’ve kept me from sleeping in the driver’s seat. I usually get skunked when I pack for the day; I didn’t want to jinx myself. 

     It’s been a while since I’ve seen the tide this low. Cobblestones are exposed for a long way out before touching the water. Churches is still consistent with fewer heads out now, and the size seems to have tapered down a bit. I feel fresh, rejuvenated, and reenergized after my rest, but the definite goal is to try and find some surf to myself. Since there’s no south in the swell, north Churches and south Middles isn’t working so well, but the break in front of the BP (center of Middles) has a couple of peaks. The crowd here is thin as well, and the surf has dropped down to a mellow three to four feet. It’ll be an easy evening. I paddle out and share the lineup with only five other guys, but the peaks here run away a little fast, so I begin to inch my way in front of the cliffs where another peak is working. Even Lowers isn’t that packed. I play chess with a couple surfers, even a chick. We’re all trying to sit in the right spot, but it’s not aggressive; we all get our turns. The rides aren’t as long as the morning, and three turns is the longest ride I can get. 

     However, the changing conditions catch me off guard. As the tide push begins, the wave size picks up again too. Just when I thought things were dying-off I see bigger waves breaking closer to Lowers again like the morning. After a small wave that dumps me in front of the BP I tell myself that I’ll paddle my way over there, but the cliffs turn on, and I just can’t pass the smaller waves up. On top of that, I’m exhausted. That MRE didn’t give me as much fuel as I thought. I also haven’t pulled a double session in a while, so I just feel really sluggish. People start lapping me; I feel my upper back muscles tighten. I finally tell myself to pass on the smaller waves, take breaks, and that I’ll eventually make my way there. 

     I thought I felt a sideshore wind blowing from the north, north east, but in the ocean I can barely feel it. The water is still glassy, the atmosphere mellow with a medium crowd. I never thought I’d make it, but I cover enough distance to sit where I want. My fatigue gives me patience, as I’m not ready for another long paddle yet. 

     The ocean looks different now because of the sun. Far on the outside they start rolling in. You know that there’s size because the sun goes behind the waves as soon as they pickup. All you can see are dark faces coming towards you.

Wave of the day:

     Unfortunately, my GoPro battery is dead, so I’m surfing with this useless, big piece of jewelry on my wrist. I wonder if it’s throwing my surfing off or not. My session this evening is definitely not as active as my morning one, but my strategy still comes through. As expected, a peak breaks wide where I’m all alone to get it. Usually though, there is at least someone nearby that’s too deep to go, but this time around I am literally alone. As the wave picks up I can see the base gain some depth; it’s turning darker which means it’s not as mooshy. I actually say something to myself as I dart towards it: “You see that right there, that’s heaven right there.” I catch this one late and deep like my morning rides, and now that the sun’s not blinding me I can see the wave more. The drop is smooth, long, and dark—marble like. Coming off my first top turn I’m approaching the inside crowd. I cut back a little, pump, and set up my next drop as to avoid collisions. I’m not used to an audience, but anyone getting a ride at the top of the wave here gets under the spotlight regardless. I can’t say that it boosts my ego in any way because all I can think of is not falling. I can tell the wave is about six feet because, even with this forgiving shape, I can sense that my turns are more critical, have more speed, and there’s more risk of an awkward wipeout if I make a mistake. A random surfer hoots me on as I set up my bottom turn. I do my best to delay my hack until I’m as high on the wave as I feel comfortable with. Leaning my weight back down after the hook, I find myself reentering the wave successfully. It’s a long ride. After my next two turns my thighs start burning. I didn’t realize how much it works your legs when you’re crouching on the bottom turns, especially if you have speed it’s like there’s some G-force working against you. I’m still passing people paddling out. After my fourth turn I trim high on the lip and walk towards the nose. “I’m fuckin’ tired!” I yell out. There are at least two turns left on the wave, but I turn around to face it and step off the rail to end my ride.

     I’m so stoked but tired too. And after all that work to get to my spot, I find myself right in front of the BP again. It’s a long ass paddle back. 

     I can’t find exactly where I was sitting last because, well . . . the evening shift finally arrives. Again, everyone is fighting for scraps while more surfers sit towards the inside; every angle’s covered, but I’m still stoked off my last ride. Easily, I tell myself that I can go home happy even if I don’t get another one. Now I’m forced to sit with a pack. A surfer looks back at me, looks away, turns around again and asks, “Hey, was that you about ten minutes ago going backside on that wave?”

     “Haha, yeah, that was me.”

     “Awww, man, that was sick.”

     I laugh and smile back. “Thanks, man! You know, I can’t really tell from my perspective on the wave. It felt like it was good but I didn’t know how it looked.”

     “Awww, man, you hit it perfectly when you came up, hooked it in the right spot, and then it went ‘pshhhh!’” He makes a hand gesture on top of his other hand and spreads his fingers out as he makes the noise. His other friend is looking at us and smiling too. 

     “Thanks, man. That’s what I’ve been trying to do. I was worried—“ A wave pops up right in front of us. “Here you go.” The guy and his buddy paddle for it but scratch out while I continue my journey closer to Lowers. 

     It makes no sense to sit in this spot. I’m too deep to go for the wide ones, and I’m too close to Lowers to get any leftovers; I have to surf Lowers. I’ve tried this many times: try to steal a golden nug from the main pack, but every try has been unsuccessful. I inch my way closer. I pass on a couple opportunities; it’s just too thick. There’s the mad scramble as the waves approach, and surfers here would run-over their grandmas, let alone a scavenger like me. On a couple waves I paddle, but someone on my inside has it. If we both drop in it’s a guaranteed accident. On another wave the guy scratches out, and I curse myself for not going. 

     Finally it’s do or die. I am at the main peak. Every big, dark face has a swashbuckling scallywag racing towards it, but after the set it’s only me and a couple guys sitting outside. My eyes are wide open; I can feel my heart beat. For the regulars here this is nothing, but I’ve always frothed at the thought of catching one of these gems, to be one of those guys that catches a wave from the top of Lowers all the way to the inside of Middles; that’s a long fuckin’ ride. People sitting towards the inside don’t want to venture out towards us, and the guys that were just here got some piece of the last wave. As I expect, an outside set approaches. I do my best to gain position that gives me priority. I paddle out to meet it but a little too far, so I scratch out which places me closer to the inside. When I turn around I’m too deep for the second wave of the set, so I have to duckdive it. Now . . . for the last wave it’s me and another guy, but since he’s on the outside he gets better position. I still paddle for it, hoping that he won’t make it, and then an old guy next to me says, “Don’t go, it’s too steep, you’ll hit him.” I pull back and the other guy makes it; he was right. He looks like Super Mario, plumber stash and all. Damn, I just really want one. 

     In an attempt to give myself priority, I paddle a little north just past the peak. I want to be deeper than everyone else to catch that right; it’s my only chance. When the next big wave comes I’m sitting too deep, but I go for it anyway. Someone drops in on me, but it doesn’t matter because I’m too far behind the section; I straighten out. After I get off the wave I look outside and decide not to paddle back; I’m tired. 

     Walking on the shore away from my favorite surf spot, I wonder if I should just surf Middles until it’s dark, but something comes over me. I’ve been here all day for the most part alone. I won’t be seeing Lauren this weekend, so I just want to go home. I talk to another guy parked next to me; he’s packing up too. “Yeah,” he says. “Tomorrow . . . it’s going to be crowded.” 

  

     Just as I’m shutting all my doors the guys who I saw earlier walk by and say, “Hey! Wave of the day, see you later!” I wish them a “good one” and begin my drive home. Completely beached, drained, and worn out, I listen to some Barrington Levy on the stereo. Traffic is light, it’s dark out, and I’m quiet. I reflect on the day’s events; it almost feels like they didn’t happen. I feel like a great tale is being compacted into my mind in fragments. How was that wave I got? Too many turns to sort out and enough waves that I can’t remember them all. And how about those faces? Some I darted towards, passed up, or watched others ride them a long way. Somewhere in there I got my rides as well, but on this journey home I’m so silent, becoming immersed in the deep base of roots reggae. I give up. It’s just too much to fuckin remember. Continuing on the 405 N I stare at the road. It’s a quiet drive home.