BACK IN THE SADDLE, SAT 18FEB2012 MOR

Crew: Klaude, Khang, & Dais

Time: ?

Conditions: High tide, offshore, mooshy, slow, and inconsistent.

     It’s been over a week since I surfed which is an obvious rarity for me. Something in my heart is telling me to drive down south to surf Huntington, but I think about my buddies. I haven’t seen the fellas in a while, and as much as I’d like to score some good surf, I’d like to capitalize on how this art brings people together. Klaude gives me a call and says he’s heading down, so I hurry up and change to go down and meet him. 

     I can’t really tell what the surf is doing when I show up, but I see some guys on the inside catch some waves. Klaude’s not here yet, so I go to the sand. I try to embrace this moment. There’s a lot going on in my life, and I look to the ocean for some solace. I missed the cool brown sand in the morning, the way the cold stings my feet. I see PV in the distance, a picturesque South Bay scene. And then . . . there’s the crowd. It’s packed, the bad kind of packed where the surf is so slow that everyone is sitting and waiting. Everyone: longboarders, shortboarders, and SUPs. I try to pick a spot at the main peak, but it’s too thick. Even further north by 33^rd has a lot of heads. I walk south, half way between 26^th and Marine, and still find myself with little breathing room. Somehow, a wave comes to me. I drop in and start to pump. The left is so mooshy that I struggle for speed. Off of the lip, I shift my weight on the tail to attempt a carving arc, but I stall and the wave passes. Back at the lineup, a couple more waves come my way, but I have to pull out because someone’s already on them. 

     I spot Klaude. He’s paddling out in front of the 26^th St. tower, but I don’t feel like shouting over the crowd. I luck out on another left. It walls up on the inside, but I’m able to get a small turn off the lip before I kick out. It feels good. Little by little, my frontside is getting better. 

     Klaude’s talking to the Rastafarian longboarder when I paddle up. They’re in intense conversation, so I don’t butt in. I sit around waiting for a wave but nothing comes. When they’re done, Klaude gives me a juicy hug in the water. Other surfers look at us like we got something homo going on, but in retrospect, I haven’t seen Klaude in so long that it’s worth the strange stares. I also spot Khang and Dais on the sand, stretching. Once we’re all in the water, we do a little catching up. I don’t want to be a downer, so I try not to bring in too much of my personal life. 

     We’re hoping that things will improve with the lowering tide, but it seems like things slow down a little bit more. For a minute, Klaude and Dais get separated from Khang and me, so it’s just us. A left comes our way. I’m in position for it, but Khang’s on my inside. I watch him drop in, and then he disappears as the wave moves past. From there, I see a decent sized bucket get tossed out the back. To be honest, I’m jealous but at the same time happy. When he paddles back I say, “Man, you got some pretty good spray on that one. I had to double check to make sure that was you!” 

     Like clockwork, a right approaches, and it has good shape. When I bottom-turn I look over my shoulder and see the face. It has that gray, gloomy, classic South Bay color that reflects the usual overcast. I project up the face and get a smooth carve off of the lip. I do it so late that I’m surprised to be going back down the face, but on the second hit I stall on the lip and fall. I don’t know what happened, but my guess is that I was too far up on my board. Khang nods his head in approval as I paddle back and says, “Not bad. I had to double check to make sure that was you.”

     “Yeah . . . but I fell on the second turn.”

     “I know. I saw that.” He says that it’s a good sign on our improvement, how we can trade off waves and at least get a good turn. In the last year I think we’ve all come a long way. 

     Dais paddles up, and his facial features are looking chiseled like a Greek God. “Guy, you looking handsome,” I say. “You’ve been working out?”

     “Nah, I’ve been sick. Something’s been wrong with my stomach.”

     Okay, so I was “off” on that one, but if diarrhea is the secret to a nice jaw line then there’s nothing wrong with being on the gravy train now and then. 

     There’s no “wave of the day” portion for this write-up. All four of us spend the rest of the session scratching out on moosh burgers. It’s a bit frustrating. We gamble on different places to sit. Dais is all the way on the inside not doing much better than us. Klaude says he’s paddling in, so I say bye to Khang and Dais and catch a wave after him. 

     Back at Klaude’s van, he hands me a CD with photos of me surfing that his dad took on New Years. When I check them out at home, there’s a legit missed barrel shot. I just suck at reading barrels. It’s my curse. 

     (Klaude, thank you and your dad for the pics. I enjoyed them. It’s very selfless of you two to take these pics out of sheer love for the ocean. Thank you thank you.)

     Even though today’s session wasn’t a score, it was nice to see everyone in the water. Right now it’s my therapy.