FAVORITE SPOT, SAT 28JAN2012 MOR

Loc: HB

Crew: Francis

Time: 0745-1000

Conditions: Low to mid tide, sunny, warm, offshore, 2-3 ft, fast, fun.

     Rick was the one that told me there would be a surf contest at 26^th St. Even though the report for surf was bigger in the South Bay, I didn’t want to deal with the crowds. I imagined how the contest would affect things—surfers being pushed to 33^rd or even Porto. Even though HB was forecasted to be a foot smaller, I thought it would be a good opportunity to use my parking pass and escape the local crowds. 

     On Friday night I texted everyone to see who was down to roll. Francis was the first confirmation, which is always expected of him. After not hearing from everyone else, Christina caught me online and said she got a new six-foot Zippy Fish. When I told her about the contest and the prospect of surfing HB, she said she’d join and meet Francis and me in the morning.

     It’s 0615 when I wake up. I already have a text. It’s Christina. She can’t make it. I’m the in car with the motor running at 0645, and there’s still no Francis. I wonder if he slept-in. When I call him, he’s right around the corner. We load up and start our morning drive. It looks like a slow SoCal morning. The day’s lookin’ out to be a clear one, and there are barely any drivers on the road. Usually in Huntington, there are other surfers all driving towards the beach, but on this morning there are only a few. I get the feeling that it might not be going off. 

     The lot for state parking looks like a ghost town. Even weekday mornings are more crowded than this; there even seems to be less people on the bike path. Silence overcomes us. I don’t say anything, but I have a feeling that we’re thinking the same thing. Two cars with surfers and surfboards are leaving, dry as a bone. When we park, there are some surfers checking the water. They return to their cars, walking slowly, with their hands in their pockets. Moving without a purpose, they give off a lame energy. 

     “What do you think?” I ask Francis. “Should we check it out first?”

     “Nah, you’re already suited up. I think we should just go for it.”

     Either he’s a good man or he’s in skunk denial. In the back of my mind I’m already thinking about heading back to surf local if it’s small here. 

     When we walk over the sand and finally reach the water, the worst of our fears is confirmed; it’s flat. There are a small group of surfers north of us, and a very, very light crowd at the river jetties. “Fuuuuuuuuuck,” I say. The tide’s barely coming up which gives a more drained out appearance, and that’s when the surf syndrome (SS) kicks in. We see a small peak roll through. It has a shoulder, but it’s small and breaking close to shore. A couple more peaks come in at different spots, still under three feet. I forget what we say to each other, but we reach the mutual agreement to make the best of things. 

     It’s the just the two of us in the lineup; we’re isolated. Two waves come that we both scratch-out on. We sit a little closer to the inside hoping it’s the sweet spot. I catch a right. It’s barely two feet, there’s a racy shoulder, but it closes before I get a turn. Paddling back, we see the first sign of any potential. A three-foot wave breaks on the outside. We’re too deep for it, so we have to duckdive. “There might be some fun ones,” I say. 

     I know this wave when it’s small, and today it comes in handy. At the first sign of a little bump, I start paddling for it already. Reliable as always, the wave jacks-up towards the inside, and I’m on a fast, shouldery, little left. It’s just under three feet, but the speed it generates is a welcoming platform for carves. Since it’s fast, I have to pump get to the shoulder. I do a semi-decent top-turn to end the ride. When I paddle back to the lineup I get another . . . and another. The third wave is a right, and I get a baby hack off the top. Sure, the swell’s not doing much here, but I imagine 26^th and Porto and how crowded it must be. Right now the surf is small, but the shape is good, and it’s just us. 

     We’re busy enough to be in our own worlds. I get a couple turns on another right when I notice some groms on the sand. Fuck, we may have made it look too good. A chick paddles right to our spot, and two other young boys follow behind. We go a little north to get away. 

     The window is good for the first hour. Little inside waves and random three-footers break far out. The crowd is still thin, and even though it’s not super consistent, the lulls aren’t long enough to make it a boring session. In other words, it’s not a wave buffet, but since we almost have all the waves to ourselves it feels like one.

Wave of the Day:

     I’m hunting for lefts all morning. I just love this wave. It starts off so small and just stands up. Fast and pumpy, I’d never expect so much potential for sub three-foot waves. 

     I get this left that just lines up all the way to shore. I have enough speed to project up the face with momentum, so I get my first turn in. After the first turn I stay active, pump, and keep going down the line. I do another carve. Sweet. I’m two turns in and still have momentum. I put a little English on the last one, stretching out my arms and using my body to get as much arch as possible. For me, I can’t end a ride any better. 

     For the first time, I’m feeling like my frontside is finally coming in.

     Stoked, I’m paddling back out and, déjà vu, Francis is going frontside on a right. He carves the lip, does an S-like pattern on the face, and cuts his board back at the base of the wave. Again, he’s flawless and smooth. Being with him pushes my surfing.

     It doesn’t get claustrophobic until we’re into the second hour. Now everyone wants to be out, but it doesn’t matter because they missed the good window. The rising tide actually slows down the surf; there’s just not enough swell for it. Francis and I had our fun; this morning was a score.

    

Grinds:

     Klaude and I agreed to make Bob’s Hawaiian one of our ritual stops after HB sessions. I tell Francis this because on this morning Klaude can only be here in spirit. When Klaude and I went it was packed, but on this morning it’s a small, mellow crowd. The waitresses in there recognize us because they’re already smiling when we step out of our cars. A live band is playing in the big room, and Francis leads us right in there. Three families are gathered for breakfast to support the band. At first I’m uneasy. I’d rather sit by the entrance away from everyone, but the festivities bring a sense of nostalgia. With our backs to the street and hearing the Hawaiian music, combined with the atmosphere, it feels like we’re in a local restaurant back home. 

     We exchange stories about Hawaii, and when the band takes a break, the lead singer, Miles, comes to our table to talk to us. 

     We’re full of surf, food, and aloha on the drive back home. It was probably the best small day ever.