THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY, SAT 04FEB2012 MOR

Crew: Solo

Ran Into: Whiffleboy, Wagner, and the WHC (minus Rick)

Time: 0730-0900

Conditions: High tide, walled, 5-6 ft, crowded.

     I went to 26^th first to take a look, but something turned me off. Not to sound negative, but lately I’ve felt the need to surf elsewhere. I haven’t had a good session there in a while, and I can’t blame everything on the conditions. Guys like Roy, Don, and the other local rippers get their fair share, but I’ve struggled. 

     I stopped short of pulling into the El Porto lot when I noticed an open space on 45^th. The tide looked high, but there was a lot of water moving around. A surfer caught a little left on the inside, and that’s all I needed to see.

     It’s the meters that changed everything. I used to surf here all the time. The Tanks was my favorite spot. At first they changed the price to ten minutes for a quarter. When they started giving tickets at 0800 instead of 0900, I got cheap and started surfing 26^th. I felt rejuvenated as I made my trot down the hill, reminding me of old times. The sand bars here have to be better, I thought. 

     The high water line nearly touched the rocks. It was a classic, crowded day. There was no chance at surfing 45^th, so I picked a channel just north of the tanks. 

     I felt like a newb in unfamiliar territory, as a couple guys watched my paddle to the lineup. I’m harmless. I caught my first wave which was a racy left. There was no chance for a turn. It looked like it would open, but upon popping-up, the section was already closing out. My second wave was the same. I noticed Whiffleboy in the lineup, but he was in shouting distance. I’ll wait until we’re closer, I thought. A minute later I heard him call, “Matt!” I turned around, and he was right behind me. We caught up El Segundo style which involves rubbing the heads of two penises together . . . okay, that’s not true, but for some reason that line came to me. 

     We caught up and asked each other how we were doing. He said he surfed here yesterday, and I told him about me getting skunked at PV. I invited him to surf HB with me on Sunday, but he had family plans. 

     Both of us caught similar rides—all racy, struggling to get to the evading shoulder. It was consistent enough to be generous. I noticed the bump from the next set and said, “Go for it.” As he took off, I thought I saw a bump further in the distance. As I paddled further out and over the next wave, I saw the juicer out the back. Best of all, it had a tapered, left shoulder, the first one I saw all morning. I heard a couple “Woooooos!” for the wave. I don’t know how I lucked out, but I found myself magically in prime position. 

     I scratched and kicked until I started my slide. I was stoked and ready for some carves. The wave was close to six feet, so I started my bottom turn just below mid face and carved off of the shoulder, and that’s when it happened. I couldn’t set up for my next turn because the wave started to stand up; I wasn’t ready for this. I heard someone yelling at me from the inside, but I failed to comprehend. I was losing the race, as I pumped to keep up, and then the lip started throwing out, leaving a hollow, unoccupied tube. By the time I realized I should pull-in, the lip had already shut me out. 

     Resurfacing, I had a feeling that I totally blew it, but I still wasn’t sure. I saw the next one come in, and it was another barrel, but this time Wagner was going down the line. Before he had a chance to pull-in, some guy dropped-in on him. After I duck-dived, I resurfaced again to see Wagner paddling up to the surf offender. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but he looked pissed. He had murder written all over his face. Wagner cocked his hand back like he was gonna punch the guy, who was in fear, holding one hand up to block and trying to use his board as a shield. Wagner scared him enough that he paddled-in. 

     Back at the lineup, Whiffleboy came up to me and said, “I was yelling at you to pull-in!” and that’s when it was confirmed. Fuck my ass. It was another missed and wasted opportunity added to the list of blown barrel rides. I sat in silence, brooding. I turned to Whiffleboy and said, “Yep, that one’s gonna haunt me for the rest of the day.”

     Luckily Wagner distracted me from my own woes. He couldn’t let it go. He was loud and voicetress, telling his friends what happened. When he paddled nearby I told him I saw the whole thing.

     He said, “Yeah, the fucking guy looked at me, right in my fucking eye and still went. What the fuck!?”  

     Jesus H, I thought. He was so angry that it could’ve been mistaken that he was pissed off at me. After he went away Whiffleboy said, “And you know what’s funny? He’s part of a Christian surf group.” I guess everyone has a line that shouldn’t be crossed, and for Wagner it’s: don’t fuck with my waves. 

     I saw someone else trying to get my attention. It was Gary. He pointed out Tripp, Dave T, Jimmy, Manny, and John. Rick was at work. 

     I waited desperately to avenge my mishap, but my missed barrel was the last wave I caught with shape. 

     Sitting in the lineup, Wagner yelled over everyone to get my attention. He said, “You see that monster way out over there?!” I gave an awkward smile, still wondering why he was addressing me. I looked out and saw nothing. He continued, “You see that bump?! Thirty-four seconds!” Everyone followed his cue and started paddling. Reluctant and confused, I slowly paddled as well. “Count it down!” he said. 

     Twenty-five, twenty-four, twenty-three. . . . Sure as shit, everyone started scrambling to get to the outside of this huge, macking wall that was heading straight for us. 

     “What’d I tell you! What’d I tell you!”

     After the set, I sat on the outside in disbelief. He paddled to me. His face was serious with anger, and then he broke into a smile and laughed, tugging my calf. “Man, I’m still trying to figure out how you did that?” I said. “I’m over here trying to see what’s out there.” 

     “I’ve been surfing for twenty-eight years!” 

     Whiffleboy said he had family plans for the day, so he took his last one in. I bullshitted with the WHC for a bit, but I risked getting a parking ticket, so I paddled to 45^th and caught a closeout. 

     Today was a reality check. I think we all know the formula. It looks easy, right? We know what to look for if we wanna do an air, and we know when to pull-in and hunker down in the tube. We’ve all seen it a million times, whether it’s a surf flick by Kai Neville, Taylor Steele, or a live webcast from Pipeline, but the reality is that most of us don’t know how to apply that knowledge yet.