Crew: Solo
Conditions: Low tide, 3-4 FT, consistent, walled, glassy.
Pre Blog:
After my last session with Rick and Dave, I didn’t expect the surf to be good. Surfline had poor ratings for both Saturday and Sunday. When I got the call from Klaude on Sunday morning, I felt like a piece of shit. I could tell from his voice that he was stoked, and my own grogginess made it obvious that I was skipping that session. The next two days, both Klaude and Rick told me that it was good. I mean, it was small but still good. Consistent, fun, no crowd, small, but rideable. I should’ve put more weight on spending time with a friend than Surfline’s forecast.
Wednesday:
Aside from missing the weekend surfing, I couldn’t surf on Monday or Tuesday because I was working on my second chapter of a novel for class. Despite my severe writer’s block and life’s distractions, I turned in a mediocre six, single-spaced, pages. I just want to get this semester over, in hopes that I’ll be out of my funk by the summer session.
I’m looking forward to some surf at Porto, and as I pull in the lot I can see that the conditions are clean for a change. My recent sessions here have had some onshore wind and texture, but there are two problems. One, the tide is low. Two, even though there are waves, they are long and walled. It would be a shoulder hunting session.
There’s something about Porto lately, either I’m out of shape or the paddle to the lineup has gotten a little further. I guess it’s due to my inconsistency. I get to the lineup at 45th unmolested, but all the waves I catch are closeouts. The drop is fun. Maybe a pro could pull in for a barrel, but it’s just too fast. On the waves I pass-up, there are white-wash explosions that follow. On one of my closeouts, I catch the foam to the inside just as a set is starting. As I’m making my way out, a long line stands in the foreground of the horizon. I know, four feet’s not big, but on this morning, it’s a little different. The water’s so glassy that the waves are round, dumpy, and heavy. It’s the Porto curse, that it’s cleanest on its dumpiest days. The water looks like a lake up until the wave. It has a smooth, mirror like texture, enveloping over in one big swoosh and kaboom. I duckdive the white wash from the first, but then another one’s right behind it. Because of the low tide, I get snatched up every time I duckdive. Two more waves come, and it’s the same, doing underwater summersaults while clutching my board. It’s been a while since I got a worked, and it’s not even big. Once I make it out of the impact zone, I find myself by the tanks, so I head over to 42nd.
There’s a light crowd of surfers, but we’re all sitting in the same spot. I let most of the walls pass and take a couple out of boredom. The next left that approaches is another lined wall, but I’m near the very end where it tapers off. I don’t expect much, but I pop up on the quick shoulder and find that it actually has a racy section to work with. I pump, gaining speed, setting myself up to bottom turn and shoot up the lip. The section’s about to close, but I manage to get one good arc off the highline before it dumps. I can’t stress enough how just one good wave with only one turn can turn a shitty session into a good one. I laugh to myself, making my way back out, but the joke’s on me because that’s the first and last legit wave that I catch.
I go home with just that one wave under my belt, but it’s better than nothing. It made the session worth it.
No comments:
Post a Comment