ONE CARVE, WED 04APRIL2012 MOR

Crew: Fransowce

Time: 0715-0850

Conditions: Inconsistent, high tide, 3-4 FT with occasional 5.

     I’m supposed to meet Francis at first light, but I’m running late as usual. Actually, I wake up just a little late. It’s this new drive that throws me off. What used to be a short cruise around the corner now involves 405N and a long stretch of Rosecrans Avenue; it feels endless. To think I cursed the stop signs in El Segundo. I finally hang the right off of Highland Avenue and the left into 45^th St. Again with the free parking spot. Francis’ last text said he’d be somewhere between 42^nd and 45^th. Once I’m on the sand it’s easy to spot him. 

     He paddles into a right. The section’s closing, but he does a little foam climb to make it. Forehand, he pumps to the open face and gets a carve as the wave closes around him. 

     My warm up should be slow and smooth, but I can’t wait to join him. When I get to the lineup, I’m frustrated because Francis paddles further south, so now I have to chase his ass even further. We haven’t surfed together since Trestles. “How’s work?” I ask.

     “Good. Did you see what happened on the news at Santa Monica?”

     My expression is blank. “No.”

     “Oh.” He looks out at the horizon and looks back. “There was some kind of student protest or something. They pepper sprayed the students. There were like thirty ambulances there. We were one of them.” He takes off on the next wave.

     I’m having a harder time. I scratch out or miss a couple that break on the outside. My first wave is a closeout. My second one is a lined-up right. I see Francis on the inside making his way out. He can see me. I paddle, and as I’m popping up my right foot gets hung up on the wax, so I plunge into the water head first. It’s lame, so lame. The other surfers around me saw it. Embarrassed, I climb back on my board and paddle towards Francis. “I just ate shit on a good one,” I say. 

     The rest of the session is inconsistent for me. Francis paddles around, works the inside and outside, catching various rides: some closeouts, some ride-worthy. I try to do the same, but can’t get anything with an open face. Most of the surfers are pulled north by the tanks while Francis and I fight the drift, never passing 45^th. I work my way back towards 42^nd when I get my first good wave. It’s a racy left. The shoulder’s running away, so I pump past the crumbling sections. Surfers scattered towards the inside are in the foreground of the shoulder. I’m building speed, looking like I’m setting up for something massive. I’m sure a pro would take this opportunity to do an air, but . . . that’s not gonna happen. When I get to the shoulder I dump all my speed on the tail and turn. I must’ve been going fast because I feel the stress on the fins, like they’re skipping underwater. This might be a bad thing, as it’s not a fluid turn, but it still feels good. I don’t know if I got any spray or not, but the sensation of going fast and suddenly coming to a halt is exhilarating. I end the turn with the nose of my board at the seven o’clock position. The ride is over, but the feeling lingers. When I meet up with Francis again, I say, “I got a good one just now.”

     “Yeah? Okay. I think I’m gonna go in after my next one.” His “next one” comes right after he says that. He gets a right that’s worthy of two turns. He kicks out and comes back. Yeah . . . last one my ass. He catches a couple more and waves goodbye from the sand. 

     My last wave is a closeout, and I catch it all the way to shore. I only have one carve to take home with me. It’s enough.