THREE WAVES, FRI 30MAR2012 MOR

Crew: Solo

Time: 0730-0850

Conditions: Closeouts with some shoulders, 3-4 FT.

     There’s a free parking spot on 45^th. There aren’t any sets at the moment, so I can’t tell what the surf is offering. After I change, I do the familiar trot down the hill and into the lot. Once I’m on the sand, I can see that the peaks are a little scattered and holding a bit better than yesterday. This time, I warm up a little, rotating the major joints and doing a couple cat-and-cows. The small waves I duckdive on the inside have some shoulders, a good sign. The crowd’s also thinner, so I sit in a vacant gap in the lineup. Within a few minutes, I get my first wave.

     It’s a mooshy four-foot bump, but I paddle-in right behind the shoulder. The speed catches me off guard. No, I did not expect anything at all this morning, but I’m propelled down the line of a wave that is shaping up. The peak is still moundy, so I draw my bottom turn and cut the top turn below the highline to make sure I don’t stall-out. It’s the first legit, backhand turn that I’ve had in a while. A surfer’s paddling over my wave as I’m speeding towards him; he has front row seats. I bottom turn and take a little off the top again. God damn it feels so good. My arms are outstretched, I’m loosening up, and I’m winding up for a third. On the last turn, the wave is losing size, and I make my cut just a little too high and go over, but it doesn’t matter. Paddling back to the lineup, I’m rejuvenated with surf stoke. Two-and-a-half turns transforms me into something else. Two-and-a-half turns ago I was a crabastic piece of amphibian shit (Full Metal Jacket 1987). I may have not been feeling like myself lately, but I get a glimpse of it on that wave.

     So now I know there’s potential out here. My focus as of late has been to work on my frontside turns, so I really want a left. On the next set I get one. I’m pumping down the line, setting up a good carve, but the section stands up, taking away the canvas. Instead, I bottom turn and climb the face as it’s going vertical. This is usually where I eat shit. I’m falling down with the lip, looking at the nose of my board, expecting the purl and whiplash that follows. My weight shifts to the tail. I feel the impact of my landing force my knees to bend. I’m waiting to dig a rail and get sucked under, but I actually stick the landing. My nose it out, and I’m sliding forward in the foam. Solid.

     I have no idea if that looked cool or not, but it felt critical, one of those waves that I shouldn’t have made. I’m even frothier than I was earlier. My next waves are pure closeouts. When it’s time to feed the meters, I put in for another hour. The sun’s out now, but the prospect of another decent ride eludes me. I get stubborn on a walled-up left. All I want is one frontside carve, to feel my speed translate into an arcing turn off the face. Just like earlier, I’m pumping, setting myself up for a gouge. The lip’s already curling, but I climb the face anyway. My board hits the lip as it throws-out. My board flies into the air, and I’m pitched forward. I don’t even fall on the wave. I land on my back in the flats. I resurface unharmed. My ego is still in check. For some reason I embrace wipeouts. It was a good one.

     I’m danger-close to receiving a ticket. Disrespecting the sport of kings by paddling-in is lame, but I have no choice. I’m almost in the shallows, paddling for anything to take me the rest of the way. A small wave bumps-up higher than expected. Its shoulder is a clean three-feet, so I pop up; I can’t believe that it’s lining up. I pump, gather speed, stomp on the tail, and get a carve all the way to the base of the wave before it closes. The water’s sucking out over the sand, and I expect to face-plant. I step off the rail, but still don’t touch the bottom when I submerge. Unscathed and surprised by the inside ride, I walk back to the car dripping wet, wearing nothing but a wetsuit and a smile.