BUMP, FRI 18MAY2012 MOR

Crew: Francis, Rick and the WHC

Conditions: 4-5 FT, light onshore, consistent, warm, overcast.

     I got skunked at HB yesterday. In fact, I didn’t even paddle out. I just looked at it, got disappointed, and left. I’m not making the drive down there again. Today seems like a good day to just see what’s on the local tap. If it sucks, oh well, at least my expectations are low. Like I always say, “If I can get at least one turn, I’m stoked.”

#

     Francis called me last night. “Where you surfing?” he asked.

     I really didn’t want to surf local. “County line or HB, but it’s a gamble.”

     He tex’d me the whole day until we finally agreed upon Porto, and we also agreed upon playing some PS3 afterwards. Shan called me too. He said, “Yeah, buddy, I’ll be there.” Later that night, he tex’d me as to what time I’d surf.

     “Early,” I replied. “First light.”

     “Okay,” he wrote. “I’ll paddle out if it’s good. Let me know how it is.”

     I looked at the text and pushed a breath through my nostrils. Really? I’m a man about commitments. In no way shape or form should “I’ll be there” turn into “I’ll paddle out if it’s good” and “let me know how it is.” He’s done this before. Do I really need to explain this? Showing up, even if it sucks, and looking at the surf TOGETHER is a huge part of surfing. I’m not a sacrificial lamb or a human surf report. BE WHERE YOU SAY YOU’LL BE. I shoot him a text: “I’ve heard this before. It means you’re not coming.

#

     I make the right turn down 45^th when I’m halted by a long line of cars. It’s 0613. It sucks that they don’t open the gate earlier, especially at this time of year when the days are longer. Francis pulls up by the Chevron. I waive at him. In the meantime I throw on some sun block. Other guys get out of their cars and start changing. When the lot opens, we park by the bathrooms. I notice that Rick is parked. Cool. . . . Then comes Dave T., Gary C., Manny A., and Jimmy B. Almost their whole crew shows up to check it out. THAT’S COMMITMENT!

     Greetings go all around. We’re like a bunch of lot lizards. To have Francis, Rick, and everyone else there fills me with pre-surf stoke. The positive energy is a great way to start the session.

#

     I don’t know what to make of the ocean. The wind’s onshore, the inside’s a little consistent, and there are some mooshy lumps out the back. I can’t tell if they are lining up, but they look consistent. If I can find a shoulder, there will be potential.

     I’m halfway to the lineup when I feel an aching pain from inside my right shoulder. It brings me back to my last shoulder injury when I surfed up north after a long four-day surf trip at San Onofre. I wonder if I should just turn around, but I push it and switch my paddling stroke to ease the pain. Ricks goes to the peak by the bathrooms while Francis, Jimmy, Manny, and I head towards 45^th.

     It is a consistent morning. The waves aren’t coming in sets, more like random bigger waves amongst the smaller ones An inside wave shields the horizon as it passes. When it drops, there’s a big macker out the back. There aren’t any takers, so I go left. The wave is really mooshy. There is size and speed on the drop, but the wave’s not standing up to where I can turn (at least on the DMS). I stay in the pocket and catch it all the way to the inside, all trims and pumps.

     Everyone else is catching waves too. Even with the thickening crowd, there’s enough to go around. I’m surprised that my potato chip board is working in this moosh. It’s because there’s size. On another left, I force a top turn but bog out because the wave is too slanted.

     Traffic is an issue. I catch another left, and a chick longboarder is right where I need to bottom turn. Since I can’t do a floater, I have no choice but to stall and straight out. I turn just inches from her board, and when the wave breaks, the tail from her longboard whacks me in the hand. I didn’t realize she fell. I look back, and Manny’s smiling at me. What did he see?

     Towards the end of the session, Rick ventures our way. “I’m gonna get one more,” he says. I’m paddling back out when I see him flying down the line. I make it over the shoulder and get front row seats to his forehand carve, releasing some spray out the back. I guess top turns are possible today if you’re good. He comes back.

     “Hey, I thought you said, ‘last wave’?” I say.

     He laughs.

     “I saw you get that spray. That was good!”

     “Yeah, I told you,” he says, “you gotta have more meat on your board, but you’re a chingon about it!”

     Ahhh yes, the old, I need to get a fish lecture.

#

     We get out of the water before 0800, just in time to feed the meters. Francis and I are looking at the waves. They look weaker from when we pulled up. “You wanna go back out I ask?”

     “Hmmmm,” he doesn’t answer.

     “Orrrr Modern Warfare 3?”

     He looks at me and smiles. “Yeah, Modern Warfare 3.”

     When we reach the lot, Shan pulls up. “Hey, man, how was it he asks?”

     I’m surprised to see him. “It’s all right.”

     “What do you think? Is it worth it?”

     “Well, if you haven’t surfed in a while, I would go.”

     Francis says, “Yeah, there’s still some waves out there.”

     “Yeah,” says Shan, “I had to drop off my girl at school real quick.”

#

     Back at the lot, we’re all bullshitting and changing. We’re those annoying guys in a big group that know each other. At the same time, everyone in the WHC surfs better than I do. They’ve been surfing this place for years, so it’s nice to know guys who are true Porto vets and locals. “Manny,” I say, “why were you laughing when I got around that chick?”

     “Oh my god!” he nudges Rick, but looks to see who’s around. “Is that chick still here?” he says to himself. “Dude, Matt like kick-stalled in front of this chick, right. She wasn’t even paddling. She had nowhere to go, and then Matt like, comes right up to her, turns in her face, and makes her fall off her board!”

     Fuck . . . I really didn’t mean to do that. I put a little emphasis on the turn. I remember that, but I did that to make sure that I steered clear of her. Everyone’s laughing.

     “Yeah, dude,” Manny continues, “you totally punked her.”

     I think to myself: I’m an asshole.

#

     Rick convinces Francis and me to come to the Blue Butterfly for coffee. “It’s on me,” he says, “for supporting my camp site.”

     “Awww, Rick, you don’t—“

     “And you too Francis, you’re coming.”

     We can’t say no.

#

     Goodness gracious. There’s a chick at the register with reddish-blonde hair. Her boobies can barely stay untamed underneath her green shirt. They look so soft and jiggly. They want out, out of confinement to be free and released into the world. “Good morning, what can I get you?” she says.

     “Uhhhh, hi. I’ll just have a small coffee . . . and a bagel.” I say it in a serious way so as not to blow my cover.

     We all sit in the back by the alley. Manny introduces us to his friend Maurice who also surfed with us this morning. It’s a good get together, listening to all their stories. It’s the best local surf I’ve had in a while. 

#

    My little cousin that just finished her semester at CSUF is staying with me over the weekend. I need to take her to the airport on Sunday because she’s going back to Maui for this summer. She says she wants to try authentic ramen, so I take her to Gardena.