MON 04JUN2012 MOR

Crew: Rick & Shan

Time: 0630-0845

Conditions: 3 FT, inconsistent, crowded, gloomy.

     I meant to surf HB because of the new south swell, but on Sunday night Rick told me some bad news about a family member. He said he was taking a couple days off from work, and that he’d be surfing on Monday morning. All I could say was, “See you there.”

#

     I celebrated the end of my work weekend a little too hard. I should be up and at the beach already, but it’s 0545, and I’m the phone with Rick. He’s already checked out both the jetty and 45^th. “You on your way?” he says.

     “Yeah, yeah, ummm, just loading up the car.” I try to make it sound like I’m not groggy. After I hang up, I get all my gear together in a hurry and drive out to Porto. I score free parking on Highland and 45^th. Shan also hit me up yesterday too, so I send him a text and let him know where I am.

     It’s a gloomy morning, and the usual peaks are working: sandwich shack, shitters, 45^th (less consistent), and the tanks (even slower). On the sand, there’s no sign of Rick anywhere in the lineup. I see his van, but I don’t see his bald head where the packs are. I continue my walk north. Nothing. I wonder if he’s at Hammerland. When I make my way as far as the tanks, I see him running towards me.

     His yellow fish is hard not to notice, and he’s dripping wet, saying, “I just surfed the jetty and got a couple waves. Thought I’d check it out over here.”

     I give him a hug.

     “I have to call work, Matt. Just paddle out, don’t wait for me.”

     Eh, I’m in no rush, and I think it means a lot to paddle out together, no matter who you’re surfing with. “I’ll wait,” I say. As I’m sitting down, stretching, I look behind me and see Shan doing the same thing. “Shan!”

     “Oh, Matt. I thought that looked like you, but I thought it wasn’t.”

     We catch up. I haven’t seen him in a while. Rick joins us again, and we paddle out at 45^th. Either it’s inconsistent or there are too many surfers that make it seem inconsistent. Or . . . it’s both. I’m having a hard time catching anything, but I try to switch my focus by talking to Rick and Shan where I can. The bathrooms are working. There’s a left that keeps lining up, but there are so many guys there. The current pulls north, but I work my way south to fight it. Rick and Shan let the current drag and keep them at 45^th, but it’s too crowded there for me.

     Rick leaves to take his daughter to school, and then Shan disappears not too long after. Once I’m alone, I get my first decent wave. It’s a left. I drop in, pump, check turn off the lip, pump, and get a carve on the shoulder before it fizzles out. The sensation of the wave rejuvenates me with life. I paddle back to the lineup optimistic and hungry for more.

#

     Surfing Porto is like a love-hate relationship. I’ve written it off so many times, but deep inside I love this place; I always will. But on this morning, if you’re not willing to put yourself inside the pack at the bathrooms, the shitters, or Rosecrans, you’re not gonna catch anything. The secondary peaks aren’t working as well. I let myself drift to the tanks, hoping for something. My last wave is a shapeless wonder that pushes me on to shore.

     When I get home, it turns out that the OC has south wind fucking it up, so either way I made the best decision to surf local, not just to save on gas but to also be there for a friend. 

Francis and Klaude also stop by after a long drive back from their Pacifica surf trip weekend. Right here they're having a revelation. "Why didn't you tell me you had these feelings before?" one asks. . . .