Loc: HB
Crew: Solo
Time: 1000-1200
Conditions:
3 FT+, warm, inconsistent, worse with the tide, slight current, choppy.
With Briana at home, I have a chance to
wake up early and dawn patrol it at HB. Klaude mentioned checking out Zeroes,
but . . . I’ve invested in this damn state parking pass, and after losing on
the HB gamble so many times, I knew I’d be due up for a good, solid session.
That’s the way it works, right? You keep getting skunked, you keep going, and
you keep eating shit until . . . you score.
I hadn’t gotten down on Modern Warfare 3 on
PS3 for a minute, so I played as soon as Bri left for work. At midnight I told
myself that I’d better get to sleep, but I had just unlocked the thermal sites
for my MG36. Up until that moment, I was getting my ass kicked, but with those
sites, I just kept picking people off. I was able to slow my heart rate, aim,
and even though they were shooting at me, I took them out first. My best game was
with 22 kills and 9 deaths, first place. This was a good omen for good surf. I
didn’t stop playing until two in the morning.
#
It’s 0600 when my alarm goes off. I’m beat,
tired; I’m on Duckbutter Depletion status (DBD). I check the tide on Surfline.
Low tide’s at 0807. No sense to go on a super low tide, I’m thinking. I wake up
at 0800.
It’s a late start. I’m mad at myself, but I’d
be even more upset if I didn’t go down south to surf at all. I head down 405S,
exit Bolsa Ave., and head down PCH to get a glimpse of the surf on the way to
north HB. Bolsa Chica looks small. I can’t tell what’s happening at Golden
West, and then I give up looking. It is what it is, and I know I’m paddling out
regardless. Surfers cross the street, heading towards the pier. Some are
heading back, wetsuits pulled down to their V-cuts with white boards under
their arms. How nice it must be to live across the street from the surf.
When I park, I walk to the water to snap a
couple pics. A pack of surfers sit close together at the river jetties, and
only one guy sits at my favorite spot. He catches a right and gets a turn
before it closes out. The tide's on its way up, but it’s still fairly low. A
four foot set comes. It’s walled, but the smaller waves look like they have
potential.
I turn and head back to the wagon. Today
has to work, everything has to come together. The swell’s not too big, but that’s
all right. I just need some little two-to-three foot shoulders to crank some
turns on. Carves, that’s all I want.
#
Again, I stick to boardshorts and a rashguard.
I sit north of the guy I saw earlier. We both scratch out for waves, but he
takes the next right. When sitting outside doesn’t work, I sit a little in, but
the waves are a bit too pitchy. The other guy gets a couple more, so I decide
to paddle north of him to see if I can get lucky too.
Out of nowhere, a four-foot wave rolls in.
It’s not walled; it’s a solo bump. I paddle out to meet it and drop in at the
peak. I’m behind the section, but the speed from the drop has me rounding the
white wash. I climb the face, shift my weight to the tail, and attempt a
grinding carve, but when the wave goes vertical I get stuck on the lip and fall
down. I resurface upset. I got a bit overzealous on that one, maybe too aggressive
for my first legit wave of the morning. I want another one.
#
Into the first hour, I realize I’m not the
only one with the same idea. With a late low tide, other surfers are showing
up, pointing at me and the other guy, and then paddling out to join us. Lucky
for us, the current is too much for most to handle, and they all get swept away
except for a small handful of surfers.
The break where I’m at goes dead. The
slight change in tide makes a difference in the conditions. The ocean gets
choppier, and the peaks shift to the south. North of the river jetties, a four
wave set rolls in, giving good, down-the-line lefts. Our pack fights the
current and heads in that direction.
The guy I talked to earlier gets a late
drop right at the peak. I think he’s gonna get caught behind the section, but
he negotiates around it and gets to the open face. When I look out the back,
the next wave of the set is heading to my north. I paddle to meet it, but I’m
too deep. The pitchy lip is just about to curl before I can pop up, and right
in front of the guy who just got a ride, I purl my board and eat shit. When I
resurface, I’m right in the impact zone. The next wave of the set is coming. I
duckdive it, thinking I’ve cleared it, but I watch my board go up, backwards,
and over as I’m caught in another BMS Sandwich situation.
#
Half way through the second hour, the waves
get even more inconsistent. Every surfer has gone, save for two guys who paddled
out to my north. I pray for one wave, just one solid wave like the one I blew
this morning so I can redeem myself. A three-turn wave would make my day and
erase every negative thing before hand.
I have no choice but to catch a closeout to
shore. I don’t know how I can get skunked so many times in a row at this spot.
Maybe I need to start surfing the pier.
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