ZIPPY FISH, MON 20AUG2012 NOON

Location: Old Mans

Crew: Briana

Conditions: 2 FT+, hot, light onshore, consistent.

     Into my second week of training in Massachusetts, I wanted to set up something special for Bri and me, so I reserved a cottage for Monday and Tuesday, not only because I’ve been gone but also because school starts at the end of the month. When that happens, we’ll barely see each other.

     I arranged the dates ahead of time, oblivious to what the swell was doing.

#

     I look at the forecast on Sunday night. 2-3 FT, Fair conditions for South O.C. Early is what I’m thinking. We have to get there early. With my last Old Mans session fresh in mind, I tell myself that I can’t expect to catch waves on the Tokoro or JS. I need MEAT. I call Rick and ask for a fatter board for the job. He loans me his Zippy Fish with the glassed on twin fins.

#

     Bri and I “drink” so much that I can’t wake up to the alarm longer than the time it takes for my hand to find the snooze button. I snooze again and again, all the way past 0700. I finally stumble out of bed to sunlight cutting through the blinds. I hate myself all over again. Late starts when surfing . . . this is not like me, not like the old me. Since we have a cottage, packing doesn’t take that long.

     We’re about to leave, but we have to make three different stops due to feminine issues. I’m human, so I’m annoyed, but I’m a boyfriend at the same time, so I’m patient.

#

     I’m trying not to be a dick. In these situations, I’m always a dick, but I’m practicing tolerance. Besides, this morning’s speed bumps weren’t intentional; they were unexpected. I tell Bri to stop apologizing.

     When we exit Basilone Road, we take a look at Lowers. I don’t see any waves, but I do see at least twenty surfers sitting at the take off spot. At Churches, the tide is a bit high, and surfers sit south, towards the inside. It looks bad. We park the car and have a look at Old Mans. It’s small, crowded, and there are surfers dotting the lineups from all the way around the bend. What’s irking me is the window for surf. If I have to surf small waves, I’d at least like them to be clean, but now we have the wind. I put on my best boyfriend face and get into some trunks and a rashguard. “Let’s go,” I say.

#

     I’m burning up by the time we reach the first break at Old Mans. This is the definition of a California summer day. There isn’t a cloud in the sky, and there are still people crowding the lineup on a Monday. There is nothing but longboarders out. Old guys sit in their beach chairs next to their trucks and vans in the parking lot. I feel like I’m in a time warp back to the sixties. I can only imagine if it was something like this.

     With the Zippy under my arm, I feel better suited for the task at hand. Being as unselfish as possible, I think about the conditions: soft, consistent two-feet plus, going into a mid tide. This is the perfect swell and setup for Briana. I tell her to watch out for the rocks, and that’s it. I paddle out ahead of her and leave her to her own surf girl experience.

     We sit south of the first peak, but some of the sets still break towards us. I paddle for my first wave but get hung up on the top. “Fuck!” I readjust and move up further on the board. I paddle for my second wave. I scratch out again. “Fuck!” I readjust, moving even further up on the board.

#

Longboarding:

     When I first got comfortable popping-up, I would do stupid things on my board that I thought was “my style.” I’d crouch low, hold my hand out a certain way, walk the nose, and sit really close to the curl. When I look back, I must’ve looked like a kook, but . . . is the word kook or barney really deserving? It was a time of fun, when knowing less meant expressing more, when ignorance was bliss. Who cares that I rode waves, tucked in, posing as if I was in a barrel, when it was just a two-foot spiller. The fact is that I didn’t know better, and if anyone was watching I thought they thought I was cool. Basically, I didn’t care. It’s not until we’ve surfed enough, that we pay more attention to the sections we don’t make, the turns we bog out on, the missed barrel, the lack of balls to pull into a barrel, or not at least attempting to do an air on that ramp section. When did we lose our way and pay more attention to the things we’re not doing instead of the moment of being on the wave itself?

#

     After sitting, shaking my head, and laughing to myself at my scratch-outs, another wave swings my way. I think I’ve found my sweet spot. I kick my feet this time and scrape hard. When the left breaks, Zippy takes over. On my JS I’d be behind the section, but the momentum off the drop has Zippy moving fast to the open face. Even though it’s a small wave, I’m moving fast enough to see the next section forming. I pump, take the highline, and drop back in with speed. What’s taken me most is the momentum and stability. Zippy’s so wide, that I walk the nose and turn towards the breaking wave behind me until the ride ends. I go back out, catch another one, and walk the nose again, but this time I stand backwards on the board for two seconds before falling. I’m beyond stoked for how easy it is to catch all these waves. I go all the way to shore, connecting the left-handed sections, spreading my stance, putting my hand in the wave, head dipping even though the wave’s at my chin. People are on the shore, but I pay no mind. It doesn’t matter what they think.

#

     At the lineup, I turn around to see Briana go for a wave. This time, when the wave breaks, she stands up seconds later. Stiff as a board, her body moves forward towards the shore. She comes back, and does it again. We even catch waves together. “If I’m on it, just go,” I tell her. I’m next to her when she pops up. She’s slow, using her knee first before standing up for the remnants of the wave, but I remember I used to do the same thing.

#

     The wave buffet doesn’t end, but it’s a small wave buffet. I get some lefts just under three feet, and I’m in front of the pocket, prime position for turns. The board’s so big that my turns are really sluggish. I still manage a bottom-turn but lose momentum and dig the rail on the top-turn. I keep trying until I finally manage a little check-turn off the lip, redirect, pump, and get one more check at the end of the ride. Though these aren’t legit turns, they feel good, and I’m still having fun.

     Backhand is another story. I fall trying to hit the lip. It’s just a different feeling being on Zippy. I do hit the lip once on a wave as it closes out. That’s the closest I get to some backhand spray.

#

     It was so hot when we go to the break that I left my rashguard on the sand. Too bad I was out of sun block. Bri and I have been in the water for about two-and a half hours. Vertra’s on my face, but my back and arms are getting baked.

     Bri’s progressed so much more on this morning alone, standing up on a lot of waves, only purling or scratching out half of the time. It’s 1430, almost check in time, so we decide to paddle in.

#

     It’s weird how this session turned out. I expected the waves to be terrible because of the late window, but it ended up being fun. Despite the late wake up and the numerous stops along the way, we caught such a good window for surf.

     After we check-in and inspect our cottage, Bri says she’ll treat for lunch.

     “Where do you want to eat?” I ask.

     She says one word: “Sushi.”