LOC:
Goldenwest
Crew: Cheryl,
KK, Hideki, Patrick
Time: 0700-0830
Conditions:
4 FT+, foggy, windy, choppy, winter.
Pre Blog:
Pop
up, drop in, bottom turn, climb the face, top turn, shift weight, wrap around
carve. The professor’s talking, but I’m failing to absorb everything he’s
saying. Pump, pump, carve. Shift weight
to the tail, cut back, bring it back. Clean faces, down the line, bash the lip
on the ramp (because I can’t do airs). The professor’s still talking. I
focus. When’s the last time I surfed? I
can’t even remember. I’m so behind on my surf blogs. I had no idea the master’s
program would be this intense.
TIME:
Did I
surf on Friday? I can’t remember. I’m talking about the fifteenth. How about
Saturday? Did I surf then? I check my text messages to Klaude, CC, Khang, and
Cheryl. There’s no evidence that I did. I check my pictures. Everything points
to Sunday the sixteenth, so I recollect. . . .
THE CALL:
It’s Saturday evening. I’m pumped at the
forecast. There is supposed to be size in HB. Surfline’s giving it a green
rating with some light AM wind. AM wind? That’s okay. Shouldn’t be too bad.
Must go south, have to go south. Nothing’s hitting the South Bay. The Hurley
Pro is setting up at Trestles; there’s no way I’m going there. Since it’s been
a while since Cheryl’ had a seat on my surf trips, I offer her a slot. I call
KK. He wants to surf Goldenwest because he has to be in Carson at 1100. I’ve
been flaking on J lately, so I invite him too. I need a good session with some
size. Zippy’s staying home.
THE
EXECUTION:
I turn on my phone and see I missed a text
from J at 0200. He just wrapped up a poker game and won’t be making it. Flake.
That’s the first thing that comes to mind. I’m human, so I’m upset. J’s seat
could’ve gone to someone else, Christina maybe.
Cheryl texts me while I’m loading up the
car. She drives by. I go outside and help her crossload the gear.
It’s 0600 when we’re on the freeway, making
good time. It’s been a while since I’ve hit the road with Cheryl for surf. We
catch up. She tells me about work, Silverton, and everything else going on in
her life.
“When am I gonna meet Briana?” she asks. “Does
she even exist?”
She’s the only one that hasn’t met her yet.
We pull up to Goldenwest. The sun’s just
above the horizon, illuminating the marine layer to the south, turning it into
an orangish-gold. I’ve never surfed here before, so I opt for the meter parking
instead of the residentials.
A wind from the south turns my skin into
tight goosebumps, but it’s not gusty so it seems manageable. We stand over the
railing. Only three guys are out. The waves are breaking far away, but despite
the wind there are some rideable shoulders at the end of the lines.
Someone parks in front of us, steps out,
and checks out the surf too. He looks familiar. It’s Patrick from 26th.
We’ve also run into him at Zeroes a couple of times. “What’s up?” I say.
“Hey!” He walks over in his sweater with
his hands in his pockets. “It looks better than 26th.”
Klaude walks up from across the street. The
timing couldn’t have been any better. Patrick goes through the intros with
Cheryl.
Klaude turns to Patrick and asks, “You
talked to Roy?”
“Yeah . . . he said it’s glassy right now.
No one out.”
“Fuck,” says Klaude.
Roy’s at Zeroes, but . . . we’re all pretty
stoked with what we have here.
KK goes back to change, and Patrick moves
his car to park elsewhere. Cheryl puts on her spring suit. “What board should I
use?” she says.
“Hmmmm. . . .” She has my old 6’10 Becker
and he Kadowaki fish. “Just use the Fish. There’s some size out there. You don’t
want to be stuck on the inside with that thing.” I point towards the Becker AKA
Old Faithful.
I’m faced with my own decision. Trunks or wetsuit?
It’s been hot as hell lately, and I’ve been deceived before; this wind isn’t
fooling me. I know . . . once that sun comes up we’ll all be on fire.
I grab my longsleeve rashguard and boardshorts.
KK joins us within ten minutes, but something changes. . . .
BAMBOOZLED:
That marine layer I saw to the south when
we got here just sweeps in and blocks out the sun. With the marine layer comes
the wind that brought it here. Bye bye sun, and
. . . we can barely even see the lineup where it’s breaking. If the surf
looked slightly uninviting when we got here, right now it’s telling us to go
the fuck home.
The four of us walk down to the sand. The
paddle out’s a lot further than anticipated, and it’s obvious that the current’s
gonna be a factor. Patrick hits the water first. I turn to Cheryl and say, “If
we get separated, just meet back here.” I point to the bathrooms behind us. I
paddle out. KK’s almost done warming up.
The boardshorts are looking like a bad
choice. The air and the water are cold, but I’m working to get to the outside,
so it’s not affecting me yet. I catch up to Pat, and we try to make it out
together. I already feel the current pulling me north. Four-to-five foot waves
are breaking in the fog, bringing roaring white wash our way. There’s some
punch behind them. I duckdive, get dragged back a little, work my momentum back
up, and do it again. I’m suffering from a Zippy fish hangover, but I try to
ignore it, paddling harder.
I’m breathing hard by the time I make it
out. It’s just me, Pat, and some other guy. Klaude’s halfway to the lineup,
dealing with the beasts. There’s no sign of Cheryl.
Landmarking is futile. The bathrooms, the
Goldenwest intersection, the cliffs are all masked by the fog. I don’t know how
far we’re drifting, but I know we’re moving.
The current brings us into a pack of
surfers, or a pack of surfers gets pushed into us. I catch my first wave.
Closeout. Bad choice. It’s another struggle to make it back out.
Cheryl’s to our south with a look of relief
over her face. “I was so intimidated,” she says, “I just sat and watched it for
a while before I paddled out.”
Damn, I feel a little bad. I dragged her
ass out here, made her wake up early, all for this. Lucky I didn’t bring
anybody else down with us. J chose the right day to flake. CC’s probably
scoring at 26th right now.
Patrick gets the first wave that looks
rideable. He goes left and kicks out. I get a right but draw too high of a line
before my top turn, accidentally kicking out of the wave. From there, the wind
grows even stronger, turning the ocean choppy. The shape goes to shit. The wind
is even pushing bumps perpendicular against the waves heading to shore. I’m
cold.
“Did J trunk it yesterday?” says Klaude.
It hits me. KK told me to ask him last
night. “I forgot to ask,” I say.
“See!” He splashes some water on me. “You
always gotta ask.”
I’m a bit perturbed, being that he could
have made the decision himself to wear a wetsuit or not. “Well I ain’t
complaining.” I paddle north to fight the current.
The truth is that I am complaining . . .
internally. I’m freezing. Klaude and I are the only two sausages without
wetsuits. Klaude says he’s ready to leave. I’m stubborn. The session can’t be
over yet. I didn’t drive out here for this. I need at least a couple solid
rides under my belt.
I catch another left. Closeout. I go pretty
far on a right, but the whole time my footing is fucked up, and I can only trim
on it. Klaude sees me on a left. The take off is critical, but it bogs out and
dies.
Everyone leaves. I’m paddling south, hoping
for a last one, but it’s to no avail. I catch a closeout. The tide’s so high
that it’s slapping against the rocks at the bottom of the cliffs. I don’t know
where I’m at. It might be Dog Beach or just south of Seapoint.
#
Back at the car, Cheryl’s nowhere to be
found. By the time I’m done changing, she’s crossing the street towards me.
“I couldn’t find your keys,” she says.
She followed KK where he gave her a hot
water bottle. When we’re done changing, KK’s coming back across the street with
his friend Hideki who I haven’t met yet. Hideki recommends a place called The
Secret Spot that’s nearby.
#
The line to the counter is long. Even
worse, there are only three indoor tables to sit at. The rest are outside, and
it’s fucking cold and windy. I’m so close to recommending taking the food to
go, maybe eating in Klaude’s van, but just as Klaude’s done ordering his meal,
he secures a table from some people just leaving. Good job, man. Shit . . . I’m
happy just to sit down. Hideki and Klaude bring our food over once our orders
are up, and I have to say . . . for a vegan themed restaurant the food here is
really good.
So . . . sure we got skunked. Who cares? I
never would’ve gotten the face time with Cheryl, and I never would’ve gotten to
meet Hideki. We all shared a good meal afterwards, and Klaude made it in time
to coach his basketball game, where his kids won. Despite the shitty surf,
surfing still brought all of us together. It was still a good day.
On the way out, a couple takes our table.
The woman waves at me and says, “Excuse me, you still have some sunblock on
your face. Just letting you know.”
“Oh.” I touch my face, remembering the
Vertra I put on. I look at her. “I know, that’s fine. I’ll probably have it on
all day. I’ll probably even go to sleep with it on.” I shake my head and raise
my hands. “I don’t care.”
ACTUALLY, we lost that game... close one too. hahaha
ReplyDeleteYes, and the dude's name is CALVIN!
ReplyDelete