Loc: Palos
Verdes
Time: 1530-1700
Crew: Bri
Conditions:
2-4 FT, clean, glassy, consistent, soft.
When Briana comes over after her internship
in Santa Monica, I vent to her about my stress over finding a new place. Even
though I’ve been out of school for a week, I feel I haven’t had a chance to
genuinely enjoy my break. I wish I could live back in El Segundo, but the rent
is too much. The renters’ market is more expensive that it was when I got back
from Iraq in August of 2010. My other option is to find a one bedroom in Long
Beach next to school, but that move would change my life, not detrimentally,
but I’d be around the South Bay and my friends significantly less.
Bri tries to comfort me. “We don’t have to
surf,” she says. “If you want we can just look at apartments.”
I know that apartment hunting is the
responsible thing to do, but here I am, surfing while I have zero piece of
mind. I need to be out of my current living space immediately.
“That’s okay,” I say. I open my Surfline
App and see that Porto might be too big for Bri. “We’ll go to PV.”
#
I’m in a crappy mood, which started from a
lame surf session followed by a trip all the way back to school in Long Beach
to return a book rental. I was supposed to go yesterday, but I got stuck on
uncle duty, which made it impossible to get there before it closed.
I’m thinking about how PV is probably gonna
be tiny and how my JS is not enough board to catch anything. I think about Rick’s
Zippy. I need it. I tell Bri how I want to buy a Dumpster Diver so I can surf
small waves with her.
We see surf activity as we pass Haggerty’s.
I catch a glimpse of some lines coming in through the horizon. “Oh my God,” I
say. Surf stoke has me antsy. However, as we pull up to The Cove, there are
only a few cars there. A grom chick is heading down the path with her shortboard.
Another guy pulls up into a parking spot to check out the surf. Bri and I step
out to take a look. The surf is consistent, but it’s small, and there are only
a few heads out. Bad sign. I wonder if the tide is too high or if there’s not
enough west in this swell. I wish I had a meatier board.
#
From the water’s edge, I can see some waves
coming in, but they look small. I tell Bri that I’m just gonna paddle out while
she warms up. As I wade through the rocks I say, “Be careful, It’s shallow
here!” I paddle once I’m in chest deep water, then I feel something grind
against the bottom of my board. I slide off and take a look. Some brown moss is
engraved in the fiber glass, but my board’s still intact. Maybe I should follow
my own advice.
The paddle out is longer than I remember.
The inside is a little consistent, but I’m worried about hitting a rock if I
duckdive, so I take a lot of whitewash on the head. A three-foot wave
approaches on the inside. I turn and go, but it closes out. What a waste of
energy. I now have to make up for that distance. By the time I make it to the
break, there’s a little lull. It’s been a while since I surfed here. The grom
chick is way off to my right, and four longboarders are way off to my left.
There is more than enough room.
I sit on the inside towards the middle, and
I don’t even notice the wave out the back behind the smaller one in front of
me. PV breaks slow and mooshy, so gradual. Even though I’m deep, I know that
the wave will break late and allow me time to get into position. I dart for the
outside, swinging towards the shoulder to make sure it doesn’t break on me. It
takes a lot of paddle and kick to get into it. I lower my chin. The wave is
four-feet and racy, but soft, soft without power but still fun. I pump and make
it to the open face. I top turn without much power because of the mellow slope
of the wave and lack of board volume, but it’s still fun. I manage to pump and
make it to the end section to get one more turn.
Paddling back, I’m stoked. I turn around,
and Briana’s getting worked on the inside.
That
first wave was better than my whole morning sesh. Just like that, I’m redeemed.
I feel better about the whole day, and I’m so glad that I’m here instead of at
home on my computer, looking at Westside Rentals and filtering out rental scams
on Craigslist.
The surf is by no means “pumping,” but it’s
still good enough to catch waves with a potato chip. The lulls don’t last long,
as the bigger set waves roll through consistently.
Briana makes it out. I call her into waves,
but it’s been almost two weeks since she surfed, so her pop up is really slow.
A four-foot set wave comes. She’s in perfect position while she’s paddling. Her
board is even angled down the line. There’s nothing but open shoulder before
her, but the speed of the drop discombobulates her. She rides it on her belly,
standing up somewhere in the middle of the ride. And I can’t ride her too much.
I still think she’s doing better than I was when I was back at her stage of
surfing.
On another wave that’s bigger and walled
up, she purls while she’s on her belly, half way down the face. It’s a brutal
wipeout. I forgot what it’s like to eat shit with a big ass log strapped to
you. She resurfaces, unscathed.
As for me . . . I’m having ridiculous fun.
Not a buffet like the four hour power sesh I had with J on December seventh,
but I’m just getting long, clean rides, with at least one solid turn—fun single
shots. The trick is to catch them really late since they’re so mooshy. Once I pop
up it’s a race down the long peak to get to the open face. From there I practice
my frontside carves. I try to grab the rail on a turn, but I fall; I’m not
there yet.
The sun sets which gives off an orange glow
over the low horizon. The majestic cliffs behind us are now turning black, with
the houses overlooking us becoming faint shapes in the dark wall. Still, the
same surfers are in the water, milking the last rays of light for that last
wave before the long trek up top.
Bri gets a left. It was a good one because
she disappears for a long ass time. When she comes back, we catch out last ones
in.
#
We change and head out for dinner at Alejo’s
in Westchester. After that we head back to my place, talking about how good it
was and how we enjoyed our evening together. She falls asleep for ten minutes,
but I wake her up. She has to go because she’s only “allowed” to stay here two
nights a week. . . . I’m apartment hunting all day tomorrow.
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