MORE MISSED BARRELS, SAT 22DEC2012 MOR

Not deep enough

Loc: El Porto

Time: 0700-?

Crew: Klaude, Rick, Gary, Russel, Dave T., John A., Jimmy B.  

Conditions: 5-6 FT, offshore, consistent, walled with a mix of shoulders, crowded.

     Klaude had texted me the night before, asking where I wanted to surf. I told him that I had to stay local because of my move. I suggested that he surf Porto because Rick would be there and because Rick just finished repairing his surfboard (Rick jousted it on accident), that he would be taking with him. Klaude implied that he still wanted to surf more south but that he would still meet me at Porto to check the surf.

#

     When I pull up to the bathrooms where Rick is parked, Klaude is already there, and I’m surprised to see that he’s already changing. He must’ve seen something that changed his mind to make him want to surf here.

     I’d like to think that my surf crew is strong, but compared to Rick’s buddies, they eclipse us in experience, ability, and consistency, as KK and I are the only representatives of the DRC. 

     I say hi to Rick, and I’m just stoked to see everyone else who came out to surf with him, guys that I haven’t had a chance to surf with in a while.

     The surf is a little walled, but there are lots of good shoulders to be had, and despite the high tide some of the waves are big and hollow. Klaude and I watch in amazement. Russel, Gary’s son, goes for bombs, getting distance and making it out. We even see him set up on a right-hand drop, getting some cover up down the line. Rick’s the same as usual, scoring with ease on his thick, meaty boards. Gary takes off deep, living up to his nickname Balls Deep; he goes deeper than I would ever go. I can’t believe how good these guys are, how much older they are and able to charge. I hope I will still be able to do the same when I’m fifty.

     I go left, trying to pull in, but choose my waves poorly. I’d like to think that I’m getting barrel practice, but I’m pulling into closeouts or waves that don’t even go hollow; I’m forcing. It’s not until I go right, that I’m able to have fun on some back-hand snaps. Right now, my rear-hand top turn is the strongest thing I have in my arsenal, which isn’t much. But the big, steep drops set me up for a lot of speed. My JS is perfect for this surf, as the six-foot and three-inch length allows me to paddle into bigger waves than my Tokoro. I climb the face from my bottom turn fast, making a nice splashing sound as I disrupt the surface of the smooth shoulder with my top turn. I get one more turn on the inside.

     “That was a nice wave,” says John. “You got some nice spray out.”

     “Thanks,” I say. I appreciate the compliment, but what I really want is a barrel.

Missed Barrels:

     A while later, I catch a left that actually holds shape. I’m drawing a low line, trying to stall a little. I keep an eye on the lip, waiting to see when it will throw out. I try to tuck in close to the face, but there’s no room to get slotted. I fade out a little, but it’s too late. Now I’m on the inside, and the wave is turning to white wash, finished.

     Back on the sand, John is taking pics. He says, “I got some good pictures of you, Donny!”

     I pause, holding my smile until confirmation. “Pics of me wiping out?” I ask.

     “No, you’re going down the line, looking good. Big cylinder behind you, but looking stylish.”

     Fuck . . . I probably missed a barrel is the first thing that comes to mind, and then he sends me the picture later that night. The cylinder is right behind me. The whole time, the barrel . . . it’s behind me, and I didn’t even know it. I should be stoked, but I have to be honest with myself. I lack the experience to know what to do when it comes to barrels. I should have faded out, watched it, waited for it, pulled in, check turned, and then stalled. Of course, all this is easy to say but another thing to do. Time, more time, more wipeouts. But everything is always happening so fast, so fast because . . . I know no better yet. One day.

     I spend the rest of the day moving a couple things in, cleaning my old place. I can’t believe how much shit I own. It’s ridiculous. Even though the journey of finding a new place is over, this current task seems endless.