OLD MAN AND THE SEA, FRI 03FEB2012 MOR

Loc: PV

Crew: Solo

Time: 0830-1000

Conditions: High tide, 3 feet, glassy, walled, soft, inconsistent.

     Last night Khang told me he’d surf 26^th today. I originally intended to check the surf closer to 0800 when the tide went down, but since Lauren got home at about 0630, I thought I’d just wake up. 

     There was definitely size at 26^th. I stood on the run path and looked at it for a while. It was a solid four-to-five, but the shape was a little mooshy and walled. There seemed to be a lot of people out there. It’s so much better when the peaks are tighter, but there were these long, wallie, unattractive lines. There seemed to be more surfers than the shape allowed, so I went to Porto next. I haven’t surfed here in a while. It amazes me how much I used to love this spot, but now when I drive through it seems so packed and condensed. It’s already worse enough that you have to pay to surf here. I’d say the shape was a hair better. There were rides, but a lot of people sitting on the sand bar. I watched a couple guys get dropped-in on, but in Porto’s defense, in front of the bathrooms, a big, clean left broke on the outside and went unridden. Rosecrans looked the cleanest to me. The left was working nice and standing up similar to HB, but it was pretty crowded. My energy’s been lame lately, and I really didn’t feel like being in the middle of a pack, so I gambled on PV.

     As I drove further south, the swell seemed to get smaller and smaller. I noticed the difference in size when I drove by Manhattan Pier, and the little nooks and crannies where I could see the ocean in Hermosa looked like the surf was tiny. I stopped by Hags, and there were only three guys out on the north end—nothing. Overlooking The Cove, I joined two old-timers. There were only five longboarders in the lineup, and it looked two-to-three feet. “You gonna do it?” I asked one of them.

     “I don’t know. It looks a little too weak for me.” 

     “Yeah, I just came from Porto and 26^th. I didn’t really like the shape down there.”

     “I just came from there too. Rosecrans looked like it had a nice peak, but it was crowded.”

     As he left, I talked to the second old timer. He said, “You know, the tide’s coming down. It might get better.” He actually pointed out where Indicators was. Further south, wrapping around The Cove, there’s another point by a bunch of rocks, and I could see that the left was working. 

     “It looks like there’s a couple guys out there,” I said. When I turned to address him, he was gone. I suited up and made the walk down. It was another session without expecting much, but I had scored all three times I’ve been here. Initially I explored a different trail that led down to a sharp, rocky drop-off that would’ve made the paddle out shorter, but I reconsidered when I imagined climbing those rocks on the way back in. The air was cool and chilly from the north wind, but once my feet touched the water I felt warm.

     I sat in my usual spot: bottom of the wave, wide of the main peak. I got some waves right away, but the shape was not cooperating. Every time I popped up, the section in front of me was already spilling away. I caught a good amount, but most of them were straight-shots. There was one wave, just one wave that I could claim a turn on. Surprisingly, the shoulder was critical and steep, but the inside just softened it up too much. 

     The sun made its way over the cliff, and everything about the place was gorgeous. There was serenity, isolation, and a very light crowd to share it with. With all the personal issues in my life, it was nice to sit in silence and reflect. It would’ve been better if there were waves, but who has control over that?

     The best thing about the session was the walk back up. With the sun on my back, the quietness of the nature around me, and the high vantage point of the rocks below and whole South Bay in the distance, I felt centered in the moment. With only the sound of your footsteps, it’s hard not to feel at peace. Back at the car, the old timer was packing up. “Not that bad out there.” he said.

     “Yeah, there were some fun ones.” I didn’t want to be a buzz kill.

     “It actually got better.” There was a long pause while he strapped his longboard to the roof. “And when that sun comes out . . . it’s like heaven.” 

     I was unsure if he was talking to me. He wasn’t looking at me, but I was the only one around. That stuck to me a little. There I was, berating the surf in my mind, taking my youth and time for granted perhaps? That old man, bald, wrinkled, and eyebrows white as powder, he was the one truly living out of the both of us. 

LOCAL SCRAPS, WED 01FEB2012 MOR

Crew: Francis & Khang

Time: 0730-0930

Conditions: High to mid tide, 3 feet, onshore, choppy, rip current.

     On Tuesday, Francis sent me a text and said it was two-to-three feet and holding in the morning. With that being said, I told him I’d surf with him the next day. After dropping my sister off at the airport, I cruised to 26^th for a look. On the way there I could see flags blowing onshore, which was a surprise since the wind has been offshore since Thanksgiving. 

     I had to take a shit, so I parked in the metered lots, dropped a log in the public bathroom, and watches the waves. It looked bad. The morning crowd hogged the peak in front of the tower. The waves were crumbly and knocked down from the wind. I should just go home, I thought. Text Francis, apologize for not surfing, explain that the water looked shitty, and then move on with my day. It wasn’t until I actually saw Francis in the water, surfing away from the pack alone, that I felt guilty. I walked to my car wondering what to do, and that’s when Khang pulled up in his van right in front of me. “You paddling out?” I asked.

     “Yeah. It’s onshore, but I thought I saw a couple waves over there.” He motioned towards where I saw Francis.

     We suited up and headed down together. I hit the sand not expecting anything. I was getting wet for the sake of seeing my friends. In between taking a shit and getting in the water, I saw Francis get at least three rides. We joined him and got annoying looks from some other guys in the water. It must have been a frustrating morning for most people. Roy paddled up from the south and talked to the guys. I barely talk to him. Honestly, he called me out in the water years ago. Even though he probably forgot about it; I can’t help it. I’m a grudge holder, and I never forget a face, so when I see him I remember that moment every time.

     I got one decent left the whole morning, that’s all I can really say about this session. It was a spilling wave, and I so happened to be on the shoulder. What felt good was I continued my progress from HB. I got two little turns before the wave flattened out. It was about to connect with an oncoming right, but I lost my balance in the flats. I also got a right, but it closed before it hit the lip. Half of the session was spent fighting the rip. It was weird. The current was sucking out and to the south. I even lost Khang who nearly drifted to Marine before he paddled back. The water was just plain ugly, a disappointment. Meanwhile, I saw Roy pumping down the line, still finding workable corners. He just has this place wired. Even though he’s not my friend, I can’t hate on his surfing.

     I was glad to be in the water. I’ve been reflecting lately about the joy of the ocean. Where do most people spend their leisure time? A lot of people don’t ever make the time to go out and do anything. Surfers are the prime example of opportunists that make the time to enjoy life. We could easily be sleeping in our beds and making excuses. People who don’t surf may not find time to go to the gym, take that hike, go jogging, or take that exercise class. Surfers will always make the time.

FAVORITE SPOT, SAT 28JAN2012 MOR

Loc: HB

Crew: Francis

Time: 0745-1000

Conditions: Low to mid tide, sunny, warm, offshore, 2-3 ft, fast, fun.

     Rick was the one that told me there would be a surf contest at 26^th St. Even though the report for surf was bigger in the South Bay, I didn’t want to deal with the crowds. I imagined how the contest would affect things—surfers being pushed to 33^rd or even Porto. Even though HB was forecasted to be a foot smaller, I thought it would be a good opportunity to use my parking pass and escape the local crowds. 

     On Friday night I texted everyone to see who was down to roll. Francis was the first confirmation, which is always expected of him. After not hearing from everyone else, Christina caught me online and said she got a new six-foot Zippy Fish. When I told her about the contest and the prospect of surfing HB, she said she’d join and meet Francis and me in the morning.

     It’s 0615 when I wake up. I already have a text. It’s Christina. She can’t make it. I’m the in car with the motor running at 0645, and there’s still no Francis. I wonder if he slept-in. When I call him, he’s right around the corner. We load up and start our morning drive. It looks like a slow SoCal morning. The day’s lookin’ out to be a clear one, and there are barely any drivers on the road. Usually in Huntington, there are other surfers all driving towards the beach, but on this morning there are only a few. I get the feeling that it might not be going off. 

     The lot for state parking looks like a ghost town. Even weekday mornings are more crowded than this; there even seems to be less people on the bike path. Silence overcomes us. I don’t say anything, but I have a feeling that we’re thinking the same thing. Two cars with surfers and surfboards are leaving, dry as a bone. When we park, there are some surfers checking the water. They return to their cars, walking slowly, with their hands in their pockets. Moving without a purpose, they give off a lame energy. 

     “What do you think?” I ask Francis. “Should we check it out first?”

     “Nah, you’re already suited up. I think we should just go for it.”

     Either he’s a good man or he’s in skunk denial. In the back of my mind I’m already thinking about heading back to surf local if it’s small here. 

     When we walk over the sand and finally reach the water, the worst of our fears is confirmed; it’s flat. There are a small group of surfers north of us, and a very, very light crowd at the river jetties. “Fuuuuuuuuuck,” I say. The tide’s barely coming up which gives a more drained out appearance, and that’s when the surf syndrome (SS) kicks in. We see a small peak roll through. It has a shoulder, but it’s small and breaking close to shore. A couple more peaks come in at different spots, still under three feet. I forget what we say to each other, but we reach the mutual agreement to make the best of things. 

     It’s the just the two of us in the lineup; we’re isolated. Two waves come that we both scratch-out on. We sit a little closer to the inside hoping it’s the sweet spot. I catch a right. It’s barely two feet, there’s a racy shoulder, but it closes before I get a turn. Paddling back, we see the first sign of any potential. A three-foot wave breaks on the outside. We’re too deep for it, so we have to duckdive. “There might be some fun ones,” I say. 

     I know this wave when it’s small, and today it comes in handy. At the first sign of a little bump, I start paddling for it already. Reliable as always, the wave jacks-up towards the inside, and I’m on a fast, shouldery, little left. It’s just under three feet, but the speed it generates is a welcoming platform for carves. Since it’s fast, I have to pump get to the shoulder. I do a semi-decent top-turn to end the ride. When I paddle back to the lineup I get another . . . and another. The third wave is a right, and I get a baby hack off the top. Sure, the swell’s not doing much here, but I imagine 26^th and Porto and how crowded it must be. Right now the surf is small, but the shape is good, and it’s just us. 

     We’re busy enough to be in our own worlds. I get a couple turns on another right when I notice some groms on the sand. Fuck, we may have made it look too good. A chick paddles right to our spot, and two other young boys follow behind. We go a little north to get away. 

     The window is good for the first hour. Little inside waves and random three-footers break far out. The crowd is still thin, and even though it’s not super consistent, the lulls aren’t long enough to make it a boring session. In other words, it’s not a wave buffet, but since we almost have all the waves to ourselves it feels like one.

Wave of the Day:

     I’m hunting for lefts all morning. I just love this wave. It starts off so small and just stands up. Fast and pumpy, I’d never expect so much potential for sub three-foot waves. 

     I get this left that just lines up all the way to shore. I have enough speed to project up the face with momentum, so I get my first turn in. After the first turn I stay active, pump, and keep going down the line. I do another carve. Sweet. I’m two turns in and still have momentum. I put a little English on the last one, stretching out my arms and using my body to get as much arch as possible. For me, I can’t end a ride any better. 

     For the first time, I’m feeling like my frontside is finally coming in.

     Stoked, I’m paddling back out and, déjà vu, Francis is going frontside on a right. He carves the lip, does an S-like pattern on the face, and cuts his board back at the base of the wave. Again, he’s flawless and smooth. Being with him pushes my surfing.

     It doesn’t get claustrophobic until we’re into the second hour. Now everyone wants to be out, but it doesn’t matter because they missed the good window. The rising tide actually slows down the surf; there’s just not enough swell for it. Francis and I had our fun; this morning was a score.

    

Grinds:

     Klaude and I agreed to make Bob’s Hawaiian one of our ritual stops after HB sessions. I tell Francis this because on this morning Klaude can only be here in spirit. When Klaude and I went it was packed, but on this morning it’s a small, mellow crowd. The waitresses in there recognize us because they’re already smiling when we step out of our cars. A live band is playing in the big room, and Francis leads us right in there. Three families are gathered for breakfast to support the band. At first I’m uneasy. I’d rather sit by the entrance away from everyone, but the festivities bring a sense of nostalgia. With our backs to the street and hearing the Hawaiian music, combined with the atmosphere, it feels like we’re in a local restaurant back home. 

     We exchange stories about Hawaii, and when the band takes a break, the lead singer, Miles, comes to our table to talk to us. 

     We’re full of surf, food, and aloha on the drive back home. It was probably the best small day ever.