FRONTSIDE, MON 20FEB2012 MOR

Crew: Francis

Time: ?

Conditions: 4-5+ ft, high tide, offshore then switched to onshore, walled with occasional shoulders, semi-consistent.  

     Francis’ call wakes me up. He’s on his way to 26^th. “I just passed Grand. There’s some sets out there,” he says. I’m tired from sleeping late, but I grab my gear and head out the door. 

     I can’t find parking to save my life. After about fifteen minutes of driving around in circles, I finally park all the way by 15^th St. I debate on what board to take. The DMS is already laid out while my JS is in the bag. Since it’s mooshy, I go with more volume to paddle-in easier. It’s a long walk, but there seems to be scattered peaks everywhere. Surprisingly, it’s not that crowded either. I hump all the way to Marine and paddle out in a little empty spot in the water. I spot Francis at the main peak, but I wait for a wave to take me to him. There’s a little size this morning. It’s walled up, but there are occasional peaks that have makeable shoulders. I drop in on a steep left, but it closes out. I catch a lot of closeouts, but it feels good. A lot of guys are backing out or pass, but I’m actually enjoying how easy it is to catch boards on this wave. I get a left that opens up, and I get two decent carves on it. There’s that moment when I dump all the speed on the shoulder and shift my weight on the tail. Words can’t describe the feeling, it’s like I’m frozen in time. I shift my weight on the tail again to redirect down the line. It’s not flawless, smooth, but my transitions are getting faster. 

     I finally make my way to Francis. He asks me about the Wave House in San Diego for his birthday. I’m surprised at this because I’m not supposed to be aware of such an event, so I remain silent. He laughs and says, “It’s not a surprise, Matt.” To be on the safe side, I still shut my mouth. It makes the conversation between us awkward. 

     I get a couple more lefts, but not as good as the one from earlier. However, there’s a little progression here. I’m not getting spray like my backhand, but I’m drawing a highline, tagging the lip with my tail for baby-tosses of water. It’s the same way my backhand progressed. Taking words from Wagner, I say to Francis, “You see that monster out there?” There’s a bump in the surface on the outside. After a wave passes us he sees it. He paddles for the peak while I paddle for the shoulder. He’s too deep, I’m thinking. I’m scratching, just about to drop when I hear, “Wooooooh!” I look down, and I swear I have a bird’s eye view of Francis. He looks tiny down below, and he’s looking up at me. I pull out. His wave didn’t open up, but it was a juicy one that he straightened out on. 

     There’s another monster on the next set. I set myself up on the shoulder and start paddling. I’m caught off guard by the waves speed and power, and I’m a little late for it. As I’m sliding down the face is getting too vertical, so I step off the rail. I see the lip coming down and turning hollow as I plunge beneath. I’m embarrassed when I resurface. I remember seeing bobbing bodies down the line of that wave, all looking, all watching me eat shit. I smile and laugh it off, shaking water out of my ears. A guy paddles up to me a minute later and says, “Was that you that took that drop a minute ago?”

     “Yeah, that was me.”

     “Man, you look like you could’ve just made it if you held on a little longer. I had a perfect view in the barrel.” 

     I feel like an idiot. Did I bail out too early? “Yeah, it just got really vertical on me.”

     “Well . . . way to charge though!” 

     It’s almost 1100, and Francis and I need to leave. On my last wave I do the same thing. This one’s not as big, but I pop up a little too late and wipeout again. I blame it on switching the boards, but maybe it’s just me, probably surfing lazy. 

     We part ways, and I haven’t surfed since. Either way, that solid carve that I got off that one wave is still sticking with me as I write this. I can’t wait for another one.

SWAMPED, SUN 19FEB2012 MOR

Location: Huntington

Crew: Shan

Time: ?

Conditions: 1-2 ft., high tide, swampy, mooshy, offshore then switched to onshore.

     Yesterday at Manhattan was crowded, so I put out the bat signal to see who was down to surf HB. Everyone had to stay local except for Shan. I agreed to pick him up. It would only be two-to-three feet, but we all know that HB can be fun when it’s small. I expected there to be a minimal crowd with small, fast shoulders to ourselves.

     Shan and I parked in the state lot and walked out to the shore. It was a swampy, high tide, but we saw some peaks occasionally break through on the outside. It looked good from our vantage point. “Well, that’s all I need to see,” I said. “Let’s suit up.”

     I’m gonna make a long story short. . . . We paddled out and sat for a while. The waves seemed like they wanted to break, but they rolled on through and only stood up on the inside. Even a SUP guy next to us couldn’t catch them. “All we need is the tide to drop,” I said. Too bad the tide was dropping really slow on Sunday, so the effects failed to materialize. I did get one wave though. It was a random one that broke and reformed. The inside section stood up, but I could only pump without turning. The offshore wind switched to onshore. The small group of surfers left, and there were only a few heads at River Jetties and further north. We called it quits after an hour-and-a-half. We ended the session with some $3.50 Pho by the 405 freeway. We should’ve stayed local.

NEW BEGINNINGS (double sesh), SAT 18FEB2012 EVE

Location: Bolsa Chica

Crew: Solo

Time: 1630-1800

Conditions: 2-3 ft., mid tide, strong onshore wind, and inconsistent.

     After two semesters at my university without being involved in campus activities, I decided to join the surf club. I checked out their booth during club row before but never got as far as putting my name on their clip board. As much as I like to stick to my exclusive circle of friends and keep outsiders away, I thought this would be a good way to network. Also, it wouldn’t help to meet people on campus that I can relate to. Usually I’m paranoid about joining clubs, expecting that their members are stuck-up and snobby, but this is surfing we’re talking about. How bad can it be, right?

     I was forwarded the mass e-mail from John, club officer, that he’d be paddling out at Bolsa Chica at 1600, two hours before the bonfire. When I got there, the onshore wind was strong. I only saw one longboarder in the water who was getting out. I only surfed here once with my brother, a very long time ago when I was still on my huge Becker board. I wasn’t sure if the surf club was already here, but I saw what appeared to be a bunch of college kids by a fire pit. There was a good sandbar working, but the wind was really messing with the shape. It was choppy and howling, a total loss of a session, but there was no way I was gonna stay dry until 1800.

     Back at the car, I checked my e-mail and gave John a call. When he answered I said, “Hey, John. Um, it’s Matt. I e-mailed you back about paddling out today. I’m here now but don’t see anyone. Are you still paddling out?”

     “Oh, no. I was gonna paddle out, but I already paddled out yesterday.” 

     Damn, this kind of caught me by surprise. Paddled out yesterday? I thought. What kind of surfer attitude is this?

     “Yeah,” he continued. “Some guys are about to paddle out right now though.”

     I sat in the water by myself for a solid hour. It was a session of patience. When the sets came, they were either walled or I wasn’t in position for the shoulder. The best I could do was get a couple pumps down the crumbly line but no turns. 

     As the sun was setting, I saw a guy and a girl paddle out in front of a blue canopy. I worked my way there. The guy got swept away with the current, but the girl stood her ground. She was young, slender and Asian with long black hair. Her skin was light and her eyes were dark. I assumed she had braces on because she just had that kind of mouth, and I don’t mean this in a bad way. 

     “Hi,” I said. “Are you with the surf club?” We struggled to hear each other over the splashing, but she introduced herself as “Nicolle with two Ls.” She said she took a break from the club last semester because she lost interest in surfing. I was intrigued because her paddling form was good, and she talked like a guy, saying things like, “I fuckin’ ate shit on that wave!” I was stoked, maybe my first friend to meet in this club, so I charged along with her. 

     The waves were shit, but I hooted each wave that came by and called out the incoming sets. We duckdived the closeouts and catched the shapeless wonders until dark. I felt a good sense of camaraderie. Maybe this surf club would be cool if everyone was down to surf like this.

     Back at the canopy, I met Jeff, John, and another Matt who I called “Matt-One.” When I got back from changing, Nicolle had left, but more people showed up. We hovered around the fire pit to keep warm. There was also a chick named Alis from Santa Cruz who used to longboard for the university surf team. I tried to engage her in surf talk, but I didn’t get much feedback. I tried to engage everyone in surf talk, but they were more open to the conversations about recent parties or getting tickets on campus. I set my expectations too high. Anyone who knows me knows that I am a surf geek. I love everything that involves surfing: movies, contests, webcasts, clothing, literature, and paraphernalia. These kids were on a different plane. It was still a cool get together, but I left after a couple hours to return home. Maybe I won’t participate in the bonfires, but I’ll most likely show up on the official beach days when they are actually surfing.

BACK IN THE SADDLE, SAT 18FEB2012 MOR

Crew: Klaude, Khang, & Dais

Time: ?

Conditions: High tide, offshore, mooshy, slow, and inconsistent.

     It’s been over a week since I surfed which is an obvious rarity for me. Something in my heart is telling me to drive down south to surf Huntington, but I think about my buddies. I haven’t seen the fellas in a while, and as much as I’d like to score some good surf, I’d like to capitalize on how this art brings people together. Klaude gives me a call and says he’s heading down, so I hurry up and change to go down and meet him. 

     I can’t really tell what the surf is doing when I show up, but I see some guys on the inside catch some waves. Klaude’s not here yet, so I go to the sand. I try to embrace this moment. There’s a lot going on in my life, and I look to the ocean for some solace. I missed the cool brown sand in the morning, the way the cold stings my feet. I see PV in the distance, a picturesque South Bay scene. And then . . . there’s the crowd. It’s packed, the bad kind of packed where the surf is so slow that everyone is sitting and waiting. Everyone: longboarders, shortboarders, and SUPs. I try to pick a spot at the main peak, but it’s too thick. Even further north by 33^rd has a lot of heads. I walk south, half way between 26^th and Marine, and still find myself with little breathing room. Somehow, a wave comes to me. I drop in and start to pump. The left is so mooshy that I struggle for speed. Off of the lip, I shift my weight on the tail to attempt a carving arc, but I stall and the wave passes. Back at the lineup, a couple more waves come my way, but I have to pull out because someone’s already on them. 

     I spot Klaude. He’s paddling out in front of the 26^th St. tower, but I don’t feel like shouting over the crowd. I luck out on another left. It walls up on the inside, but I’m able to get a small turn off the lip before I kick out. It feels good. Little by little, my frontside is getting better. 

     Klaude’s talking to the Rastafarian longboarder when I paddle up. They’re in intense conversation, so I don’t butt in. I sit around waiting for a wave but nothing comes. When they’re done, Klaude gives me a juicy hug in the water. Other surfers look at us like we got something homo going on, but in retrospect, I haven’t seen Klaude in so long that it’s worth the strange stares. I also spot Khang and Dais on the sand, stretching. Once we’re all in the water, we do a little catching up. I don’t want to be a downer, so I try not to bring in too much of my personal life. 

     We’re hoping that things will improve with the lowering tide, but it seems like things slow down a little bit more. For a minute, Klaude and Dais get separated from Khang and me, so it’s just us. A left comes our way. I’m in position for it, but Khang’s on my inside. I watch him drop in, and then he disappears as the wave moves past. From there, I see a decent sized bucket get tossed out the back. To be honest, I’m jealous but at the same time happy. When he paddles back I say, “Man, you got some pretty good spray on that one. I had to double check to make sure that was you!” 

     Like clockwork, a right approaches, and it has good shape. When I bottom-turn I look over my shoulder and see the face. It has that gray, gloomy, classic South Bay color that reflects the usual overcast. I project up the face and get a smooth carve off of the lip. I do it so late that I’m surprised to be going back down the face, but on the second hit I stall on the lip and fall. I don’t know what happened, but my guess is that I was too far up on my board. Khang nods his head in approval as I paddle back and says, “Not bad. I had to double check to make sure that was you.”

     “Yeah . . . but I fell on the second turn.”

     “I know. I saw that.” He says that it’s a good sign on our improvement, how we can trade off waves and at least get a good turn. In the last year I think we’ve all come a long way. 

     Dais paddles up, and his facial features are looking chiseled like a Greek God. “Guy, you looking handsome,” I say. “You’ve been working out?”

     “Nah, I’ve been sick. Something’s been wrong with my stomach.”

     Okay, so I was “off” on that one, but if diarrhea is the secret to a nice jaw line then there’s nothing wrong with being on the gravy train now and then. 

     There’s no “wave of the day” portion for this write-up. All four of us spend the rest of the session scratching out on moosh burgers. It’s a bit frustrating. We gamble on different places to sit. Dais is all the way on the inside not doing much better than us. Klaude says he’s paddling in, so I say bye to Khang and Dais and catch a wave after him. 

     Back at Klaude’s van, he hands me a CD with photos of me surfing that his dad took on New Years. When I check them out at home, there’s a legit missed barrel shot. I just suck at reading barrels. It’s my curse. 

     (Klaude, thank you and your dad for the pics. I enjoyed them. It’s very selfless of you two to take these pics out of sheer love for the ocean. Thank you thank you.)

     Even though today’s session wasn’t a score, it was nice to see everyone in the water. Right now it’s my therapy.