AN ATTEMPT, 16MAR2012

Location: HB

Crew: Fran-Sowce

Time: 0745-0945

Conditions: Gloomy, high to mid-tide, inconsistent, 4 FT, fast, pitchy, couple windows of good conditions.

     I wanted to surf HB on Wednesday, but I got too drunk the night before. I wanted to make up for it on Thursday, but my sister had me on uncle duty to take my niece to school. I am once again the king of doing favors for others. I am selfish with my time, and I missed Thursday’s last day for surfline’s “gold” rating. I’m not sure if my selfishness makes me a bad person or not, but I do these favors out of obligation.

     On Friday, my school’s surf club is having a beach day, so I plan on surfing HB in the morning and then cruising over there, but I get a text from Francis Thursday night. He asks if I want to surf HB and that he’ll drive. He already bought his one-way ticket back to Oahu, so I don’t have much time to spend with him. So what’s it gonna be? Go to a school social or hang out with one of my buddies?

     Francis pulls up at 0600 in front of my soon to be vacated apartment (God damn, I’m going to miss El Segundo). I throw my DMS board in the back, and we shove off. It’s a gloomy morning with sprinkles of rain tapping against the windshield. In HB, we can’t see any signs of wind, so it’s a good sign. We’re only half way to the water, and we can see explosions of white wash breaking the horizon, good sign number two. However, at the water’s edge, there are only a few heads at River Jetties and to our north. The conditions aren’t as clean as Tuesday. The inside is consistent with small, marble waves; the shape isn’t holding up very well, and it’s a little choppy. Surf syndrome (SS) kicks in. We know it doesn’t look good, but we don’t want to say it. 

 

     “Hey, it’s better than local,” says Francis. 

     He leads the way. Surprisingly, once we’re in the water the conditions are cleaner than how they looked from the shore. I duckdive a couple waves that have glassy shoulders. Francis draws first blood by catching a couple boggers.

     “Needs less water,” he says. He’s referencing the high tide.

     On his next wave, he gets two good turns going left. I only have a couple closers under my belt. “At least it’s not boring!” I say. Maybe I shouldn’t have though. The water goes dead, and we’re hit with a long lull.

     Almost fifteen minutes later, Francis motions for me to paddle further in with him. As we do, the inside waves start to get consistent. From there, some outside sets start coming in. I’m out of position for every one of them. Francis paddles late into one of the set waves going left.

     “I rode the foam the whole time,” he says. It hits me that he’s riding single fin this morning, so he’s dealing with a lot of speed. 

     Again, another lull. We start looking at our watches, wondering if we should call it. Just then, the conditions clean up. It might be from the lowering tide, but even the slight onshore wind stops. This morning still isn’t breaking like classic Huntington. Three different peaks break simultaneously with each onslaught of waves. Guys are backing out, and some are getting some decent carves. I finally catch a right that I get two sloppy turns on. 

     When the next lull hits, we decide not to wait much longer. I’m frustrated, wanting at least one solid ride to end the morning. Meanwhile, Francis is scooping water into the air and volleying them with his palm. His calm demeanor never ceases to amaze me. I wonder if he’s Jesus Christ, and then I make a comparison to him being the male, surfer version of Snow White. He’s just so easy going. I picture dolphins and seagulls congregating around him while he wears his signature smile. 

     We tell each other that we tried to make the best out of things; we can’t score all the time, and we have had our fair share of good days at HB. We head to our ritualistic spot for breakfast: BOB’S HAWAIIAN RESTAURANT.

Coconut syrup???

     Even though we got skunked, it’s a rare opportunity to cruise with Sowce on a Friday morning. He’ll be back on Oahu soon getting barreled out of his mind, and mornings like this will keep the foundation strong in our friendship. He will be missed. Also, Hawaiian-style breakfasts are THE BEST!

    

LIVING AGAIN, 13MAR2012

Location: HB

Crew: Solo

Time: 0845-0945

Conditions: Low tide, inconsistent, 3-4 FT, fast, hollow, dangerously shallow.

     I’ve been in a dark place. It’s not every day that your girlfriend of three years decides to walk out on you. I stopped surfing, stopped taking care of myself, and stopped answering the phone or replying to my friends checking on me. This is my last month in El Segundo, so I figured that Sunday night would be the last get together I’d throw. Khang, Shan, Francis, and CC showed up. It was a fun night of beer, pizza, surf porn, and Ninja Warrior. Hanging out with all my friends really lifted my spirits, and that’s when I decided: I need to live again.

Ghirardelli dark chocolate brownies with ice cream

RUSH:

     I mean to wake up. I need to turn off the alarm and start changing. It’s 0615, and I’m lying on the living room couch. It’s still dark outside, so I hit the snooze button once, then twice, and I keep doing it until it’s 0725. It’s a gloomy morning, but I reach for the phone to check the surf report. Local 2-3, poor to fair. HB . . . 3-4 occasional 5 and good? I hate myself while I’m brushing my teeth. Why the hell did I wake up so late? I’m walking to the car with two backpacks and already wearing my wetsuit. What am I forgetting? I charge the stairs again and grab my surfboard. It’s been that long.

     I’m hoping to be at HB by 0800, but once I hit the 605, it’s bumper to bumper. If I hated myself earlier, I’m hating myself even more now. I look at the clock. I should’ve been in the water a long time ago. I tell myself that I need to get back into that “first light” mentality. 

     The parking lot is empty when I reach HB. There’s no sense in checking the water first; I didn’t come all this way for nothing. I grab the DMS and hit the sand. The first signs of life are from the River Jetties. There’s a small pack of surfers there as well as some peaks. To my north, I see another peak working. Right in front of me, there’s a fast, hollow left that spits out a little. 

     Even though it’s low tide, I’m surprised that I’m able to walk to waist deep water. I paddle out and try to duckdive the next set, but my board hits the sand. I walk out a little further. The water’s so murky that it looks like red tide. The gray skies aren’t helping to improve the atmosphere either, but at least the onshore wind is so light that it’s not affecting the water’s texture. I’m expecting some small bumps that I can hunt down that will let me drop-in on the shoulder. The first wave I catch is a closeout, but the second left I get opens up. It’s a little fast, and by the time I get to the shoulder to do a turn, it’s already turning foamy from the inside.

    

Welcome Back:

     Even though the morning’s inconsistent, when the sets come, they break farther out. I try to get their fast enough to catch them, but I’m out of position. I try to go late, and the small bump doubles up inside and morphs fat and hollow. After all this time, watching surf porn, I’ve seen the pros get small barrels. I’d jump out of my seat and say, “You see, I know we can catch those barrels.” So here I am; this is the perfect opportunity. By the River Jetty, I see a guy getting slotted. He’s in there too deep and wipes out, but at least he went for it. 

     On the next set, I strategically paddle into the shoulder, hoping that I can take the easy way in, but it pitches me over before I get to my feet. On the next wave, I purl on my way down the face, and my neck snaps back as I hit the water on my backside. I’m worried about it being too shallow, but the reality is that I’m not quite up to speed for these waves yet. It’s like there is no shoulder to carve. It’s just a fast, round, tube that’s makeable if you’ve got what it takes.

New Routine:

     It’s about 0945. I can stay a little longer, but the thought of chicken pho for only $3.50 looms in the back of my mind. I am hungry, and some hot soup base and rice noodles sound good right about now. I change and drive to the pho spot that’s right by the freeway. The place is empty when I arrive. I have to eat this fast because my classes start at 1100. Even though I didn’t surf very well this morning, for the first time since SHE left, I feel a sense of peace and serenity. I’m doing the things that I love again. I’m alone, but that’s okay. I grab the chopsticks and slurp up a good helping of noodles and broth. Right now being alone is all right. 

    

GOOD FRIENDS AND L&L, 02MAR2012

Crew: Rick & Dave T.

Time: 0645-0850

Conditions: Inconsistent, but really consistent on the inside. 3-4 ft., mooshy.

     Rick wakes me up at 0550 with his text. “R u up?” He writes. I’m tired, but I hit the snooze button anyway. Minutes after waking up at 0615, he calls me. He says that Porto is “OK.” He says that he’s seen it better, but it’s worth a paddle out. I grab my gear and head out the door. I haven’t had much luck at 26^th, so 45^th seems like a good option. When I pull up, I find an empty spot on 45^th. It means that I can only surf until 0900, but that’s better than having to come back in just to feed the meter at 0800. 

     The tide is a little high, but the conditions are clean, and it looks like there are some sets breaking towards the outside. I send out a text to Francis and Shan, letting them know that Porto looks good. 

     When I’m on the sand I see Rick parked. He’s changing, and he doesn’t see me. I approach close enough for him to notice me flagging him down. From there I start warming up.

     Dave T. and Rick come walking on the sand. Dave has a new board. It’s shaped like a traditional thruster but it has a lot of meat on it. Rick looks at my DMS and says, “Matt, you’re gonna need a bigger board.” Again he goes with the lecture. At least he doesn’t specifically say I need a fish, now he tries to disarm me by saying, “Bigger board.” I laugh it off. He’s great as a surf mentor, and I don’t know any guys his age that rip harder than him.

     “Don’t worry, Rick. Have faith in me,” I reply. 

     Because of the tide, or maybe even the swell, the waves are breaking far out. I’d like to think I’m a strong paddler, but it’s taking forever to get to the lineup. Rick and Dave are catching up behind me, so the pressure’s on to avoid ridicule for this morning’s board selection. I just worked out my shoulders last night, so my muscles are burning. 

     It takes a while, but we make it to the lineup. There is potential in the morning’s surf. A peak more to our south seems to be giving consistent lefts, but there are a lot of people there. The first waves that hit our spot look like they have shape but close out. We all start off with similar waves that are good for a couple pumps before dumping. On the way back to the lineup, I see Rick get a really long left. It actually stands up enough that the face is going hollow, but Rick is more shoulder oriented, so he’s not even looking behind him. He gets at least two check turns on the face and kicks out. 

     Wave of the Day:

     I’m surprised that I’m paddling into these mooshy waves on the DMS. My board is so chippy, but the waves have enough power to let me in easy. I get a right that’s fast and lined-up, but I’m too far in front of my board, so when I’m setting up my top turn, I just go over the wave, and it leaves me. Maybe it’s rust or just inexperience, but I tend to blow a good portion of rights this way. 

     All of my waves are closeouts until a little bump pops up right in front of me. When I turn, Rick says, “Yeah, Matt!” The drop isn’t too steep, but it’s fast enough to send me flying down the face. Unfortunately, it’s connecting with a closeout section down the line, so I only have a second before it stands up. I’m a little below midface when I bottom turn, stomp on the tail, and dump all my speed on the lip, do a small arc, and rebound back down the face. Dave T. paddles over the wave right in front of my turn. When I paddle back he acknowledges my ride.

Caught:

     It’s no secret that my duckdive (and barrel riding) are the weakest aspects of my surfing. However, I have been improving on my ducks a little bit. After a closeout I catch, a set comes in. Something weird is happening on the inside where the waves are doubling up. The white wash isn’t huge and roaring, but it’s consistent. Whenever I pop up, the white wash behind it crashes into me. I get knocked off my board on one. I’m caught in the groundhog day effect. There are two guys eating shit just like me. When I turn around, I notice the rocks to my right. I’m pushed so far to the inside that I can almost stand. It’s heartbreaking . . . I get close enough to where guys end their rides and turn around unmolested. I’m just behind that crucial line between war and peace, a trial of some sort, where I need to earn my way back.

    

     At 0800, Rick says he’s going to pay the meter and come back. His brother Manny paddles up to us and says there’s a good sandbar by him and his boys. When Rick leaves, it’s the last that I see of him for the morning.

    

Waiting:

     Something happens at 0800 where the shape deteriorates and it gets inconsistent. I almost spend the next forty-five minutes without a wave.  I only catch a couple closeouts. At 0845, I tell myself that it’s not worth it to fight the inside, so I go back to my car.

Friends:

     I have to pack to go to Vegas. Instead of staying in my lonely apartment for the weekend, my friend Pat invited me to the Monte Carlo to take advantage of his comps: free room, free food, and free alcohol. The paddle battle on the inside has me tired, so I’m in need of a nap. In the middle of packing, Rick calls and says he wants to come over. I almost waive him off, but he’s really persistent. He calls me back minutes later from L&L and says, “Matt, what do you want for lunch?” He spots me for a loco moco.

     Right after Rick shows, Francis shows up too with his food from L&L. We end up having a surf porn morning, watching Innersections 2 with Rick’s non-relative commentary about his surf trips in Mexico decades ago. 

     Even though I’m tired as dog shit, I’m happy that these guys are in my life. They care about my well being; they know I’ve been hurting, and they’re just stopping by to make sure I’m all right. When they leave at about 1300, I set the alarm for a forty-five minute nap.

    

     This was the last day I surfed. Since then it’s been really flat, and I have work this weekend. I hope that things pick up on Monday.

Top floor, studio at the Monte Carlo

Comps at the Dragon Noodle Restaurant

Duck Noodle Soup

Chilean Sea Bass at Prime

Pat, the high roller from Oahu. 32nd floor had its own lounge. "Gamble at the same hotel for comps." -- PG

In the end, I was still a bit too depressed to be in Vegas, but it was nice catching up with old friends.