Loc: HB
Crew: Khang
& Jonathan G.
Time: 0645-0945
Conditions:
2-3+ FT, inconsistent, mid tide, overcast, light onshore, CROWDED AS FUCK!
::ring-ring::
“Hello?”
“Yo, Matt! It’s Khang.”
“What’s up, man?”
“Hey, so you’re going to ________
tomorrow?”
“Yeah.”
“What time?”
“First light. Gotta be here by five-thirty.
Look, it’s a gamble; it’s up to you. We might get skunked.”
“You know what though . . ? I don’t think
we will. . . .”
Pre Blog:
On Tuesday I really had the itch to dawn
patrol it on Wednesday, not just because it will be a holiday but because I
haven’t caught good HB in a while. The surf has been terrible lately, and
anything south facing has the better report. Dais shot me a text after last
Sunday’s session, saying that he ran into Jonathon (formerly known as J) at 26th.
I thought to myself for a second, wondering why Jonathan and I don’t talk much
anymore. He’s a good kid. He’s just been busy, I’ve been busy, and I haven’t
really put forth the effort to say hi. I send a mass text out to KK, Dais,
Khang, Jonathan, and Shan to see who will be down to go.
Blog:
It’s 0515. I probably slept only
four-and-a-half hours. I stumble to the bathroom, fill up my hot water jugs,
and start to prep my gear. It’s 0528. No one’s coming, I’m thinking. And just
then, I get a text from Khang. “I’m here,” he says.
After we’re done loading up, Jonathan
arrives in the next five minutes. Jonathan is flustered. He says, “I’m sorry,
Matt. I locked myself out of the house this morning.”
All that matters to me is that we get there
early. Even though there’s anticipation about the holiday crowd, I really don’t
expect anyone else except the surf community to file through the gates. There’s
already a long line of parked cars on the street. It’s not even 0630 yet. PCH
has lines of cars in both lanes, and the perpendicular lane has a line of cars
too. Gradually and slowly, we finally get through.
“Let’s just suit up,” I say. There’s a
sense of urgency. So many holiday goers are taking up space. It’s not the usual
scene for this surf spot. The south wind is picking up. I’m pessimistic. I
already expect to get skunked. It’s going to be horrible, I’m thinking, but
just as we get to the water we see that it’s actually calm.
“Look at the smoke stacks,” says J. “The
smoke is going straight up. It’s good!”
I make the suggestion on where to sit even
though it looks flat. I give my assurance that Francis and I have scored here
and that the surf will get better with the tide coming up.
I’m stoked. There are little two-footers
breaking towards the inside, but I know this break. Two-footers here can be fun
because the wave is high performance. Plus the tide is coming up, and I know
there’ll be random outside waves. As Khang and I make our way out, I laugh
aloud.
Sitting at the lineup, a two-wave set
approaches from the outside. Khang and I are out of position. “That was a good
one, huh?” says Khang.
“Fuck, you were right. We’re NOT gonna get
skunked today.”
#
Things slow down dramatically after that
two-wave set. Khang and I are quiet. We know what we’re both thinking, but we
don’t want to say that we spoke way too soon. J draws first blood on a small
insider. The current’s taking us a little north, so we paddle south to stay in
place. A little bit of wave chess ensues. I gamble on the inside and get a
couple small closeouts.
#
Into the first hour, the waves are getting
better, but now there’s another problem. Every surfer in town is in the water;
it’s so fucking packed. First time I’ve seen HB with so many gawd damn people.
A random peak forms on the outside. No one is out far enough to get it. I
paddle into it, going left, just in front of the peak, and then I drop. . . .
The wave is so pitchy that it shoots me past the section to the open face. I
bottom turn and skim off the top with my tail, nothing serious. I pump and
carve the face again. These aren’t whippy turns that get spray, just tight
little arcs. A guy on a longboard wants to paddle in, but he pulls out when he
sees me coming down the line. I set up for one last turn and carve the
shoulder. I kick out clean and paddle back to the lineup with a sense of
triumph. It’s been a long time since I got a solid three-turn left.
I’m grinning ear-to-ear when I see Khang
and J. “They’re out here,” I say, “you just gotta stay patient. But we are
patient, and we rarely get rewarded. As the crowd thickens more, it’s hard to
get another wave. J gets at least one worthy wave and Khang says he got one
good right. I feel bad for everyone else even though I shouldn’t. I try to
channel the spirit of Fransauce for good waves, since we’ve scored so many
times here together. The channeling doesn’t work. On a good note, a dolphin
jumped over J. He said he felt it nudge his board. I’m telling you, all it
takes is that one asshole dolphin to ruin it for the rest of them.
#
We head to the Pho spot near the freeway.
Khang’s nice enough to spot me on my $3.50 large, chicken pho, and he treats J
and me to some chicken buns after. Even though it was crowded and the
conditions weren’t that great, I’m so glad we got together, especially since I
hadn’t seen J in a while. Good times.
