FIRST BARREL, MON 16DEC2013

Loc: Huntington Beach

Crew: Randy

Time: 1200-1600

Conditions: 4 FT, offshore, cool, sunny, mid-to-low tide, empty

     It’s my first surf session with my brother Randy since he recently arrived for the holidays, and with the recent bump in swell, we’re parked in front of my favorite local break. The surf here is a little smaller than Porto, where we had just came from, and the crowd is just as thick. For a Monday, a lot of people already have the holidays off or they had just said, “fuck it,” and called in sick. I can see what the excitement is over this swell, but it’s still on the walled side. Porto had decent size but not much shape, and add a full crowd of hungry surfers on top of that—anything with a shoulder will have dozens of takers.

     “We can go down south,” I say. “We’re supposed to do sushi with the boys later on anyway.”

     “Yeah,” says Randy. We both gaze out at the surf. A wave breaks and closes out onto the shore. “If we go to HB, the wind might be on it though, and the tide might be too low. I know what it does on low tide.”

     “Well, we can surf Porto where there’s surf, but with how crowded it is there’s no guarantee that we’ll even catch any waves. Or we can go down south, where I know it will be empty.”

#

     Driving past the northernmost peak at Bolsa Chica, we see a three-foot A frame break. A longboarder is going right, the shoulder in front of him peeling like a right at Middles. His ride continues until he disappears when I past Seapoint. The Cliffs has peaks too, not as big as the South Bay but waves are going unridden with a medium crowd.

     Along PCH, cars are parked in long lines, but there are so many decent sandbars that they can handle the capacity.

     When we reach our surf spot, we change without checking the surf. A guy leaving says, “It’s still fun out there. I hope you guys score some good ones!”

     I’m surprised at the friendliness here, and I’m hoping that it is still fun out there like homeboy said.

     I whip out the Mini Driver and my brother uses the old Tokoro that he gave me before he had initially left to Indo, a 6’0” standard shortboard, a board that feels much to chippy for me since I started riding my new board.

     The wind is switching sideshore from the north, but I don’t say anything. I look at Randy, and he’s looking down as we walk to the surf, probably thinking the same thing too. But at the water’s edge, we see that the water is still glassy. Only a few heads are out, but the surf is inconsistent and appears small.

     A wave breaks a little to our north, a lone and soft A frame that a surfer takes in.

     “That’s our peak,” says Randy.

#

The Right Recipe:

     Even though the tide is getting low, some of the waves are still breaking softly. I’m first to draw blood, catching a rampy two-foot right. On my voluminous board, I’m able to crank out a sharp, backhand snap, clean and precise. It’s not round HB but there are small and playful conditions for powerful carves. I go again on another right and bust another snap.

     Paddling back to the lineup, Randy says, “Damn, I haven’t even caught a wave yet.” He looks down at the Tokoro. “This board feels huge!”

     So a lull ensues, and the swell doesn’t seem to be hitting this part of HB anymore. Either that or it’s dying out. The wind switches from sideshore to offshore again, making the water even more glassy. Then I can tell that today is one of those ideal SoCal days when the wind remains offshore.

     Bumps start coming in from the outside, and with the tide getting lower, I only know from experience that the waves will double up quickly once they hit the sandbar.

     Randy’s on my inside, heading straight for the middle of the peak. As I paddle over the shoulder, I watch my brother calmly do a late take off, going left. From behind the wave, I watch it curl over, revealing streaks of whitewash up an arching back of water, like millions of mini torpedoes firing straight up and curving down into the sand for a massive explosion. And all the way at the end, where the shoulder is, I see my brother break through the highline and blast the lip of the end section, sending an enormous bucket out the back.

#

My Turn:

     I know I have to try today because my brother’s here. Not only that, but with the lowering tide, those rippable sections are becoming more sparse. The waves are breaking faster, which means that I must pull in.

     I take off on a wave, but I straighten up because it looks walled. Randy goes again, getting barreled once more on his forehand. Now a rogue wave approaches. I’m deep towards the inside, but I paddle out towards its shoulder to meet it. A guy is on my outside in perfect position, but I can’t let this wave go. I can’t let this turn into a “I should’ve gone” situation. So I turn and go. I’m late. My board is angled for a late take off, and as I pop up, the wave is going round under my feet. I’m getting more used to this now: I’m looking down, and everything underneath me is turning green. My only concern is keeping the nose out of the water, and pretty soon the green underneath becomes the green beside me, and then the green spilling over me. The guy on my shoulder looks inside the barrel, sees me inside, and pulls out. I’ve survived this late drop, but the speed has caused me to fade out too far. I crouch and feel the face of the wave with the middle, ring, and pinky finger of my left hand. I need to pull in to at least mid face to gain momentum, but I’m flat on my board where the lip’s about to be. After that, everything goes from green to white, as I’m pummeled into the shallow shore.

     When I resurface, I see Randy going extremely late on a right. He gets pitched even worse than I did. “Are you all right?” I say when he resurfaces. No response.

#

Barrel 101:

     “What happened with that one?” says Randy.

     “I was in it, but I faded out a little too far.”

     “Yeah, you looked late.” He gives me some pointers, tells me that I need to make sure I get that one pump while I’m dropping in to get under the lip. “You’re too upright,” he says, placing one palm over his chest and sticking it out. “You wanna get down there and crouch like you’re in the barrel.” He places one hand by his left ear, his right arm and hand extended out. He looks at me again and says, “You know what I’m talking about. I couldn’t really tell you these things before because . . .”

     “Yeah, I couldn’t even relate back then.”

     “Yeah, and your surfing’s much better now.”

     Two groms paddle out next to us and share the peak. Some clean, three-foot barrels roll through. One of the kids goes. He’s a dirty blonde probably in the sixth grade. He makes it all the way to the end section and yells out to his friend, “I was getting barreled the whole time!”

     On the next wave, I go left, pull in, and get pinched. It’s a typical ride: no drive, pull in, wipe out, the end.

     “What happened with that wave?” says Randy.

     “Oh . . .” I say. I have no idea. I guess the thing that went wrong with that wave was just ME. Suddenly I’m mad that that little kid had gotten barreled so easily. The two turns I got earlier have now been cancelled out by my inability to barrel ride. I think about how I always surf poorly every time I surf with my brother, poorly on my part and how my surfing looks in comparison to his. I’m always out of my comfort zone with him, but Klaude had recently told me that it’s being outside of our comfort zones that makes us grow.

#

Long Time Coming:

     A four footer rolls my way, bumping up from way outside. Randy’s closer to the peak, but he looks back at me and says, “Go!”

     I’m not late like that set-wave barrel attempt that I had earlier. I’m kicking and scratching hard, J.O.B. style, fully committed. The water’s so glassy, like pure Trestles marble when the sun’s going down, but there’s a lift to this HB wave. I’ve always said that there’s something scarier about big, clean waves—the shape is there, now all you have to do is have the balls to pull in.

     And as much as I want to say that what I do next is textbook, I have no idea because I’ve never made it out of the barrel before, but since I’m paddling in at the shoulder, I’m not forced to fade out too far. I keep my drop-in line tight to the face of the wave, the water under me becoming greener and rounder. I crouch down and make myself as compact as possible, my right arm stiff and outstretched while my left hand is close to my face. The shoulder in front of be becomes rounder until it’s curling over my head. The shoulder that was once next to me is now in front of the pocket, further away. My fingers skim the smooth face of water beside me, and I hold this line until I catch up with the pocket. I eject out of the barrel, holding a high line. I can’t believe it. Mark the date, officially: 16 DECEMBER, 2013, Donny Duckbutter has finally gotten his first in-and-out barrel. Two trips to Indo later, multiple winter ass beatings at Porto, and now here I am at the end section of the wave. How many times have I sat out the back, watching guys shoot out of the end section, knowing that the only way to get there is threading through the barrel. I’ve never stood here before. On the highline, the wave is still rampy, and I want nothing more than a finishing gouge, so I fade out hard on the bottom turn to set myself up, but the shoulder stands up and goes hollow again. The lip comes down on me, and I miss the double barrel, but that’s okay. I came out cleanly. There was probably only three feet of room inside the tube, but I made it. I’m counting it.

#

The Risks:

     I know that I’m a Barney compared to my brother, so I try hard to filter my barrel stoke. If Klaude, Dais, Rick, or any of the DRC were here, I’d be as giddy as a fourth-grade girl. “I just kind of got my first barrel!” I say. “I wasn’t too deep, but I was in there.” I show all my teeth, unable to close my mouth. Light reflects back up towards my brother’s neck and face, the water glassy like a pool.

     He smiles. “Good,” he says.

     My brother tries to call me into the next waves. I want another barrel, but the tide is getting lower and the waves are breaking faster. I go on a right, immediately pig dogging. The water swirls over me, but instead of wiping out, I am driving inside the barrel. I’m moving so fast that I can only see the nose of my board. As the water crashes over me, I get a glimpse of the sand before I get pinched in inches of water.

     I pull out on another wave. Randy tried to call me into it, and as it passes he watches it peel to the left, empty and unridden. I force myself to go on the next wave and get pitched. I toss my board and cannon ball into the water. My heel hits the sand bottom hard as if I had jumped onto concrete. When I resurface, my heel hurts, but I get back on my board towards my brother.

     At the fourth hour, the tide is so low that everything is closing out. The surf crowd goes from thin to nonexistent, and then we leave too.

#

     So now I sit here with a sprained ankle that was well worth it. I’ve tried to be as humble as possible when it comes to getting barreled, so much to the point that I have never claimed to be legitimately barreled until that Monday on December 16^th. So is it possible for people to get accidentally barreled? If it is, I’ve never been so fortunate. If anything, I’ve learned the hard lessons of “trying to get barreled.” You can throw on a Kai Neville or Taylor Steele flick and watch Dion Agius or Mikala Jones pull into barrels with ease. It’s so easy to fool yourself from the futon in your home, thinking that it looks so easy. Bali and Java really brought me to reality, that the sharp reef that lurks underneath can add to the already insurmountable amount of stress of pulling into barrels. Porto has shown me the raw power of monstrous closeouts that can bring you close to drowning before you even have a chance to sit on the outside for a wave. HB and Oceanside have exposed how technically flawed I am on critical drop ins. Yet I somehow made it; I dropped in with decent timing and chose a line that had me threading the barrel. Accident or progression? All I know is that I hope I can do it again.

     And what now? You know that feeling you get after beating a video game? Finally beating Mike Tyson in Punch Out or saving the girl at the end of Double Dragon. You lose interest in the game and look for another one, but in the case of getting barreled, I’m so far from feeling accomplished. If anything, all I’ve gotten is a taste, nothing more. Not being deep enough, missing the second barrel section, and getting pitched at the peaks, instead of saying that I have finally gotten barreled I would rather say that I can finally start getting better at them.

A WINDOW, SUN 15DEC2013

Loc: Manhattan Beach

Crew: Tom, Calvin, Toru, Bri

Conditions: 3 FT, offshore, warm, sunny, walled.

     Bri and I check the local surf at first light, and the surf is walled again. Instead of paddling out and waiting for the surf to change, we head back home and postpone our session. It’s looking like a gym day, so we eat breakfast and watch some older episodes of The Walking Dead to fill the void. Of course, this is when the texts start coming in. Dave T. says that the surf is getting better, as well as some other surf buddies. Bri and I look each other and feel it’s worth the drive to have another glimpse.

     It’s the late morning now around ten o’clock, so the beach is already getting crowded with non-surf, Sunday day dwellers. Lucky enough, surfers from the first and second shift are leaving, timing that awards our recent arrival.

     In the lot, Tom and Calvin have just finished suiting up. They say they’ll meet us in the water. Even Toru has made a late arrival.

     It’s a typical, Manhattan Beach day with blue sky and blue water. In front of the brick house breaks a clean right-handed peak about three feet. With the tide going down, the shape is much more negotiable for at least a turn if one’s lucky, so it’s a no brainer for us to paddle out.

     Bri does decent as usual, getting some long rides, but she gets a little worked when the sets start coming in.

#

     And I can’t remember much else for this session. It was a while ago. Bri went in early because she was tired from the day before. Toru left shortly afterwards, and then Tom, Calvin, and I went in at about the same time. It was a decent Sunday session but nothing spectacular.

RELIEF VIA COBBLESTONES (double), SAT 14DEC2013

Loc: Middles

Crew: Bri

Conditions: 2-3 FT, offshore, warm, sunny.

     This past week, Bri and I have dawn patrolled Porto nearly every morning to be met with disappointment. Even though Surfline had given the South Bay a fair rating, most of the peaks were too lined up—long lines closing out with rare corners to work with. On Friday morning, I told Bri that on Saturday we’d be driving south. Even though the swell would be smaller at south-facing breaks, at least there would be some cobblestones providing decent shape.

Prep:

     So Bri and I are trying to get into new habits before going on these surf trips. I pack the whole wagon up the night before. Even her longboard is mounted on top of the wagon, just not strapped tight ‘til morning. Boards, wetsuits, everything is thrown in the ride, save for the hot water bottles.

     We’re on the road by 0600. The tide doesn’t top out for another hour, so there’s no rush.

Selling It:

     Old Mans is empty. Too much tide. We continue our drive from San Onofre to Churches. The sun on the sand is giving it a bright beige color. With a cloudless background, everything casts a shadow with a hard slant, indicating the sun’s first glimpse over the mountains from the west. Even the small ripples in the water cast a shadow, and in the water are only four surfers.

     Since the tide is high, the waves are breaking closer to shore, but there is potential in this swell. Despite the tide, some clean rights begin to break and peel. The four surfers have a photog guy snapping away. These guys are good, walking their longboards all the way to the nose then walking back all the way to the tail, redirecting their ocean-liner boards into the crumbling white wash and back down the line again. One of them gets out and swaps his longboard for a shortboard from the van parked next to us.

     We’d like to paddle out right next to them to get on those peaks too, but they got a photo shoot going, and they’re really the ones who are soul surfers who paddled out even though the conditions are swampy. They deserve their spot.

     Bri and I change. I whip out the old Becker Board. It’s a 6’10 shortboard-shape with a quad setup. I had bought the board initially as a medium board during my progression towards a shortboard. I’ve been waiting for the right conditions to ride it in, and finally today I’ll get my chance to see if I’ll be able to turn this beast. After locking up the car, we head towards north Churches. 

Right Decision?:

     The tide . . . we’re waiting for the tide to go down so we can get some waves. A left comes. I paddle into it with ease. The shoulder is peeling for a long ride to shore. I pump to make the section. On my second pump, my rail is so set that I go over the wave on accident. Wasted. After that a lull sets in, and it’s hard for me to get into the waves, even with the Becker.

     Meanwhile, Bri’s doing okay. On her longboard, she can get into almost everything. The days have passed when she used to be the one sitting around while I was going back and forth after each ride. Now I’m the one sitting here, turning around to see if she’s made the drop, waving back at her to let her know she’s doing a good job, and then looking out towards the horizon wondering when my turn’s gonna be.

     But the lulls get so long that we’re both sitting here. Only a few other guys have paddled out. I wonder if we’ve made the right decision coming here. I picture Porto. Perhaps today is the morning that the lined-up peaks have tented up into A-frames. I imagine the local vets: Kadowaki, Roy, Ross, all going for it and hooting each other on. The locals who surf the same spot day in and day out, knowing that if the surf sucks one morning, they’ll be there the next to be the first ones to score when the shape changes.

     Towards Middles we see some rights rolling in. It looks better over there, but it always looks better “over there.” So Bri and I abandon north Churches, Mons Pubis, and paddle all the way to Middles.

When Old Spots Work:

     There’s a rock formation at Middles that looks like a bunker, so I had named this spot Battle Position years ago. It rarely works. Nowadays it’s a spot I skip, either staying at Churches or sitting on the south side of Lowers, Little Lowers. But on this morning, no one is here at Battle Positions. The locals might be waiting for the right window. Maybe they know. Regardless, as the tide drops down, some wide A-frames start rolling in. Only three feet but it’s a solid Trestles three feet—rippable.

     Maybe I should’ve unleashed my Lost Mini Driver because they waves are beginning to stand up more. The Becker has so much volume and thickness to it that it really requires some strategic foot placement and weight-sinking pivoting of the hips. On a left, I try to do a frontside snap, but it comes off sluggish and more like a check turn. But my wave of the morning comes in the form of a right. I pump down the line, shift my hips and my head back towards the spilling section behind me, do a cutback, and rebound cleanly onto the white wash and into the face of the wave again. It’s one of the cleanest cutbacks that I’ve ever pulled off on my backhand, and I’ve done it on one of my old boards, a 6’10.

     Bri and I trade off waves for about forty-five minutes before some guys start setting up shop on shore. They watch us for about ten minutes before paddling out. Down at Churches, I see more heads in the lineup. The window’s open, and now everyone is rushing through it.

Crowds:

     We had it . . . we had it to ourselves for almost an hour, so it’s okay that there are five old guys sitting at the top of the wave on their longboards. It’s okay that there are more guys on our inside, fully surrounding us. It’s not Porto crowded, but since these waves peel for so long, all it takes is one guy taking off at the top of the wave to cancel everyone else out. So Bri and I share. We still get some rides. I get a few sluggish snaps on my backhand. But it’s almost noon, and we’ve been out for about three hours. There’s water waiting for us in the car. Cookies and tangerines too. More lulls start to set in, so we let the second-shift surfers have the spot. The crowd’s arrived, but Bri and I scored the best window.

#

Loc: North Churches

Time: 1500-1700

Recharge:

     I got the fourth season of The Walking Dead on my laptop, so we snack in the backseat of my car and watch two episodes. The wagon’s facing the ocean, so over the laptop screen I see solid four-foot set waves peel past. Guys are ripping it, getting long rides. The water’s still glassy. It’s gonna be offshore all day.

Round Two:

     We packed extra wetsuits, and it’s so damn nice to put on a bone-dry wetsuit versus one that’s still soaked from the first session. But the tide is so low that we can tell that the wave size has dropped with it too. The surf needs more water, but it will be too dark by the time that happens. Church’s main peak is working, but everyone’s sitting there. Middles doesn’t look as good as it did in the morning, so Bri and I go back to Mons Pubis.

     This time I have the wrong board. I’m on my 6’0 Mini Driver, and I could use the extra volume from the Becker, but I stay committed to my call.

     The surf is lookin’ like two feet with occasional three. I get a few waves here and there, but nothing of great significance. It’s still offshore. The sun’s low and beaming into our faces. Everyone in the lineup holds up his hands, filtering the light with a screen of fingers, searching for the bump on the horizon. It’s been offshore all day. Small but clean. Crowded but not annoyingly crowded. Bri and I know that we exceeded our expectations for stoke today. And maybe local was good back in the South Bay. Maybe our friends did score this morning. And if they did then that’s okay because we scored too.

THE SNEAK SESH, SUN 08DEC2013 EVE

Loc: El Porto

Crew: Bri, Dais

Time: 1530-1715

Conditions: 1-3 FT, scattered peaks, light onshore.

     I shouldn’t be in the water today. There should be no time for it, but I’m off work early after our holiday party. I should still be there, but I told my squad to ditch our clean-up detail. Why not? I was stuck for over an hour last year, so I’m not doing it this year.

     Before going home, Bri and I cruise by Porto. It looks like a nice evening, the wind is light, and the tide is already coming back down, hopefully relieving the symptomatic moosh.

     When we pull into the Porto lot, we see small scattered peaks everywhere, only affected slightly by the north wind. I call Rick, but he’s at his niece’s birthday.    

     “I don’t really feel like surfing,” says Bri.

     “You don’t have to,” I say. I haven’t surfed since Friday, so I’m frothing.

     “No, I’m not gonna let you go out there by yourself so you can tell me what I missed out on. I’m not letting you get that one up on me!” So Bri and pack up the wagon with speed and head back to Porto.

     Before paddling out, I send the DRC Signal to Cheryl, Christina, Khang, and Dais. I tell them: Porto is clean for the evening session.

     When my toes touch the water, I realize that I made the wrong decision by wearing my 3/2. Yes, winter is here. It is fucking freezing. I can only imagine how cold it must have been this morning.

     With the swell on the down slope, this is it. I have to make the best out of this session.

     In the lineup, I worry that I may have made the DRC Signal prematurely. The surf had looked better from the shore, but now . . . eh . . . it’s a little on the walled and racy side. Every wave I catch is running away from me. Since Bri’s on the longboard, she’s able to get into the waves early and make the sections. These are not shortboard conditions.

     About fifteen minutes into the session, and I see Dais on the sand making his way out. It’s so easy to spot him with his long hair in a tail and his long Confucius beard.

     “I was wondering all day when to paddle out,” he says. “Go when the tide’s high or wait until it comes down? And then I got your text.”

     I tell him that you have to be in the right spot and that I haven’t really gotten many waves. But something about Dais’ presence changes my luck. I’m in prime position for a left. Upon popping up, the section is already building. But I pump down the line and get one carve before it closes out.

     Even Bri is getting better rides, finding herself right on the shoulder in expert position for the building sections.

     Once the sun goes down, the water begins to clear out a little. A school of dolphins cruise in front of us.

     “Oh shit!” says Dais. “What’s that?”

     Suddenly I’m not so sure if those are dolphins. There have been so many shark sightings lately. I duckdive the next wave, thinking the worst: jaws upon my face under the black ocean. When I resurface, I see that the number of fins in the water can only mean that they are in fact a school of dolphins.

     On the next peak, Dais is too deep and duckdives, but I’m on the shoulder for the right. As I slide into the face I can’t believe that the shape is holding, so I wind up for a backhand snap. The inside takes some section maneuvering and setting up, but I get a second blast off the lip. Who knew? This evening session wasn’t even planned. I ditched my detail at work to make it in time for an evening session, and now I’m actually scoring some turns, much more fun than the cleaner, crowded session on Friday morning.

     It’s dark when Bri and I leave the lot. We see Dais changing, and we say our goodbyes and plan on meeting up to surf again this week.

     At home, Bri’s decorated our tiny studio. We even have the holiday candles going. She warms up some leftovers from the holiday party. I return Klaude’s phone call from Oahu. He tells me about meeting JOB at Pipeline and how he caught day one of the event right by the competitor’s area. We’re both stoked for each other.

     Kobe Bryant makes his debut, coming off of an eight-month injury. With a mouth full of sweet potatoes, I can’t wait to watch Kobe make his triumphant return over the Raptors, perhaps breaking his eighty-point scoring record. Oh yeah. With good surf and good food, how can anything go wrong tonight?