THERE’S STILL SWELL, WED 09JAN2013 MOR

 

Loc: El Porto

Time: 0900-1100

Crew: Khang

Conditions: 3-5 FT, high tide, consistent, clean, offshore, walled with some shoulders.

     These recent swells have shown that the South Bay beach breaks like the higher tide. When I check out the cams from home, I decide to wait it out until the tide drops a little, since things look swampy from my computer.

     I show up to a crowded parking lot, but a lot of people on the first shift have to go to work. Some of the waves are walled, but because of the tide, some of them have shape too. I saw the jetty when I drove by. It still looked a little swamped, but I ponder about taking my chances there. I shoot a text to some of the boys to let them know where I’ll be.

     Ideally, I’d like to sit at 45^th. It’s just my old spot, especially because there’s a left that breaks there sometimes. And then again, the right in front of the tanks was working pretty well yesterday too. When I make it to the sand, I see Big Man sitting at 45^th. I feel kind of stupid for ruining his wave yesterday, so it’s an easy decision to sit at the tanks.

     The water’s much colder this morning. There are a few heads where I am. Mark AKA Surfing Santa is on his longboard, but he catches his last wave when I make it out. I’m in my loud ass, Hurley, disco suit, the one that I let my brother borrow while he was here. It demands attention, and even though I don’t want any of it, it’s bone dry compared to my two other wetsuits that I used yesterday, not to mention that it was FREE.

     When I make it to the lineup, it takes a while to catch a wave with shape. My first wave is a left. The shoulder lines up, but it mooshes out and makes my turn flat.

     Charlie (the skinny, bearded ripper) paddles out where I am. I know him from the time I went to Camp Pendleton to assist with the Jimmy Miller Foundation. We surfed with some Wounded Warriors. On the next wave, we both paddle for it. It’s a right. He’s on my inside, and I’m watching to see if he’s gonna get it. He stops paddling, looks at me, and says, “Go, go, go!”

     “Thanks!” I pop up and try to set myself up for a turn, but it closes out. I paddle back out.

     “Did that one hold?” he asks.

     “No.”

     “Looked fun anyway.”

     I smile. It’s nice to start the morning with good etiquette. I see him later going on a right, and this guy just surfs fucking amazing. The wave is only three feet, but it’s a little hollow. He crouches low, damn near plastering himself along the face of the wave with his head leaning over the nose of his board, getting barreled before the wave closes out over him. It’s a hell of a sight to see. If I was on that wave, I wouldn’t have even seen that potential; I would’ve gone straight!

     I catch a couple more rides, but it’s the same. The waves I choose moosh out on the inside. Not all of the waves are mooshy, as some have decent, down-the-line shoulders, but I find myself too deep on many. I go deep on a right. A longboarder is on my outside. He still goes, technically snaking me, but I was so far behind the section that I couldn’t make it to the face anyway.

     He paddles by me and says, “Sorry I dropped in on you.”

     I resume paddling. “No worries. I was way behind the section anyway.”

     “Yeah,” he smiles. “I didn’t think you were gonna get it.

     The same guy is in perfect position for a bomb left. I see him paddle into the shoulder and pop up before I have to duckdive the wave. I turn around and see him resurface on the inside, missing the peeling line.

     “That was a good wave,” I say.

     He smiles and looks down. “Explosion. I just . . . I was too late. I popped up and was like, ‘Ohhhhh!’” He wiggles his hands in front of him.

     “Well, there’ll be more.”

     “Let’s just cut to the chase,” he says. “I blew it.”

     Most of my rides are fast or I mistime the waves, going too late to pop up fast enough to get down the line. My best wave is a right. It’s peaky and shouldery. I pump and get one backhand snap. It feels good and quick, like my nose just wipes the wave from twelve to six o’clock.

     I tell myself to go for it, to see if I can just pull into some of these rights that are opening up, but it just feels too weird. Trying to get barreled going backside, just the act of practicing it feels awkward.

     Khang makes it out. It’s too bad that the tide is now at midlevel and going lower. The wind is turning a little onshore and the shape is getting kind of walled, but the left at 45^th is starting to work and go hollow. I see Charlie again, this time on a monster left. The shoulder there is working so well. There’s a hollow slot, just a small almond. Charlie is in there, I mean he is so fucking SLOT-TED. The guy’s so thin I feel like no one else there could have squeezed inside of that tube. He’s like a daddy longlegs spider just sprawled against the face. He’s going frontside, so he's stalling with his rear hand. His limbs are so lanky he looks more like a bug with long claws against the waves face. He’s deep, and the wave is running, turning into white marble from the inside. He holds his line until the barrel clamshells, devouring him inside. It’s one of the best, first-hand, ridden barrels that I’ve witnessed at El Porto.

     Khang and I split some waves, but they are almost all closing out. My two hours is about up. I tell Khang I’ll see him later and make my way in. I’d like to surf again in the evening, but I’ve been surfing a lot. I’m tired, and I don’t feel like making the South Bay tour all the way to PV. I’m gonna take some time out for myself and just chill. Maybe there will still be some swell leftover tomorrow.