Loc:
Manhattan Beach
Time:
0800-1030
Crew:
Khang, Dais, Klaude
Conditions:
3 FT, inconsistent, hot air, freezing water, crowded, walled.
Dedication
to PABS:
When I took my trip to Bali from June to
July of 2011, I was surprised at the small handful of new followers that began
to comment on my blog. One of them was PABS, a dedicated NorCal surfer and surf
blogger. I reciprocated his kindness and started following his blog as well,
which I found straight-to-the-point (not longwinded like me) and supported by
many of his ominous photos of his secret, foggy, and sharky surf spots of the
NorCal coast. About a year ago, we exchanged phone numbers and planned to meet
up for a surf since he was coming down south to visit some friends. I was in
the midst of a break up at that time and preoccupied because of it, but we were
able to agree to meet up on a specific date. Unfortunately, he ended up calling
me a few days later, saying that he had injured himself surfing and that he
would be out of commission for a while. I had no idea what the magnitude of his
surf injury was and how it would affect his health.
Surfing Grandma of the OC recently contacted
me with the terrible and shocking news that PABS, Paul Andrew (Pablo) Koontz,
had passed away on January 13th. I cannot say that I met him in
person or even counted as what one would define as a “friend.” However, I feel
I had a connection with him through surfing and his blogs.
He told me in an e-mail that “he couldn’t
wait to have the full SoCal Donny Duckbutter experience” in reference to my
pics of surf and post-surf AYCE sushi missions. I deeply regret not making
myself more available to hang out with him a year ago and to at least have had the
chance to meet him in person. I thought “there would be another time.” Well
there wasn’t. Life is short, as everyone says, and now the stoked, friendly
voice over the phone, fellow surf brother and surf blogger, who always exchanged
encouraging comments and feedback, is now gone. I’m still shocked and
speechless. I’ll miss him. Here’s a link to his blog and obit:
CHILL:
I show up a little late to surf. I have a
feeling that Klaude is already out there. Surprisingly, the air temp is warm.
Mucho warm. However, Klaude warned me yesterday that the water was
bone-chilling cold. It sounds just about right. When one factor (air temp) is
at a glorious level, something else has to be present to fuck that up.
Once I get to the sand I see Klaude out
there. It’s a crowded lineup. Both locals and weekend warriors are out there,
probably the nice weather brought them out.
My ankles turn to ice the second I step
into the water. Fuck me. I mean, literally, my ankles are already going numb.
Probably not a good day for my 3/2 Rip Curl wetsuit, the one that’s so gawd
damn flexible because . . . it’s almost like wearing nothing. Well . . . I have
a feeling that that thin layer of neoprene isn’t gonna do much for warmth.
I mean fucking COLD! I don’t even want to
duck dive. I make it out and my hair’s still fuckin’ dry. KK and I usually do
this hug thing the second we see each other. I really don’t want to because I’m
frozen stiff.
#
The surf itself is another story. The peaks
are coming in long and walled with a little corner at the end of them, but it’s
not even that big and the waves are breaking like that.
Khang and Dais show up. Later on so does
Tom. Calvin’s been there, so has Roy, Orlando, and every other Manhattan Beach
vet, but catching a wave is another story.
Closeouts. Non critical, injury-free
closeouts. On top of that, I have an ice cream headache from duckdiving. The
whole sesh I’m fucking miserable; I can barely talk! I struggle to get anything
with a turn, but the boys are here; we’re together. It’s a day to get some face
time, especially before my semester starts again.
One Left
One Turn:
So I’m a little behind the section on this
wave. I got prime position. For some reason everyone is on the inside. It’s
about three feet. I pop up and start making my way to the open face. I bottom
turn just from below the midline and draw a nice arc on off the top. I look
forward and see Khang on the inside. I straighten out.
Klaude and Khang hoot me on as I make my
way back.
“I saw you on the inside,” I say.
“Yeah,” says Khang. “You could have pumped
over me.”
I wasn’t upset that he was on the inside
during my ride, I had kicked-out out of courtesy. It just seems right. I would’ve
hated to have gone for it, wiped out, and then resurfaced next to each other;
it would’ve been a dangerous situation. I think I usually play it safe in those
situations.
Later, Khang gets a left and disappears
below the wave. From there a nasty bucket gets tossed out the back. Dais and I
give him props. It’s good spray, and his surfing is really progressing.
As for me, that one left is all I get.
Klaude and I leave since we’ve been out there for a little while, but we head
to The Blue Butterfly in El Segundo for some bagel sandwiches. Rick meets us
there later to shoot the shit.
Sometimes when the surf is small, you miss
gnarly closeouts. For now, there isn’t much surf.
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