BACK TO THE SCENE OF THE CRIME, FRI 26JAN2013 MOR

Loc: 45^th Street

Crew: Solo

Conditions: 4-5 FT, high tide, mooshy, still punchy, walled.

     It’s raining when I show up to Porto, but the rain doesn’t matter. All that matters is that I paddle out again and try, despite yesterday’s beatings. Especially since the swell is down. Especially since the tide is high. Especially . . . since it’s mooshy and non consequential compared to yesterday, yesterday’s beatdowns.

     In the rain, I suit up. In the rain, I feed the meter. In the rain . . . I warm up next to my surf wagon so I can get the most out of my quarters for the hundred-and-twenty minutes that I got.

     There are heads out there, more than yesterday, and I paddle to the exact same spot. Do the surfers in the water know what yesterday was like? I can only wonder, but one thing that I do know is that every face is different.

     No, no barrel attempts today, but I hope for a turn. Maybe two?

     My first wave is a left. The drop in is fast, and I’m pumping, pumping, pumping down the line . . . because . . . it’s all I can do. The high tide has the waves a little mooshy on the inside. Perhaps if I was backhand, maybe I’d get that deep bottom turn to come up at the critical angle and whack the lip . . . but not today. I take the wave to the shallows on the momentum of weak trims.

#

But still

Don’t get me wrong

Do you think that because the wave is mooshy that it lacks

Power

It doesn’t.

#

The paddle out is long, and

The waves are still walled

Some at five feet

Not that critical size

But enough to make you work

And strain

To

Get to the outside

You must

Paddle

You’re fucking ass off.

#

     I get another left and catch it just the same. I maneuver through the crowd. I think I’d be happy with a right. I do catch one, at least for this one I remember most. I do because . . . I’m snaked.

     A guy in a neon green wetsuit cuts me off. I’m hoping he’ll pump down the line. I’m willing to share. Why not? Am I that . . . greedy?

     I remember how I ruined big-man’s barrel, maybe that was a week ago or something like that, but I’m changing my attitude to not get upset, to pass on good energy in case, the time comes when I accidentally snake someone else. Wouldn’t I want to be treated the same way I treat others? ENERGY. That’s the theme, that’s what counts, what counts . . .  as neon green is not pumping down the line.

NO

     He bottom turns and tries to do a snap off the lip, but he turns early. No spray. Why? I can’t blame him. Perhaps the high tide is ruining the wave both ways?

     I pray for space. Just give me one section, man. Move up just a little. Let me . . . TURN. Let me try, at least once. If you can’t get the spray, maybe I can. I’m going backhand, I think I know . . . HOW.

     But I don’t get my shot. The ride ends. Oh well. We resurface close enough.

NEON GREEN: “Oops, sorry, man. I didn’t see you behind me.”

Donny Duckbutter: It’s cool. No worries.

     And honestly . . . I’m not mad, but I stuck close behind him to let him know . . .  I WAS there.

     Can you believe that I don’t remember the rest of the session? Well it’s true.

     The rest of my rides, you can assume, were insignificant. The sun came out but so did the onshore wind.

     In the parking lot, I bullshit with the guy next parked next to me. He looks . . . All American. A man’s man, older than I, but with a healthy build, 80s sidecomb like the “good guy” on TV.

     “It was so good yesterday,” he says. 

     “Yeah it was.”

     It was good. Better I guess. Yesterday had training value, but . . . I’m still glad I paddled out. A surf is still a surf. Better than being behind a desk or in the office, as KK and Surfing G have told me before.

Live to surf another day.

Masturbate

Eat

Do it again, my friend.