UNEXPECTED GATHERINGS, SUN17MAR2013 MOR

Loc: Manhattan Beach

Crew: Hideki, Klaude, Khang, Dais, Christina

Conditions: 2-3 FT, sunny, cool water, crowded, consistent enough.

     Since the weekend forecast looks like shit, I plan on doing some things that I haven’t done in a while. On Saturday, I pay my mom a visit in the Valley. Let me rephrase that. It’s a shitty part of the Valley, where there’s a 24 hr. taco truck parked out front. I’ve lived in shitty areas, and they all have similar characteristics. Let’s not get into that. This is a surf blog, right? 

     While I’m there doing my homework, I see that Christina’s replied to one of my posts on Facebook. You see, I’m in the market for a fish, one that I can catch tiny waves on, especially for surfing with Bri. So she chimes in on the thread and says that she’s willing to let me use her Zippi until she gets back from Australia, and that she can bring it with her to surf in the morning.

     First I’m thinking, Fuck, I know the surf is gonna be tiny. I can have her just drop it off when she’s done. But then I realize that that’s pretty lame isn’t it—to have someone drop off the board to you, the one that he or she is letting you borrow. CC is being really generous letting me do so, so I agree to meet up with her in the morning.

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     I don’t even tell the guys that I’m surfing. I actually have a paper due very soon plus regular homework on top of that. They wouldn’t expect me to be out. Besides, the forecast is shitty. I doubt anyone will be there.

     I curse myself for waking up late. I’m out of my surfer form, have been for a while, especially since the masters program started. Unfortunately, surfing’s taken the backseat to homework, and the gym has taken the trunk—a necessary configuration for my life. Yes, sir. I’m a student first and a surfer second. That’s where my life is right now. I think Brianna is riding shotgun right up there with homework, but even surfing is tapping her on the shoulder, asking to swap seats for a little bit.

     I drive around the metered lot a couple times, glancing at the surf. It looks okay. Small, but good enough to paddle out for. I end up scoring free parking on the hill, not like it’s a choice, for this morning I have zero quarters.

     After I change, I make my way down the hill and onto the sand, feeling a bit foreign. Has it been this long, this surfer routine that once dominated my life? Lord, help me.

     Something about the water just looks cold. It’s that greenish, blue tint. The air is kind of warm, but my worn out, 3/2, Rip Curl wetsuit is talking to me. It’s saying, “Donny, sir. Sir Donny. Please spare me. Put me out of my misery. With this old neoprene, I can’t go any further.”

     “Listen here, you, you piece of shit wetsuit. I’ve had you for over two years now! YOU-WILL-WORK!”

     The chill of the water rushes in through the pinholes along the seams. A little bit of water rushes in around the neck. It’s cold. It’s cold. And . . . I see Hideki; his yellow board is unmistakable. Wow, had no idea he’d be here. As I get closer . . . Oh, it’s Klaude. Oh, right on. Paddling closer with a smile, I try to sneak up, but he spots me.

     And you know what? Fuckin’ A, the surf’s all right. I catch a couple lefts, but in a lazy way. I’m letting the crowd go, as there are too many people on my inside. I don’t want to snake anyone. “How was it yesterday?” I ask Klaude.

     “Shittier,” he says, “and more crowded.”

     Well, looks like CC picked a good day for me. Going left, I catch a lot of one-turners. Definitely fun. The most fun I’ve had local for a while.

     Hideki says, “I gotta roll. I’m picking up a board from some guy today.”

     As Hideki is leaving, I see CC on the sand, tugging along a board bag which has the Zippi. I catch a wave towards the inside and get her attention. Her eyes are wide, holding the board bag. She’s pointing at it. I nod in acknowledgement. When she makes it out to the lineup, she tells us how she’s looking forward to Oz. We’re all jealous, thinking about the last time that we trunked it. For me, it was the end of last summer. It’s funny how Southern Californians boast about how good our weather is, but it’s still only warm enough to trunk it for a quarter of the year if we’re lucky.

     Then Khang and Dais show up. The only person from the OG DRC (who still lives in the area) that we’re missing is Cheryl. What a surprise.

     I catch this right. Some guy tries to go on me, but I scrape for it. When I pop up I’m behind the section, but I stay with it until the inside where I catch up. I feel I could use a little more board, so I hike up the sand and switch.

     This Zippi is bigger than I remember. The rails are so full. It’s like six feet. I’m still apprehensive about getting one this big, but . . . I have to be realistic if I want something that can catch small waves on. It’s interesting sitting on this thing after riding the Motorboat. I feel higher in the water from its buoyancy; turning it is harder too.

     I catch a small left, up and on it much earlier than I’m used to. Nothing for me to do but bottom turn and choose a line to trim on. It’s fun.

     Then I’m in positioned for a bomb right, and that’s “bomb for the day.” It’s a solid three feet, and I’m the only dick whose made a beeline for it on a gamble and won. I hear a couple hoots from my buddies. I drop in fast. The Zippi has so much volume that a wave of this size sends it flying. I stay light on my feet as I pump. The section’s about to closeout, but it’s still mooshy, good enough for a turn off the lip without close-out consequence. It takes a lot of ass to bottom turn this thing with the speed that it has. I climb the face and distribute as much weight on the tail as possible to crank out as much torque as I can for the top turn. And wouldn’t you know. I fuckin’ pull it off, nearly falling with all my weight shifted forward for the reentry. I’m not sure how much spray I got, but I know that just from the sheer size of the board, I should have tossed out at least a small pail.

     At that moment, I realize that I can still catch these waves on my Motorboat, so I go back in and swap back.

     Energy in the lineup is good. CC is always stoked for surf. Oh, I forgot to mention that she’s on her brand new, off the rack, Channel Islands Pod, and that board is looking really good under her feet; she’s catching everything, probably more waves than I’ve seen her get on her Zippi. It’s amazing how easily she’s adjusted to it, being that it’s a smaller board. But to see the look on her face, I can see that stoke has a lot to do with it. And she should be, Australia and all.

     Klaude takes off on a left. From his paddle until he’s riding on the inside, Christina’s yelling out, “Yeahhhh, Klaude! Go, go, go, go! Woooooooooooh!”

     Other surfers look, but CC’s been surfing here long enough to be a familiar face. She’s earned the right to do what she wants here. She’s a local.

     Klaude paddles back with a smile, saying, “I fucking love you guys! I could hear you all the whole ride!”

     Klaude leaves, then so does Dais and Khang. I have a lot of shit to do today: homework and a barbecue at my best friend’s house. I wish CC a good trip, say bye, and head home. We didn’t plan this gathering, especially with a shitty surf forecast, but it turned out to be a golden morning. Good times.