BETTER STAY LOCAL, SUN07JULY2013 MOR

 

Loc: Manhattan Beach

Crew: Klaude, Shan, Tom

Conditions: 2-3 FT, consistent, overcast, fun.

     I love it when the surf is supposed to be flat but ends up fun. Surfline called poor-to-fair conditions for the South Bay, but as I stand in front of the recently graffiti’d lifeguard tower, I see peaky lines rolling through, but . . . let me rewind a bit. . .

There are Those Mornings:

     There are those mornings when you can’t get out of bed to surf. Whether PS3, Jizzonline, Pornhub, masturbation, or actual sex with a real life human being is to blame, there are those mornings when you’d rather sleep in. You’ve been there. Do you justify the same way I do?

• I haven’t slept in in a while. I’m sure my body can use the rest.
• I’m sure it will suck today. Surfline said it would suck, so I’m sure I won’t be missing much.
• You can always catch an evening sesh.
• You’ve been surfing a lot. What’s missing one day of surfing anyway?
• The weather’s shit, the water’s cold, and there’s no way I’m leaving this warm fucking bed.

But what does the addicted surf fanatic in you say during those moments, when the bed is warm and your girlfriend’s plump ass is warm in your palm under the sheets? You know you’ll hate yourself if you don’t get up now. When you do wake up with the sun peering through your window, and you’re fully rested and unsalted, with the onshore wind now rustling the trees outside, and your tide watch showing that the surf is now mooshy and drowned out, lying in bed with your unsalted body you’ll stare at the ceiling, fucking hating yourself!

My body is still sleeping, and like a mummy, I pace to the

bathroom. My legs are weak, so I sit down and piss like I have a vagina. I want to reassociate the word vagina to have connotations with power. Why not break the convention? Then we could say stuff like, “Shit, I went full vagina on that fool and beat his ass,” or, “I had to vagina up on that fool and show him what time it was.” Too many thoughts through a tired man’s mind on this Sunday morning.

     I brush my teeth, still tasting remnants of last night’s French apple pie. I love those sugary crumbs. Mmmmm. Walking past the fridge, I think about eating the last couple bites that I saved last night, but it’s already 0645. Klaude had called me about thirty minutes ago. I need to go. He’ll be there. I need to get there before the crowd. Need, need, need. Need free parking. Need surf. Need waves. Need turns.

     Free parking. My surfer soul must be in tune with the universe, guiding me at the right spot at the right time. I score despite being late for the first shift of surfers.

     This morning I have my longsleeve, Rip Curl 3/2 wetsuit. I ain’t trunking it, not with this overcast.

     The surf is supposed to be small. Who cares? I just want a turn or two, a slice of stoke to start the day.

     Standing on the shore, I look back at the lifeguard tower. The word Pusher has been spray painted on it with additional gangbanger shit on top of it. Fuck . . . when I was a kid I was involved with gangs and tagging. I feel like an asshole looking at this graffiti, coming to grips with how my friends and I had shat all over our neighborhood doing similar shit. Now, here it is in front of me, a reminder.

#

     North of the tower is working, so I sit a little south. I watch guys catch some nice rights. Even with this light onshore wind, the surf is good and the peaks are well defined. Fuck Surfline. Actually, I take that back. Hopefully Surfline keeps people away. Hopefully the overcast keeps people away. Let them tell themselves that it’s not worth it. As the tide rises, the peaks shift, and now . . . my spot turns on.

     Tom’s out to my south. We throw each other a shaka. Klaude paddles out and so does Shan. Not just them, but the rest of the South Bay shows up. Surfers do not stay home and sleep in.

     Local sandbars are working. I can’t believe it still. This is summer. Summer is supposed to be shit in the South Bay, but lately all it’s taken is a little windswell to get things pumping. South Bay surfers, now’s a good time to be proud and lay your claim to be local surfers. Hear ye, hear ye, come one come all. South Bay surfers, I implore you to whip out your cocks and beat off in the name of your favorite break. Wear your spooge on your hand like a battle banner!

     Shan muscles into waves on his giant tanker, but Klaude and I, we’re still scoring on our shortboards. Despite the crowd there’s enough consistency to catch waves for ourselves. Even though it’s fun, there are still a lot of closeouts. I find myself paddling on the shoulder, only to find that the wave has stood up, shifting the shoulder much further down the line. Instead of straightening out I pull in to these closeouts, both front and backside. I’m too slow on some, wiping out before I get into my barrel stance, but there is one right that I feel solid and compact on. I’m only in the hollow part of the closeout for a fraction of a second, but I’m positioned well. I want to be ready for the winter. As the Starks would say: “Winter is coming.”

     My Lost Board gets me into waves that even surprise me. Sitting on the inside, everyone in front of me lets a bump roll through. No one’s going for it. When it reaches me it stands up a little. I paddle and kick, and then I’m on a racy, three-foot left. I get two turns and kick out on the third one. Klaude even gets a right all the way to shore. He’s been drawing his lines better, even stalling for the section to open up before he pumps past the sections. It’s nice to see the boys progressing. He paddles back and says, “I love this board!”

     I leave after surfing for just under three hours. At my wagon, an SUV with three chicks pull up behind me and wait for me to change. One of them steps out and asks, “How is it out there?”

     I don’t want to be the guy who ruins anyone’s stoke. I don’t want to say that the tide’s killing it and the surf has gotten inconsistent. “It’s still rideable out there,” I say. “Pretty fun.” They were the ones who couldn’t get up this morning. Missing the window of good surf, when they paddle out, they’ll hate themselves. And I’ll be home eating French apple pie, sitting on my toilet and taking a shit at the same time. Why? Because I’m a South Bay surfer, and this is what South Bay surfers do. We eat while taking a shit. HOOAH!