FRATRICIDE, THU 18JULY2013 MOR

    

Loc: Manhattan Beach

Time: 0830-1015

Crew: Bri and CC                                             

Conditions: 2-3 FT, scattered, onshore, choppy, consistent.

     I had originally planned to travel down south today, but I think that it’s too much of a gamble. First off, the south swell is building. The last thing I need is to show up at Trestles, waiting for the swell. It’s been pretty blown out in the afternoons from my recent experiences. Even if Magicseaweed is right about the wind dying down by 1800, there is still the six-foot high tide to deal with, and if the swell isn’t as big as expectations have been leading to believe, then the afternoon session will be a skunker. Not me, not today. After getting skunked at HB yesterday, I think it’s best to gamble on the poor-to-fair rating and stay local.

#

     My alarm goes off at 0545, but of course I snooze for a while. I think the dawn patrols have taken their toll on me. It’s getting harder to make the first shift. My justification? The tide is too high in the morning. And then again, the wind is better early, so I’m just making excuses. I should have woken up, but Bri and I leave my apartment at 0745.

     I hate paying the city’s bills by parking at the meters, but on this morning I can’t seem to score free parking. We’re here too late. All of the first shifters ganked them, and the daily beachgoers who are here for the sun have taken the rest. At least I can get three bucks worth of Hawaiian Airlines’ miles by using my credit card for the meter.

     I bust out Rick’s spring suit that he leant me years ago. I’ve never used it, and since the water temps have cooled down a little, I go ahead and put it on. The short legs make it so much easier to get into; It’s only the second time that I’ve used one.

     Walking over the pedestrian path, I can see that there are lines rolling in. Surfline’s accurate as far as size and unfortunately the wind too. It’s blowing onshore a little, which is making the water choppy. But . . . it’s still rideable. This windswell looks fun, and it’s not even that crowded.

     I paddle south of the tower to start picking off the lefts, and it doesn’t take long before I have my first wave. In my leaky spring suit, I paddle into the mooshy shoulders. My Motorboat Too was made for these waves. It’s breaking soft and slopey but still lining up well. On my Mini Driver, I get into these waves with ease. Most of my waves are single shots, a series of pumping down the line to set up for a finishing carve. I feel much better going frontside now, keeping my foot on the tail for as much torque as possible. Two-to-three feet, poor to fair was what Surfline had predicted. . . They were right, and right now, there is more “fair” than “poor.” I spot Christina on the sand, and Briana goes out to meet her.

     You’d expect for things to get better with the tide dropping. The size is still consistent, but the wind. . . It’s hard to feel the onshore wind in the water, but the surface conditions become so choppy that they overwhelm the peaks, taking away their distinctive shoulders. The waves are still rideable, but there are more closeouts now.

     We three surf together. Bri and CC get their girl time, which is nice because Bri needs some girl company to balance her out, instead of my hairy anus all the time. Bri and CC get some rides and also make some party waves.

     “When you turn,” asks CC, “do you torque your body and throw your shoulder forward?”

     “Yeah, you do,” I say, “but if anything make sure that your rear foot is over the tail. If not, you’ll fall off of your board.” I want to give some good advice, but the truth is that I’ve only learned how to really turn in the last couple of years; I’m still working on my turns right now. “Just practice with the trims. Make sure you have momentum, and when you do, just whack one off of the lip real quick.”

     Christina laughs. “Whack it off, huh?” She paddles to beat the next set. “Okay, I can do that!”

     I’m hungry for a legit turn, and the choppiness of the water is taking the turnable sections away. I manage to get a bumpy right that has a decent section on it. On my backhand, I come out of my bottom turn and do a baby hack. It’s not a solid turn, but it’s the best I can do for today; I’m satisfied.

     As I float on the inside, trying to remount my board, I see Bri paddle into an inside wave. She’s on the shoulder, smiling, and riding it on her belly. I’m smiling too, stoked for her, except . . . she’s heading straight for me. This is bad. I hop back on my board while she’s beelining towards my right side. Which way is she going to go? I lack momentum because of the churning water. Going forward or to my right will both result in narrow misses, but it all happens so fast.

     I pull away and try to back up so she can go in front of me, but instead she plows right into me. As she runs me over, her NSP takes my board with her.   

     We both resurface close by. “Are you all right?” she asks.

     I do a quick check on my board. “Yeah, I’m fine!” I head out to the lineup, dismount my board, turn it over, and feel its underside. Right there. . . puncture. Two punctures. The rail next to the nose is cracked from a pressure ding. “It’s done,” I say. “My board is done.”

     “I’m so sorry,” says Bri. “I’ll buy you a new one.”

     Now that’s just ridiculous. She doesn’t have to buy me a new board. I meant that my board is done for the day; my session is done. I know it was an accident, but my heart breaks every time my boards get dinged. Not only that, but this was an instance of friendly fire—fratricide. My own girlfriend plowed right over me and shat on the very hand that introduced her to surfing. Now I’m just being mellow dramatic. . .

     Rick. . . As soon as I get home, I shoot him a text. I fucking hate asking for favors, but I know he’ll do it for me. I ask him if he can fix my board, and like always, he’s more than willing to do it.

     Ahhhhhhhh! My Mini Driver, I love you so much. The woman ran you down and fucked you up, my poor sweet. You’re my favorite board. I have a quiver to go to while you’re injured, but it won’t be the same. Motorboat Too rides mooshy waves well, but its wave count can’t keep up with yours. I have the Tokoro from Java, but I don’t think that there will be enough size to use it to its potential. Mini Driver, I’m sorry I let her do that to you. You are irreplaceable, and today I’ll strip off of your wax, clean you up, and make you shiny again. After Rick repairs you, we’ll be together once more.

     She fucked up my favorite board. . .