THE BATTLE OF BOLSA CHICA, FRI 12JULY2013 MOR

Loc: Bolsa Chica

Time: 0745-1130

Crew: Bri, Khang, Dais, Michelle

Conditions: 3-4+ FT, consistent, peaky, offshore, CURRENTCURRENTCURRENT!

THU 11JULY2013:

     I’m looking at the forecast for the swell and tide. It looks ideal for a long morning session. With the low tide in the morning at 0.2 feet and the high tide under four feet, much later in the afternoon, the window for the tide will be open for hours. The only issue will be the wind.

     I text Khang and Dais to give them first dibs to claim seats in my wagon. They both confirm their reservations to depart from El Segundo no later than 0630. I also let Surfing Grandma of the OC (Michelle) know that I’ll be there too.

     “Bring water and snacks,” I tell Khang and Dais. “Also . . . make sure you eat breakfast.

 

ANTICIPATION:

     I’ve always said to not let your expectations get the best of you, especially when it comes to surf gambles. This morning’s gamble is safe. I’m not going all the way to San Onofre or North Huntington. Bolsa . . . just Bolsa. It’s a surgical strike to infiltrate the surf, come out for a snack and hydration break, and then back in the water to surf until noon. Ideally, that is.

     As Bri and I load our surf gear in the faint, dawn light, I can’t help but think how good it’s going to be today. I just have that feeling. I just saw Bolsa two days ago. I know that the sandbars are good and that this swell is good too. The image of peaky A-frames form into my mind, giving steep drops, offering momentous carves. Don’t expect too much, but I can’t help it.

     Bri and I are already parked at the loading point at 0615, waiting for the rest of the guys to show up. They arrive at the same time. When Khang steps out, he says, “I got some donuts from the Doughboy, yo! They’re blueberry.”

     After they remove their fins, we secure the cargo, drop the hatch, strap some boards on the roof, and then we’re off!

POSITIVE VIBES:

     We’re standing on the shore in front of tower twenty. Since the tide is low, the surf looks a little drained out. The waves are three feet, fast, and closing out. Some of the waves offer some fast shoulders, but the surf can use more tide. Regardless, I’m stoked. I know what’s going to happen. I point at a peak and say, “In about an hour . . . that’s gonna be fun.”

     With the good window about to open, there’s no rush. We take our time suiting up, and then Michelle pulls up and parks next to us. I’m stoked to meet up and surf with one of my fellow surf bloggers. She arrives with a coffee cup in her hand, and it must be some good coffee because she is super hyper. I introduce her to the rest of the guys, confident that she’s read about them in my posts. When I introduce her to Bri, Michelle says, “Come here, you get a hug!”

     “Awww,” says Khang, “We don’t get hugs too?” And then it’s hugs all around for everyone.

     Michelle comes back and says that the waves look like they’re closing out, but I assure her that the surf will soften up a little with the tide. “It will be fun,” I say. “We’ll see you out there.” 

THE BATTLE BEGINS:

     Under the marine layer, we walk out to the gray ocean. The water’s glassy. Three longboarders are out in front of us, but they’re paddling south against the current. Warming up between towers nineteen and twenty, I say, “I’m gonna try and stay south of tower twenty.”

     Michelle is back at the parking lot while the rest of paddle out at the same time. A four-foot set rolls in to our south. We all turn our heads in that direction, seeing the morning’s potential. Once we reach the lineup, we turn around and see that we’ve already drifted past tower twenty. While paddling back south, a peak forms right in front of Khang, Dais, and Bri. Khang sees that he’s deep, and Dais and Bri both scratch out on it. Dais goes on the second one, but he’s a little late. It’s easy to get misled by the waves here; the sandbars aren’t like the South Bay or Trestles. The wave stands up unexpectedly, giving Dais a welcome smash. 

 

"You go," says Dais. "No, you go," says Bri.

     I’m still paddling, trying to get back between the towers. So is everyone else. We all are. I stop for a moment to glance at the horizon, and then I see a line of surfers walking south. Tower twenty, you motherfucker . . . why can’t I get past you?

     The paddling never stops. There is no option. You must paddle the whole time. The current is much stronger than it was two days ago. I catch a left, but like Dais, I’m too deep and late. Fuck, it’s hard to get into position right while fighting the current. As I’m dropping in, I see that I’m already behind the section. I make a split-second decision to grab rail on my frontside and pull in, but I’m smashed into the base of the wave with the speed of a brain neuron. When I resurface, Dais smiles at me. Yeah . . . me too, buddy.

     We’re only twenty minutes into the session, and we’re all split up. Michelle is on the sand, timing when to make her move. Bri and Dais are further south. Khang is in front of me. He turns around and says, “I’m not paddling anymore.”

     “I think I’mma get out too and do the carousel,” I say. I don’t blame anyone who’s not fighting the current this morning. On the shore, Michelle’s already paddled out, but I don’t see her. Ten minutes later, I see her with Bri walking on the sand. Behind them, Dais and Khang make their walk south on the carousel. I should get on the carousel too. 

Since the shutter button got stuck, I ended up with a bunch of lame pics like this.

PRIDE:

     Foolish pride, that’s why I’m still paddling. Damn, I’ll never forget when I had trained before my trip to Bali in the summer of 2011. My brother gave me strict advice: “Always fight the current. It will build your paddle. You’ll need it.” Of course, following his advice wasn’t easy. I had mornings at HB with the fellas when we all got out to do the carousel, but at Trestles I had at least got used to paddling from Churches to Lowers. When I got to Bali, I was out of shape. My paddle wasn’t strong enough. Since then, I’ve made the effort to always fight the current. And then in my recent trip to Java, I had those long paddles back to the lineup at Choco Point (if the rides there were between one and two minutes, you do the math on the distance). My paddle . . . it’s the strongest that it’s ever been in my surfing career.

     On the shore, I see that I’m well past tower twenty. Fighting the current still, I pass the halfway mark and get to the inside of tower nineteen. Khang and Dais are now in front of me, drifting closer by the second. When you can, fight the current. 

WHO KNEW?:

     South of tower nineteen, a rogue wave breaks on the outside. The peak is too long to be an A-frame, but the left throws out and opens up on its shoulder. The wave barrels for a couple of seconds and then spits as it pinches on the highline.

     Who knew that Bolsa could be this good? I for sure didn’t. Yeah, the current’s a bitch. To keep my position, I try to make my strokes as effortless as possible, telling myself that each stroke is just as easy as taking a step while walking. Walking is easy, why can’t paddling be?

     But it is difficult to get in good position for the waves. If a wave is breaking south of you, you don’t want to chase it down and scratch out. If you do, you’ve paddled out of position and doubled that distance because of the current; you have to be picky.

     Near Khang, we both go for a left. He backs off when I get it closer to the peak. It’s racy, so I pump all the way to the shoulder to set up for a turn, but it closes out. I paddle back and say, “Sorry, you were in better position.” I paddle south again, and the boys drift once more.

     I’m hunting rights for a change. I have to make life easier for me. My arms are burning, and every time I see tower twenty to my left, I tell myself to just go in and walk it.

     The rights aren’t working as well because of the swell direction, but they still offer one or two turns. On my Lost Mini Driver, I put as much weight on the tail as possible on my turns. Since Indo, I’ve learned to just give everything you’ve got, especially on shouldery, end sections. It’s fun to do this on my backhand, since I have more power there.

     Back in position for the lefts, I get a small, racy three footer. I’ve been more mindful to avoid losing the wave on my frontside carves. It’s a game of speed and momentum, and sometimes my body positions itself for hard carves without the speed, and that’s when waves go to waste. Instead of going to high, I pump and begin my carve at the midline to play it safe. Still in the wave, I pump again and throw up my opposite arm to get as much torque as possible on my snap. I lack power on my forehand, and I probably look ridiculous with my arm positioning, but I’m just trying to crank out as much ugly power as I can. I end the wave with a safe turn on the shoulder for a safe exit, and I do this because Michelle is on the shore. I look up to her like a surf mom, so I feel like a kid who wants to put on a good performance for her. After my ride, I wave at her in the shallow water. The only thing missing is a lollipop in my other hand. She waves back and smiles.

     Today I’ve brought out my GoPro camera and mounted it on my wrist, but I realize that the shutter button had gotten stuck because the LCD is displaying: 999. I get out of the water to put it away, which marks our first break after an hour and a half for some snacks and water.

    

TO PULL IN OR NOT TO PULL IN?:

     Okay, so I know I had reached that epiphany in Manhattan Beach on that solid, low-tide morning when the waves were hollow, but on this very morning, pulling in is not as easy. The current. . . Thank goodness my board has volume. My brother had told me that this board would be good for “big days,” and by big he meant well overhead, but . . . I’m not using this board for that. I’m riding it four inches over my height instead of the recommended two inches below, that’s why I’m able to fight the current. Despite the volume though, I’m already a little gassed when a wave comes. One a left I’m deeper than intended. Seeing that I’ve already committed, I grab rail on my frontside and pull in. I’m barely in the tube, and my vision gets soupy from the foam. As I come out of it, I realize, in grabbing rail, that I’m steering myself into the highline. I wipeout from driving myself into the curling lip. I must be grabbing rail too hard, grabbing it hard because it compensates for my lack of experience. Maybe I’ll loosen up eventually, or I should stop grabbing it on my forehand altogether.

     There’s another set wave that comes my way. The current has everyone out of position, and it pushes everyone to my outside as I stay in place. A lady backs out of the shoulder and hoots me on my wave. I crouch and stall against the face, but the lip begins to spill instead of throw out. Recognizing this, I kill the attempt and just get down the line for some carves.

     I barely get to surf with Bri, Michelle, and the guys because we’re so spread out. It would be much more fun if the current wasn’t so strong, but no one here can say that there aren’t any waves. The window stays open just as long as I had predicted. By 11:30 we all head back to the parking lot, snack, and change. We share stories about our waves and how the current raped us.

Apples in both hands

     After we say bye to Michelle, we hit the road. Khang’s passed out in the back. It was a tough morning. All of my back muscles are toast. It was a successful surgical strike. No food on the way home and no bullshitting. The fellas both work in a couple of hours, and I’m stuck babysitting on uncle duty a little later. I’m just glad that everything had worked out. The window opened like I had expected, and Khang, we can finally erase his curse of getting skunked every time he travels with me for surf.

     In El Segundo, we unload my wagon and see the boys off. It’s nice knowing that they’ll go to work, being able to say that they’ve surfed the whole morning.