WHAT MAKES A LOCAL?, FRI05JULY2013 MOR

 

Loc: Manhattan Beach

Crew: Bri and Shan

Conditions: 1-2 FT+, consistent, foggy.

     Fog in July. . . Why do they call it June gloom if it’s still gloomy in July? Since I’ve been home, I’ve only seen a couple of sunny days during my morning sessions. Even though the water’s been warm lately, it’s unmotivating to “trunk it” when it’s overcast and cool every morning.

     On Friday’s street parking sucks, but I’ve been lucky since I’ve been home. And then again, maybe it’s my stubborn will as a cheap bastard that leads me to these parking spaces. Fuck if I ever have to waste a quarter for metered parking again, but in actuality, I don’t have an issue with paying the meter so much as I have an issue with getting out of the water to feed it. Don’t you hate that, my fellow surfers slaved to metered parking? It sucks to have to get out of the water, especially if it’s good, to run to the lot, feed the beast, and go back in again. It’s jarring to the whole surfing experience. I’d rather park four blocks away and surf the whole way through until I leave.

     I used to look at the surf first, but since I’ve been home I usually just paddle out after parking. Maybe it’s just something about being a local. I already know that at least four guys are guaranteed to be out there no matter what the waves look like, whether firing or crumbling. Maybe it’s what defines a local. Locals always get their waves, don’t they? How many times have I seen Roy, Ross, or Don K. crank out solid carves even on the shittiest days, and I mean shitty. Those guys will always paddle out, and even the worst days offer a couple of good rides. Locals . . . those are the guys committed to getting those few rides, while others would look at it for five minutes, jump in their cars, and drive home. And of course . . . all the locals are perched right in front of the lifeguard tower, even on this small morning. I think surfing with Bri has a lot to do with it too. Since she’s longboarding, she can catch anything, and surfing with her has made me less picky when it comes to the surf.

     We paddle south of the pack to get away. There’s nothing significant really. It’s another gloomy morning with crumbly surf. The wind is onshore, but it’s not making the surf much worse than it already is.

     The peak in front of the tower is giving some lefts and rights, while Bri and I sit and catch small closeouts. Within the next half hour, the rising tide changes the break. The peaks shut down in front of the tower while our spot begins to turn on.

     Shan paddles out to join us on his longboard. Bri’s making a killing, all too comfortable with going down the line now. She goes right, and seeing her stand up from behind the wave, going all the way to shore is a familiar sight. Shan even has to back out on a left that he tries to paddle into because she’s going down it with speed.

     The guys in front of the tower start meandering towards us, which is annoying because—I hate to be territorial—we chose this inconsistent, shit spot first to get away from the crowd. Now the crowd is joining us.

     What potential this place has. Even with minimum swell, little lines roll through, standing up when they hit the sandbar, and offer up some racy, left handers, good for at least a turn or two.

     The crowd forces us to paddle south, but when the sets come, I paddle towards the waves and catch them just behind the shoulder. For the whole session I get a series of single-shot waves. Sure, I’m only talking about one-turn rides, but on a small ass day, it’s the difference between stoke and disappointment.

     Bri has difficulty getting in good position and trying to work around her competition for the morning . . . Shan. Shan gets back-to-back-to-back-to-back lefts. Bri has to constantly pull out for him. She paddles up to me, rolls her eyes, and says, “He’s done that like four fuckin’ times. If I don’t get a wave, I’m done.”

     I look back and see Shan smiling at us, paddling back to the lineup. Awkward situation. I can’t tell Shan to let my girlfriend catch some of the waves. That would make Bri mad at me because I’d make her look like a pussy, and Shan would deny being greedy with the waves. I tell Bri, “Just snake him if you have to.”

     Now I’m focused on trying to make sure that Bri gets a wave. I try to call her into one, but it doesn’t break. It doesn’t matter much anyway because the tide is getting too high, and the window for the morning surf is coming to a close.

     Bri and I both catch a wave in, but I catch mine on the shoulder. It’s racy because of the onshore wind, but I’m able to pump and stay on the face, finishing the ride with a little carve at the end.

     We head back to the house, eat some snacks, hit the gym, do some groceries, and then I ask Bri to make me some chocolate chip, oatmeal cookies. Cookies . . . they play their part.