Loc:
Manhattan Beach
Time:0815-1000
Crew: Bri,
KK, Mel
Conditions:
1-2 FT+, inconsistent, mooshy, warm.
Bri and I went to bed late, so we’re on the
late train. Parking is horrendous but by some luck of fate, I score on a side
street that I rarely park on.
The disadvantage of parking here is that we
have to walk seven streets south to reach our local break. I’m sure Klaude’s
already out here, and sure as shit, there he is on his orange Zippi.
Even though I don’t feel like surfing with
the crowd, I have a need to be around my friends, especially when the surf is “so
so.” I rush my warm up and tell Bri that I’m paddling out. I meet Klaude in the
lineup, and he says, “I just got here too.”
Yesterday wasn’t the greatest, but it was
bigger and more consistent. Sometimes Manhattan Beach does well on the high
tide, but today it’s making the surf too mooshy. Of course, the longboarders
are doing all right. Bri gets more waves than Klaude and I combined. We party
wave a couple rides, and Klaude and Bri almost have a collision. Who’s fault?
Who knows?
Bri paddles up to me and says that she got
cut. I paddle up to take a look at her ankle. There’s a slice above her ankle
bone. It’s a little deep, and the ankle bone itself is turning purple. “We’ll
put some Neosporin on it when we get home,” I say.
Klaude and I switch boards. On his Zippy, I
feel its extra buoyancy, but I don’t get a really good wave to go down the line
on and test its potential.
“You’re pumps are too shallow like you’re
on a shortboard,” says Klaude. “You need deeper pumps on that thing.”
I try, but the waves are kind of slow and
boggy, so I ask for my board back.
Even Ross says that the conditions are
perfect for longboarding, and even though he’s not on a longboard, he’s still
getting as many waves as the longboarders. Go figure.
“Last wave,” says Ross. He gets about two
turns to shore. Klaude and I hoot him on. Ross turns around and paddles back
out.
“How many more last waves you gonna take?”
says Klaude.
Ross says, “Depends on how good my last
wave was.” Ross takes about five more waves before leaving.
Klaude doesn’t do so badly either. He
catches a right all the way to shore. Me ? . . fuck. I end up dicking off,
walking the board, and trying to go switch foot. In regular-foot stance, I get
stuck when I put myself there. I used to be able to go backhand left, but those
days have long been over.
Klaude leaves first, and then Bri and I
follow shortly after. Heading back to the car, Bri’s pretty stoked. I’m just
whatever. Lately I’ve accepted the conditions, just going straight or lucky if
can get at least one turn. To be honest, I’m not stoked. I haven’t been getting
much out of surfing.
My buddy Francis had told me a couple
months ago that they called him the Black Cloud at work when he had hit a
streak of bad luck. I feel like there’s a black cloud over me right now. I’m
paddling out, just sitting in the lineup, not expecting anything. Surfing
shouldn’t be like that.
Back home, I smear Neosporin over Bri’s
cut. It looks like it’s going to heal. It’s just gonna need some air and some
time.
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