EXECUTIVE ORDER, SUN 8SEPT2013 MOR

Loc: Somewhere south of Oxnard   

Time:0615-0800

Crew: Manny A., John A., Ricky A., and Dave T.               

Conditions: 1-3 FT, inconsistent, mooshy, FREEZING.

     I was supposed to surf local today and grab some Bob’s Hawaiian with Klaude afterwards, but last night Rick had given me the executive order to take a surf trip north with him and the Westside Hurley Crew. Since I didn’t go with him last week, there’s no way I’m getting out of this one.

     My alarm’s supposed to go off at 0430, but my eyes jolt open at 0509. “Fuck!” I say so loud that it rustles Bri awake from her slumber. I was supposed to be at Rick’s at 0500 sharp. Luckily, I prepacked my vehicle last night with all my surf goods, even made myself a sandwich. I shoot a text to Rick, telling him I’m on my way. He texts back that he just got up too.

     When I arrive at his place, we crossload gear, and then we head to his brother John’s house. Everyone else is already waiting, and . . . they give Rick a LOT OF SHIT for being late. Fuck, I’m thinking. I feel bad for Rick who’s taking the brunt of this, but if he woke up late too, well . . . they’re his brothers, and Rick can take it.

     Since PCH is closed, we take the 101 north to this spot. I’ve only surfed here once before. It’s a gnarly wave, and it tweaked my shoulder the last time. Today Rick is hoping to score it just as good as last Saturday, but lightning can’t strike twice in the same place, at least in surf terms, I don’t think we’re going to get it that good. Actually, I don’t think it will be good at all. The forecast says it will be shit.

     The best part of this trip is a fart that I lay in the van. I keep silent, and then everyone sitting in the back starts to cough. “My mouth was open, Ricky!” says John.

     “Gawd, open a window,” says Manny. “Fuckin’ Ricky.”

     Rick knows it’s not him, and he jumps on the fart grenade for me. What a great friend. Well, it doesn’t matter because after the fart dissipates, I go ahead and claim it. I offer that I’ll inhale their farts if they want to get even, but little do they know that I’m a fart connoisseur who takes fart challenges head on, or “nose on.”

     Unlike the South Bay, this surf spot is overcast. The sun’s behind a marine layer so thick that we can look directly at its yellow circle with the naked eye. Over the rocks in front of us, we see swampy, two-foot peaks. Yup, I’m thinking. Just as I expected. At least the seals are loving it. There are six of them just chillin’ on the inside.

     When the water hits my ankles, I notice a severe temperature difference from down south. Once I lie on my board and begin to paddle, my hands go numb. I don’t even want to duck dive. Holy fuck. It’s just as cold as Porto in the winter. Everyone feels it. Manny has that tortured look on his face. So does Dave. Rick and John are the only geniuses with booties on. I try not to bitch out during these scenarios, but I am in legit pain. My fingers and feet hurt so badly.

     My first wave’s a close out, and when I paddle back out I’m forced to duckdive.

     On top of that, the seals here are so damn curious. Sometimes they can be like dogs, and on this morning they’re sneaking up behind us, sitting just feet away. I don’t really care, so long as they don’t nibble on my toes.

     Even though it’s small today, the waves are so fast that they offer some fun single-shot turns if you’re fast enough. I get a fast, two-foot right and crank one solid, backhand turn. Dave gives me a hoot. Manny’s struggling a little bit, but I don’t blame him. The surf is inconsistent and miserable with only a few takers.

     Dave is the surfer of the day, getting more waves than anyone else, ending most of his rides with solid buckets. And even though the surf isn’t that great, I still have more fun that I had at Manhattan Beach, and it’s all because of this little left. This left is standing up, fast, critical, and pumpy. I gain speed so fast that I gouge the little, two-foot section at the end. And there you go, my wave of the week.

     Of course, on the way back home I get confirmation from Bri and Klaude that this morning at Manhattan Beach was better than the last couple of days. That’s my luck right there. So don’t let me surf by you. Don’t make any plans with me. If you do, black cloud will follow.