NECESSITY, TUE 05NOV2013

Tell me . . . who doesn't surf in the South Bay?

Loc: El Porto

Time: 0645-0830

Conditions: 3-4 FT, sunny, glassy, slightly walled, crowded

     I slept in. Instead of waking up at 0515 I get out of bed at 0600. I debate on surfing Huntington or local. At first Huntington sounds like a good idea since I have class today, but after brushing my teeth and taking a piss, I realize that the tide will probably be swamping out by the time I get there. Local it is.

    

     I drive towards 26^th Street, and because I was lazy this morning, I’ve missed all the prime street parking. On the beach, I see tents set up. It almost looks like there’s some kind of competition being run for the groms. As I make my way back north towards 33^rd in the street closest to the ocean, I notice that the morning crowd has been pushed northward to the other peaks.

     My secret parking spot is full. I can only surf until 0830, so I have no choice but to enter the gauntlet. Porto, here I come.

    

     I’m mature enough to know that I can’t hate Porto, even though I have said so, so many times in the past, but I can’t. El Porto has the best sand bars in the South Bay (some may argue), and it has the easiest access, parking wise. Driving down the hill on 45^th Street, past the Chevron station, is like a natural funnel for South Bay surfers. Of course it’s going to be crowded. I haven’t surfed Bay Street in years. I’ve surfed Venice here and there, but it always seems to be better at Porto. If you’re going to complain about the crowd, then you shouldn’t paddle out here. Always expect a crowd at Porto.

     Entering the Porto lot, I am overwhelmed with “the scene.” Every space is taken. Boards are everywhere. Groups of surfers congregate every ten meters, clicks and gangs almost. I used to surf here all the time. I’m no better. I am one of them.

     I find an empty spot by the bathrooms, screw on my thruster setup on the Mini Driver, and hit the beach.

     I’m not surprised that the whole lot is filled and that there isn’t a single gap in the lineup. There’s a decent west-northwest swell on tap. The wind is offshore if not absent, the sun is out, and the sky is clear. In front of the bathrooms, long, walled peaks sprout up, but the guys all the way at the end score shoulders to themselves. Competitive but . . . it’s possible.

     I paddle out right in front. Porto likes a high tide sometimes, and even at mid-high tide, the water is groomed flat up to the bases of the curling wave faces.

     Wagner is out here. I can’t believe that we used to bullshit with each other all the time whenever I’d see him at PV or here, but since last winter it’s like he’s completely forgotten who I am, but that’s okay. I’m not a local heavy, and he rips. He can befriend who he wants.

     When the first wave of the set comes, everyone scrambles. I pass it up because: 1. I just got here 2. There’s no way I’m gonna out-compete the dozen other guys going for it. Surprisingly enough, I’m in position for the next wave. I get a long, walled right. Before it closes out, I get a check-turn off the lip. Nothing emphatic, but I make the most of it.

     Back in the lineup, it’s elbow to elbow. I have to pass up waves for other people around me, so I work my way north, seeing a mirage of a gap. When I get there, it’s all the same.

     My old spot, the Chevron Tanks, is working this morning. It used to be empty, like a no man’s land for the people who want to escape the crowds, but it’s packed. The rights are working. This guy takes off on one. It’s long and lined. He looks like he’s riding a fish. His face is so pale that he doesn’t look like a waterman, but he ceases pumping, tucks his head down, gets good cover up behind a chandelier of water, and then pumps out of it. A couple “Whoops!” and “Wooohs!” erupt in the lineup.

     I now sit in front of the 45^th Street Tower and test out my luck on the inside. I get a small left that gives me a small carve, but it’s gutless. Back on the outside, I take a couple rights, but they either close out or it’s so walled that I can’t pull off my top turn.

     Yesterday I saw a guy in the lineup at 26^th. He lacked confidence in his eyes, but on autopilot, he tried to paddle into every wave. He scratched out on most of them. As I was leaving, I saw him paddle into a huge, walled left. When he tried to drop into it, he air dropped and ate shit. “No business out here,” I had said to myself.

     So this morning, a rogue right is coming my way. Everyone is paddling outside to either beat it or take it. I’m deep. No one on my inside is going, so I turn, kick, and paddle. I pop up, trying to pig dog, but I get pitched at the top of the wave. Airdropping, I’m thinking, I’m just like that guy from yesterday.

     The rest of the session is frustrating, and . . . I don’t blame nor hate Porto. I once saw a guy out here, scratching out on wave after wave, and then in the middle of the lineup he yelled out, “I FUCKING HATE THIS PLACE!” Yeah, I’ve felt that way before, but on this morning I’m the only one to blame.

     I get a pig-dog closeout on my next wave. For my last ride, I fail to connect my top turn again. I leave the water unstoked and unsatisfied. Even on crowded days, every surfer needs at least ONE GOOD WAVE. It’s a necessity. If I would have had at least one solid ride, one stoked wave to feel good about, I could leave this place contenst. My day would be done, accomplished.

     So I’m in a sort of funk I guess. Porto, I don’t hate you. I caught my first wave here at the Jetty on a small, sunny, summer day, and it was even more crowded than it is today. There were a lot of guys ripping this morning. Porto provided. I just didn’t receive well.