Loc: El
Porto
Time:
0800-1000
Conditions:
2-3 FT, walled, low tide.
The other
day, Monday to be exact. Cassady. He’s my classmate in the master’s program. He
said to me: I got a stand up barrel this morning, dude. Huntington!
For a
couple weeks
I’ve had
the feeling
That
HB might be
the place to be
Due to my
financial situation, I’m not buying a state parking pass. Maybe after my taxes,
but not yet. After all. Local might be good, maybe today might be “the day.”
I’ve been
frothing for surf. I think
Last night
I felt it most
I was so
Irritable
And my poor
girlfriend, she had to take the brunt
Of my
Dickness
So
This morning
Much is at
stake
I pass
Hammers
Small
Jetty
There are
some guys out
Looks walled
But I skip
the Porto lot and head further south. I find street parking. The high school
groms are calling it a morning. I see Jordon, the female, teen, surf prodigy
leaving. She was still a little girl when I first met her, now, she’s like an
adult. Can easily change her wetsuit for business slacks and a coat, in a
cubicle, telling people that they need to be at work on time. My how time flies.
I’m old.
And the
surf?
Well
It looks
bad
If Porto
was unappetizing, then this is definitely “that” with a piece of shit on top.
A guy walks
past me, dripping wet in his hooded wetsuit and says, “It’s actually fun out
there.”
I smile.
Not to discredit him. It’s not that I “don’t believe,” but I’d rather trust my
eyes, fork out some coins for the session of a lifetime
Or not
Maybe for
Just a wave
With a turn
It is what
it is
#
I park by the bathrooms, paddle out, and
The crowd
is
Eh
Medium
Not too
crowded, not empty either. A good left forms in front of me on the way out, but
I have to duckdive. I sit in that spot, hoping that it’s twin brother has the
same route to work. He doesn’t. I maneuver through the bobbing torsos, but it’s
not an aggro morning
Except for
One guy
On every
wave he takes
He feels he
must
GRUNT
Very loud
Loud indeed
And for what?
For
Three-foot
waves
Spilling waves
on a day
where it’s good to practice, verified by the many beginners (it’s obvious
because something’s off, either lying too far back on their boards or paddling
for waves that won’t even break. Much love to them, no disrespect, but you know
what I’m saying. Don’t you?)
I catch a
right, but I’m rusty. I try to topturn but can’t release the line that my rail
draws for me.
Yes
Rusty
It’s a
morning with a lot of closeout waves, but it’s not all for shame. In fact
There’s one
right
Before it
closes out I hit the lip
No
No spray
But to tag
the section at that critical moment
When the
lip is coming down
It whips my
nose down straight
Fast
God damn
It felt
good to stick that landing.
I caught a
left
Another fast
wave that should have been closing out
But there
was a section
I did a “rushed”
carve off of the lip before it closed
Good enough
to count
For a
Wave
I had a
couple rides like that
But most
Were little
explosions of white wash with me in the flats.
Shan comes
out, fifteen minutes before I’m done. After one of my waves, I’m paddling
towards him. He’s bobbing, and behind him, oblivious to his consciousness,
there’s a fucking wave coming his way. Guys on the outside are trying to get
it, but they’re too deep. “Shan,” I say, as I motion towards the outside. He
looks, but turns really slow, without a purpose, as if . . .
He’s just
glancing at something
Not important
Just a look
I say
“Shan . . .
you should GO.”
He does
Catches it
Even though
he doesn’t turn
There is a
little shape
For this
day
It qualifies
As
A good
ride.
I catch a
closeout in. He’s only ten minutes behind. He treated me to lunch, probably a
month ago. I suggest that we catch some breakfast
Off to
Mandy’s
El Segundo
Two skillets
It’s good,
but the mushrooms . . . I’ll never order the Homemade skillet again. They
tasted a little
Old
Like they
were scooped up from the bottom of a sink of dirty dishes.
We talk
life
And
Watch TMZ
And the
news
All disasters
People are
dying
Everywhere
At least
that’s the way the news portrays it.
