PABS PADDLE OUT, SAT16FEB2013 MOR

 

Loc: Bolsa Chica

Crew: KK & Hideki

Conditions: 1-2 FT, sunny, warm, offshore, mellow, fun.

     Surfing Grandma of the OC was nice enough to put together a Paddle Out for our fellow surf blogger and friend, Pablo Koontz, who passed away recently. The surf conditions weren’t going to be an issue, for the day is all about paying respects to Pabs. When Klaude arrives, he’s already brought some flowers for the paddle out. We stop at Dough Boy Donuts in El Segundo, and I spring for the donuts that are going to contribute to the event’s refreshments. Other surf bloggers that we only know via comments and sharing each other’s surfing through the web are going to be there. Klaude’s already been going through an emotional rollercoaster, having recently attended a funeral. We converse on the way there on how life is short, probably the similar type of conversation that sprouts when someone passes away. Oh, how we’ve all vowed to live differently, to once again get caught up in the tidal wave of life. I have friends that I haven’t seen in a while. I guess I’ve been caught up in my own thing, but who isn’t?

    

     When we pull up to tower 27, we can already see an easel with Pabs’ picture on it. Cars are congregated there, and I already recognize Surfing Grandma of the OC. She watches us back into our spot, so I assume she knows it’s us too.

     We park, get out, and meet in person for the first time. (I’m leaving out real names). SG, Surf Mama, Brownie, Goofy Kook, and Surfsister are the first people we meet, and . . . now when I think of it, I must have looked like a fool saying, “Hi, I’m, uh . . . Donny Duckbutter. . . .” Anyway, I can’t even begin to say how awesome it is to finally meet everyone in person and to still feel like we know each other, just through the writing, even more so than the pictures. So . . . is it really that surprising to be here, for a surf blogger that we never met in person? Absolutely not. We are all part of not only the surf community but the California surf-blogging community as well, even though it may be just a small fraction of it. But I’ve followed GK enough to know where he surfs and how he was working his way through an injury not too long ago. As far as SG, she was there for me when I went through my last break up, and PABS . . . I swear he was right there along with me too during my adventures in Bali too, giving me some uplifting advice whenever I was down on myself for wiping out or not getting barreled. I wish I had a chance to surf with him; but I’m grateful enough to be a part of this today.

     Donuts . . . fuck . . . I should’ve brought something else. Even some McDonald’s Egg McMuffins, anything but donuts. There are five boxes of donuts at the refreshment table that SG had set up. Hideki comes out of the water and joins us as well as the rest of the people showing up for the occasion too. There are close to twenty of us, an intimate group.

     Despite the small surf, the wind is offshore, and the surf looks rideable enough to be fun, especially since Klaude, Hideki, and I are the only maroons without longboards.

#

     SG gives a beautiful speech before we paddle out which just grounds me; I mean really brings me back to reality. Here we are gathered for Pabs, to do the very thing that he loved to do.

     Just gone too soon. He wasn’t that old. It’s a privilege to be all united but under such circumstances. Bitter sweet, we make the best of it, and under SG’s eloquent words I know that on this morning I’m part of something special.

    

     I’ve never been part of a paddle out before. We all hit the water, flower’s clenched in our teeth. It’s a semi crowded morning. We draw attention, naturally. It’s not every day that you see such a diverse group of surfers paddling out to make a circle. It’s a beautiful moment. I’m so caught up in my thoughts that all I remember is tossing the flower in the middle and then splashing the water. Pabs, we’ll miss you, buddy.

     Since I know that I don’t have enough board for any of these waves, I just dart for the inside alone. Immediately I catch a little inside, two footer, falling when I try to walk the nose. I paddle back out, do it again. I see Klaude looking back at me. A set wave comes, and this guy Brownie, catches it right on the shoulder. It’s close to three feet, long, and a little walled, but he’s just in the perfect spot. From there, the rest of our group goes off. I can’t even remember how many waves Goofy Kook catches. He’s tall and lanky by the way. His long ass arms just get him into any wave he wants. Surfsister and Surf Mama start taking over too, leaving KK, Hideki, and I on much shorter rides. We go for everything, closeouts, doesn’t matter. It’s all for Pabs.

     One of those set waves comes my way. Surfing Grandma of the OC is paddling out. She can turn around and catch it if she wants, but she looks at me and says, “Go for it.” I can’t make the section to get to the open face, but it’s still a fun ride, and I’m grateful for her generosity.

     A little after an hour, people start going in. I wouldn’t mind staying out a little while longer, but the tide’s coming up anyway, and I’d hate to miss any goodbyes if people are taking off. We head back to the wagon and change. There are so many donuts that we all start asking any bikers or joggers if they want any. In essence, our circle that we paddled out with becomes a bigger circle, celebrating Pab’s life with friendly strangers. Some of them are nice enough to acknowledge his picture on the mural.

     At the end of the get together, I can only eat so many donuts and cookies and drink so much coffee. We give away all we can, and I still end up bringing home more donuts that I brought. We say our farewells with the assurance of surfing together again soon.

     To Pabs: Thank you for your inspiration, buddy. We’ll miss you. 

ONE WAVE ONE TURN, THU14FEB2013 MOR

Loc: El Porto

Conditions: 2-3 FT, scattered peaks, sunny, inconsistent, crowded.

     I do the same thing as yesterday: cruise through Porto, go further south, compare, and come back to Porto. I really wanted to surf at my other spot. I just need some different energy, to see some friendly faces—the people that I (somewhat) know, at least know enough to say hi and have some small talk with. But I couldn’t paddle out there. It was just     terrible.  Sandbars are just better at Porto in the South Bay.

     However, I score. Yup. On Highland and 42^nd, a place that I never score a parking space at. Well, I get lucky. Maybe someone left to work, I don’t know. I suit up, grab my board, send out a text, and trot down the hill between the million-dollar homes.

     The surf has tapered down considerably, and the crowd . . . it’s just a hair less crowded than yesterday, but the surf is inconsistent, which means   well

     it might as well be just as crowded as yesterday anyway.

     I try to stay in front of 42^nd St., but there’s this weird thing going on with the current. A little rip starts, and it sucks out and south, only if you’re right by the bathrooms. I keep getting caught in this.

     There aren’t too many waves with shape, at least from my perspective. But then I look towards the inside, and guys are just finishing off these long ass rides. The waves always look better “over there.” I go a bit north towards 45^th but still don’t get anything. There are some chances, but guys are already on them. Yesterday I lucked out, but not so much today.

     A similar thing happens, where one guy goes on the first wave of the set. We’re alone, but the second wave breaks a little too far out. My only chance to get it is to paddle into it late, and I end up so deep that I can’t make the section; another guy on my outside does.

     I get one right, and it’s small, not even three feet, but I pump, clear the section, and pull off one awkward backhand snap. It’s not pretty but it’s all she gives me.

     All I can do is watch the other guys, whoever’s in the right spot, get their waves. I watch thinking, Fuck, I could use one of those right about now.

FOUR TURNS, WED13FEB2013 MOR

Loc: El Porto

Conditions: 3 FT, scattered peaks, sunny, crowded.

     I’m doing the grad-school hustle, trying to surf and find time to blog about it in between a demanding school schedule. It didn’t occur to me that being in grad school is like a full time job until my buddy Al talked to me the other night, saying how much he hated school, and that he can only imagine how much extra work I have to do in post-graduate studies. Well, regardless . . . here I am a week later, finally writing this thing. Here’s what I remember.

It’s Wednesday, and   

     the swell is on its way out.

If I want to get wet at all, now’s the time to do it.

I get up, get dressed, pack up, and cruise down the Porto lot first, as usual. It’s so hard to avoid Porto. As much as I say to myself, “Nah, I’m just gonna head a little further south,” it’s like destiny beckoning at you as soon as you near 45^th St. Some universal energy forces you to flick that turn signal and make that left.

Down the hill

Down the hill

Where the peaks are

     I cruise through slowly, watching the waves, weaving through the people walking around. Old timers, new school rippers, cubicle clowns, nine-to-fivers, familiar faces, new faces—there’s just this . . . “scene” here. Although, I’m not complaining, as I am

part of it.

     The peaks are scattered. Not big, but workable. The Tanks look empty, less people there. I cruise on through and then go to my intended destination.

     I score free street parking and wave at a couple guys who know my face on my way to the jog/walk path.

Not as good

Not as good as Porto

     of course.

But I don’t want to pay for parking

Not right now

Not when I’ve already scored

     here

     I hover around Rosecrans, hoping to find something. Eventually, I give in and park by the Porto bathrooms.

Out comes the credit card

To pay for surf

Along with the money

A piece of my soul goes in the machine.  Fuckers

     I remember a time when midweek sessions meant fewer people in the lineup. Either people are rich and don’t have to work anymore or people are unemployed and have more time to surf. Probably the latter.

     I find the channel where no one wants to sit. I wait here patiently. The water’s a little cold but the sun is out. The swell is fading, getting even smaller tomorrow and through the weekend. I’m not sure how to feel about the crowd around me. I don’t feel different, in fact I feel too similar: just another surfer squeezing myself in, trying to get a wave. Longboarders, shortboarders, everyone is out.  

I paddle

Someone’s on it

Back out

I paddle

Another guy is on it

I back out

I sit

And sit

     The next set comes, swinging south outside of the crowd, but there’s a guy sitting further on the outside. I start to paddle for it, but I know it’s no use. I let him go. But right behind him is the second wave of the set, pretty much breaking in the same spot.

YESSS

     I’m behind the section when I pop up, but my timing is good—I’m not too late or too early. With my Motor Boat Too, I clear the first section easy and make it to the face of the wave. I pump, bottom turn, and get my first little carve off the lip. There’s still face and shape. I get a second turn. I can’t see all the way down the line because I’m paying attention to the lip, watching how it’s crumbling, seeing if there’s gonna be a section that I’m gonna have to make. I pump, draw a high line, and make it to the open face again. My third turn is easy. I’m not trying to “gouge” or do anything too aggressive. Instead, I’m focusing on milking this ride. A three-turn wave at Porto doesn’t come very often to me, and this being my first ride of the morning, first wave in a while, I’m not gonna let myself fumble and eat shit prematurely. I’m all the way on the inside where guys are just paddling out at the end of my fourth turn. I kick out and land on top of my board, clean. The guys paddling out saw me, and they look back at me as they make their way out. It’s not a look that says, “You rip,” no. It’s that look that says, “Fuck, that guy got a long ride . . . I want one.” It’s the same look that I still give to many surfers, the “other” guys who are actually catching waves when I’m stuck like I’m sitting on a dick, hating, wishing I could get me some too.

And

     that’s pretty much where the rest of the session goes.

     There are just guys on waves. I don’t feel competitive. One surfer yells at another who is about to drop in on him. Normal energy for this place. I’m only out for an hour and a half.

     At home, I check Surfline, and it said that this morning had good conditions. I guess it wasn’t so bad out there. Just hard with so many people. I was a one-wave wonder, but with four turns. . . . Given the crowd factor and how rare a four-turner is in these parts, I’m grateful.