FAIR TO GOOD MY ASS, SAT20APR2013 MOR

Loc: Huntington Beach

Crew: Solo

Conditions: 2-3 FT, cool, sunny, offshore, clean, crowded, inconsistent, swampy.

     Despite going to bed around two in the morning, I still wake up at 0600 and get ready to surf. Seba’s sleeping on my futon when I leave. That’s the only thing about living in a small studio, not much room when the homies want to crash. If I’m just with Bri, then that’s no big deal.

     My expectations are high, yes; of course they are, especially after the fun surf yesterday. I witnessed the potential of the oncoming swell, so I know today is good. I get to the beach, seeing surfers parking and heading towards the water. And then . . . there are no fucking waves. What the fuck. . .

     It’s roughly mid tide, but the conditions look a little swampy. There’s morning sickness. The inside is churning and the surface is bumpy, despite the good wind and warm air. The waves break on the outside but fizzle into nothing. The river mouth looks okay but there are a lot of people there. But I’m optimistic because . . . the tide is gonna come down, and then, THEN the surf will start pumping. I have my handy Tokoro with me. I haven’t ridden it since that fateful day that a fin broke off of it. That was months ago on a solid swell at Manhattan Beach. I wonder if I should go back and grab the Motorboat for these mooshy conditions, but there’s no need for it with the tide coming down.

     I sit. Sure, I catch a couple fizzlers, but not TURNS. There are inconstant sets that break on the outside. Nice, dredging peaks, where the base of them is so dark while the lip folds over them, A-framing on the lefts and walled on the rights, so I paddle to the outside and then . . . nothing. Motherfucker.

     An hour later, it’s so crowded. The people must know that this place sucks at high tide, but I’ve already been out for over an hour and a half. For shame, I begin my paddle in, catching a small inside wave. I try a backhand snap, but the wave mooshes out.

     I drive home, resigned to the fact that I’ll only surf HB on the days I have school from now on. There’s no need to gamble and lose because that’s gas money right out of my wallet right there. SKUNKED.

BACK IN HB, FRI26APR2013 MOR

Loc: Huntington Beach

Crew: Bri

Conditions: 2-3 FT, cool, sunny, offshore, clean, empty, inconsistent.

     I can’t tell you how much I have wanted to surf Huntington these last, some odd months. I haven’t been able to because of school, or because I end up camping down south when there’s a south swell. On this morning, I’m looking forward to some good surf. The report says it’s going to be good. It makes sense to surf here too because I have a fiction-reading event to go to for school later this evening.

#

     Bri and I wake up at about 0600. Everything is going according to schedule until I realize that I locked my car in the garage. Yup. The key for the lock for my garage . . . is in my car, and my car . . . is in the garage. I’m a fuck-ing idiot. I’m so pissed at myself. I know that this is going to set us back on this almost well-planned morning. I call my best friend. No answer. I text him and let him know I’m going to his house to rummage through his garage. I also shoot a text to his girlfriend, just in case because I don’t want to spook her. Briana drives us, and as soon as we get there, I see that my friend’s cars are still there. “He must be out of town,” I say to Bri. I open the gate and head towards the garage. Before I attempt to open it, I hear the knob turning from the inside of his back door. Oh cool, I’m thinking. He’s here. Just as I’m about to speak, Smokey starts to come outside, and my best friend’s girlfriend yells a shriek of bloody murder at the top of her lungs. I don’t see her naked, but she’s behind the door frame. She scream jolts me, I’m caught between apologizing, explaining that I tried to contact her, and trying to tell what happened with my car. Meanwhile, I hear my best friend yelling, “What happened?!” from inside the house.

     “It’s Matt, it’s Matt!” she says.

     Bri plays with Smokey in the driveway while I’m telling my friend what’s going on, the purpose of my visit and what not. Turns out he’s on a different work schedule this week. I’ve ruined his morning. He should be sleeping still. “I don’t have any bolt cutters,” he says. “I can get them from work.”

#

     At home depot, Briana whips out her credit card, buying me a pair of $25 bolt cutters. I offer to pay her back, but she says, “No, you pay me back with cuddle corral . . . make-out cuddle corral.”

     We’re an hour behind schedule, on the road by 0730. When we reach HB, there is still surfer life going on, which is good. The air is clear, the sun is beaming and making the landscape gold as usual over the flat terrain. When we reach the water, we see that . . . it’s small. Fuck, the tide . . . it’s almost too low. The surf looks inconsistent with some small, weak peaks. It might get better, I don’t know, but it’s nice for Bri at least, for the conditions are forgiving.

     Just like Manhattan Beach, the waves break on the outside but moosh out afterwards. There is barely anyone in the water. Some of the bigger sets break so fast and disappear before you can ride them. I’m on my Motorboat Too, my first time surfing Huntington with it. On one closeout, I try to practice a floater like I have been on the Zippi Fish, but I mistime it. I climb the face too late, and the curling lip pushes the board into my right shin. I fall on top of my fins. Being in pain in the water sucks because you have to get back on your board and keep paddling; there’s no such thing as a break to recover yourself.

     So . . . I’m irritable because I’m mad at myself for my stupid car situation and mad because we probably missed a good window of surf because my shit was fucked up. I end up being an asshole to Bri. I can’t catch many of these waves, and I notice her passing up some rides. “Why didn’t you go?” I say a couple of times. Well, it’s not her fault. It’s my bad mood.

     She says she’s cold after about an hour, so she goes in. I can’t blame her because the surf is slow anyway. As she’s making her way towards the inside, something happens. The new pulse of the new swell, I’m not sure, but the surf starts picking up and getting consistent. Long peaks start forming on the outside, small two-to-three footers, but fast, low tide rides. On my first left, I get to the open face before I reach the oncoming section. Again, it’s my first time with the Motorboat Too at HB, and I feel how the extra volume is sending me down the line fast on a more critical wave. I do a carving arc, from top to mid face. It feels different on a wave that’s standing up more, like a lot of the wave as on my back and almost over me as I do this. I see a lot of water displace. Man, this feels good. On the next wave, I time my floater right, not doing it A.I. style, but enough that I climb the foam and come back down. It’s good practice. For the next twenty minutes, I get a mini buffet of waves.

     I kick out on a closeout, the wave taking my board and me jumping over the wave, when I feel tension release from my leg. My board’s drifting towards the inside. Bye bye leash.

     The Motorboat Too works well out here, for these rounder conditions where the wave stands up more than Trestles, I think I’d rather use my standard shortboard for this place, especially for the turns.

#

Too much damn fish sauce. From now on, only ordering Thai Food from Thai Restaurants.

     I decide to call the session, especially with today’s late start. I take Bri out for her first Vietnamese Pho experience. I gamble, ordering the shrimp Pad Thai, and there is way too much fish sauce on it. I should have just stuck to the 50% off chicken pho for $3.50.

Mentor Rick

     Later that day, Rick meets up with me in Long Beach so he can watch me read. He’s a like a dad to me. We have a couple beers on 2^nd Street. I haven’t bar hopped in so long. The scene is interesting with ladies starting their Friday nights early, already showing cheeks, tits, and poontang. At Shannon’s next door, my classmates are drinking with some other girls from school. Is this what the college life really is? I’m usually at home, doing homework and whipping out the PS3 controllers by now.

    At the reading, Cheryl and Sebastian show up too. When it’s my turn to read, I blow my performance. My short story (that I thought was funny) falls flat. It’s about a gay guy at a bar trying to convince the bartender to turn gay so he can fuck him. I have to realize that my humor is not for everyone. I think some jaws dropped in the audience. Afterwards, Sebastian said, “I think they were wondering if me or Rick was your boyfriend.” Fuck. Luckily, my poem kind of saves me. I read one about me getting bullied in middle school, a personal childhood poem of a coward in a gangbanged-out school. A couple people said they enjoyed it.

I'm blessed

     BUT . . . it’s so nice to have my people there to support me. Afterwards, us four meet up with Boris in El Segundo for some beers at the Purple Orchid, and I feed Seba and Cheryl afterwards. Despite my performance, it was a good and well-balanced day, filled with surf, beer, atmosphere, and friends. I just have to choose a better short story next time. 

The Duckbutter Cafe

BROMANTIC WEEKEND PT.2, SUN14APR2013 MOR

Loc: Manhattan Beach

Crew: Klaude

Conditions: 2-3 FT, cool, slightly overcast, crowded, mooshy.

     We show up at the same time this morning. I’m by the water first, watching Klaude walk over the run path and onto the sand. I want to surprise him, but I’m too impatient. I step up from the waterline, raise my board, and he walks my way. He tells me how things went the night before. His stories are pretty funny. Ahhhh yes, the L.A. bar scene. . .

     I paddle out first and meet Klaude later when he’s done stretching. We don’t expect much, with a rising tide and without much surf in the forecast for the west, northwest facing beaches. But then, once we’re out here, the surf isn’t so bad. No, it’s not thumping or “firing,” but it’s not flat and boring either. Even though there’s a crowd and a lot of sharing going on, Klaude and I get a lot of waves. Klaude too is throwing out some water out the back. I tell him how Khang had told me on Wednesday that we’re all visibly progressing. We talk about sampling each other’s boards, but we decide to save that for a Trestles trip.

     I get a decent little right. My spray’s not that strong, but I get a little bit. And . . . well, I can’t say that I have a ride that significantly stands out, but we did catch a lot of waves.

     After the session, we have a good amount of surf stoke afterburn. “It was actually really fun,” we repeat to ourselves. Since we splurged the day before, we decide to go healthy this morning to tear up some Blue Butterfly. Even later that night we text each other, appreciative of the “man company” in the water. Surfing is something one can do alone, but . . . it’s nice to have a consistent buddy to share it with. Mahalos Klaude. Hope to catch you in the water again soon.

BROMANTIC WEEKEND PT.1, SAT13APR2013 MOR

Loc: Manhattan Beach

Crew: Klaude

Conditions: 2-3 FT, cool, slightly overcast, crowded, mooshy.

     Damn you, Call of Duty, Black Ops 2 on PS3. Why do you have to be so fun and addicting, so addicting that going to bed at 0200 is considered early. I just love blasting fools online. It’s the BEST! Oh my god, once this semester is over I’m just gonna game for a couple days straight and not leave the house. I can’t wait.

     So . . . I’m late. Yup, I know Klaude is out there already surfing. I need to get up and get out of the house. It’s about 0800 when I reach the sand, and . . . I look out there and see Klaude. I just know his shape, his silhouette, even from behind, that’s how you know you’re close to your friends. The usual local crew is out. I see Tom Y. first. He says hi. I haven’t seen him in a while. And Calvin . . . I already saw him near the parking lot. He left, which is not a good sign.

     “Heyyy!” says Klaude. He motions in the air with his hand and his palm up, as if to say he’s been waiting. I ask how long he’s been out here, and it turns out he wasn’t exactly an early riser either. He tells me about his evil shenanigans that he’s been up to, the real “Pirate Klaude” that not too many people know, and I must say, I’m impressed (I’m sparing the details of his personal life, but they would make a cool story).

     “Has it been good?” I ask.

     “No. That’s probably why so many guys were leaving.”

     Roy is to our south with some other locals. Now . . . I can’t remember too many details about this session for the life of me. I think Klaude was getting some rides, so was I, and it was crowded enough that we had to miss some rides too. However, as soon as the tide comes up there is this nasty lull; I mean the waves are taking forever. Everyone is impatient, so much that over half of the lineup is sitting way on the on inside, hoping for something that won’t moosh out. The tide has pulled me towards the outside, so . . . I’m already in good position for this random bump that’s forming in the distance. I paddle more towards the outside, over a smaller wave. Once I’m over it, I see this peak, a decent three-foot left just rising in front of me. I turn, scratch, and kick. I notice everyone on the inside now scrambling for the outside, hopeful for the next couple waves of the set. A ride like this on a day like this is . . . rare. I pop up and pump to get to the open face. I draw a bottom turn, not too deep, but deep enough to give me some decent speed when I climb the face. From there I shift my weight to the outside rail and do an arching top turn. A successful opening move on a wave in front of everyone. After that, the wave kind of mooshes out, but I pump until I get back to the reform on the inside and finish off with another turn.

     I meet Klaude on the way back to the lineup. I’m smiling ear to ear, saying nothing, wondering if he had seen my ride.

     “Duuude,” he says.

     “You see that?”

     “Awww, man. I wasn’t sure if that was you, but I knew it was just from your paddle. I was like, ‘Is that Matt?’ Then I saw you come around and make the first cutback before I had to duckdive.”

     I tell him that it was luck, pure luck. Usually a wave like that goes to the local vets, but I just lucked out. I remember seeing Roy’s face as I dropped in. He might have been thinking the same thing. Although, my turn was a halfass cutback. If I were to describe my level of surfing right now, it’s trying to do cutbacks and floaters; I still have a long way to go. None the less, that was a really fun wave.    

     We catch our last waves in. On the sand I ask, “Breakfast?”

     “Yeah, sure,” says Klaude.

     “What are you thinking?”

     I know what I’m really thinking, but I don’t mention it. “We can stay local. Blue butterfly?”

     “Man,” he says while trudging through the sand and looking down, “but I’m hungry!”

     “Bobs?” I say.

     “Well, we’ll see. Just meet me after you change.”

     But that doesn’t matter. We know we’re addicted. I’m thinking pancakes and coconut syrup. My mouth is watering. I know Klaude wants Bob’s too. Mmmmmmmmm. Plate lunch after a surf. Goodness. After I change, I drive down to where Klaude is parked. Roy is there too. He’s contemplating Bob’s Hawaiian Restaurant too, but he passes.

     Then, we go. We go and we frickin’ SPLURGE!!!! I love the South Bay. Food and surf, food and surf, food and surf. Gotta love it. Sorry, I don’t have any pics of Bob’s.

But I do have a picture of Bruno. I had to help Rick move a TV after we ate. This is his Mom's labradoodle.