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.

BLACK CLOUD, SAT 7SEPT2013 MOR

Loc: Manhattan Beach   

Time:0815-1000

Crew: Bri, KK, Mel                                           

Conditions: 1-2 FT+, inconsistent, mooshy, warm.

     Bri and I went to bed late, so we’re on the late train. Parking is horrendous but by some luck of fate, I score on a side street that I rarely park on.

     The disadvantage of parking here is that we have to walk seven streets south to reach our local break. I’m sure Klaude’s already out here, and sure as shit, there he is on his orange Zippi.

     Even though I don’t feel like surfing with the crowd, I have a need to be around my friends, especially when the surf is “so so.” I rush my warm up and tell Bri that I’m paddling out. I meet Klaude in the lineup, and he says, “I just got here too.”

     Yesterday wasn’t the greatest, but it was bigger and more consistent. Sometimes Manhattan Beach does well on the high tide, but today it’s making the surf too mooshy. Of course, the longboarders are doing all right. Bri gets more waves than Klaude and I combined. We party wave a couple rides, and Klaude and Bri almost have a collision. Who’s fault? Who knows?

     Bri paddles up to me and says that she got cut. I paddle up to take a look at her ankle. There’s a slice above her ankle bone. It’s a little deep, and the ankle bone itself is turning purple. “We’ll put some Neosporin on it when we get home,” I say.

     Klaude and I switch boards. On his Zippy, I feel its extra buoyancy, but I don’t get a really good wave to go down the line on and test its potential.

     “You’re pumps are too shallow like you’re on a shortboard,” says Klaude. “You need deeper pumps on that thing.”

     I try, but the waves are kind of slow and boggy, so I ask for my board back.

     Even Ross says that the conditions are perfect for longboarding, and even though he’s not on a longboard, he’s still getting as many waves as the longboarders. Go figure.

     “Last wave,” says Ross. He gets about two turns to shore. Klaude and I hoot him on. Ross turns around and paddles back out.

     “How many more last waves you gonna take?” says Klaude.  

     Ross says, “Depends on how good my last wave was.” Ross takes about five more waves before leaving.

     Klaude doesn’t do so badly either. He catches a right all the way to shore. Me ? . . fuck. I end up dicking off, walking the board, and trying to go switch foot. In regular-foot stance, I get stuck when I put myself there. I used to be able to go backhand left, but those days have long been over.

     Klaude leaves first, and then Bri and I follow shortly after. Heading back to the car, Bri’s pretty stoked. I’m just whatever. Lately I’ve accepted the conditions, just going straight or lucky if can get at least one turn. To be honest, I’m not stoked. I haven’t been getting much out of surfing.

     My buddy Francis had told me a couple months ago that they called him the Black Cloud at work when he had hit a streak of bad luck. I feel like there’s a black cloud over me right now. I’m paddling out, just sitting in the lineup, not expecting anything. Surfing shouldn’t be like that.

     Back home, I smear Neosporin over Bri’s cut. It looks like it’s going to heal. It’s just gonna need some air and some time.

GROM CENTRAL, FRI 6SEPT2013 MOR

Loc: Manhattan Beach   

Time:0700-0900

Crew: Bri, KK, Mel                                           

Conditions: 1-3 FT, consistent, light onshore, warm.

     Since Tuesdays thru Thursdays are one-hundred percent dedicated to school, Friday’s my first chance to paddle out after sitting on my ass for three days. Actually, that’s not entirely true, since Bri and I have picked up yoga at a local gym two nights a week.

     Bri’s started her new job this morning, so I head to Manhattan Beach early before she’s up and head out to meet Klaude and Khang.

     Yesterday, Khang called me and said he would surf, so I offered to buy him breakfast afterwards since I haven’t seen him in a while.

     Street parking is a bitch, as it always is on Fridays, and I have no choice but to park at a spot that’s only good until 0900, but since I’m early it shouldn’t be a problem.

     It’s been a while since I’ve done a solo session, and I enjoy the quiet atmosphere, only disrupted by my music and the sound of me breathing.

     Looking out at the break, I see small, consistent lines rolling in, but they look a little walled. However, it’s the best local surf that I’ve seen for a while.

     At the lineup, I don’t see Klaude yet, but I’m not concerned with that. What I’m concerned with is all the high school groms that are now there at first light. There are so many of them. Even the local vets are complaining as they walk towards the sand. They point to the few areas that aren’t congested with groms, saying, “There . . . no. How about there? No. . .”

     I’m surprised to see some kids bare backing it. Sure, it’s been warm lately, but not that warm. I paddle out, and my 2/2, short-sleeved full feels mighty fine.

     I sit south of the tower, trying to avoid the crowd, but the good waves are where all the kids are sitting. I move in closer and sit by the longboarding groms. I’m jealous. They’re just about catching everything, local vet Mitch is out here too, and we both give each other a look that spells frustration. Meanwhile, I’m burning up in my wetsuit. I should have trunked it.

     I am still able to get some waves though, but none of the rides are memorable. There is a right where I get one, small snap on. It’s been a while since I’ve had one of those. I catch an even better right, but one of the morning groms snakes me on it. I ride close to him, on his ass, but then I back off. What’s the use? It’s not like it’s that great out here, and he’s just a kid.   

     Back at the lineup, I split a small peak with a grom and go left. I clear a small section with a tiny floater but look behind me to make sure that I’m clear. I’m not. That grom didn’t go right, and now he’s standing behind me the same way I was standing behind that other kid. “Shit!” I say before kicking out.

     Once the grom patrol clears, I see KK and Mel making their way out. I paddle over towards them, since Klaude is blind and can’t see me unless I’m in front of him.

     I say hi to Mel, and then Klaude dismounts his board to give me some man-hug love. Roy’s out here too.

     “Where you’ve been surfing?” I ask Roy.

     “Up north,” he says. “Last Saturday I surfed for like eight hours.”

     Then I recall how Rick scored that super session last weekend up north too. Barrels! Roy just about confirms that I missed out on a good one.

     And for the rest of the morning we all trade off waves. I can’t say that they’re high quality waves. I guess I’ve been a little picky lately. There are a few single-shot waves that I get, but I probably have the most fun on a set-wave closeout. The drop itself was more fun than any of my other rides.

     When KK and Mel call it, I decide to go in too. I catch another wall and try to pump to set up for a carve, but the wave’s too fast, and I climb the white wash a little before coming down with it. There’s no sign of Khang either, but he has a pass since he’s been a hundred times busier with his promotion. We all have to make sacrifices some time.

     On the shore, Klaude says, “Nice way to finish it!”

     I just smile back. Truth is, it’s been a while since I’ve had a real solid session. I think the last time I did have one was my second to the last trip at San Onofre with Bri when Mons Pubis was working. That might have been before I had left for work in August, and that’s a while ago.

     I head back to my whip and decide to sham out for the rest of the day. It’s Friday, I have the next two days to write some nonfiction and do some reading. I hope the surf gets better soon. We need at least another foot and the tide to be lower in the morning.