YOU MIGHT HAVE A BAD SESSION IF . . ., THU 26SEPT2013 MOR

Loc: 26^th

Time: 0700-0900

Crew: Mel                                                    

Conditions: 3-4 FT+, sunny, consistent, fast, crowded

     You munch on a banana before leaving the house because you figure it’s a good idea not to surf on an empty stomach. Recalling the forecast and how the surf was yesterday, you know that the surf will be smaller today, probably a little crumbly, so you leave your favorite board behind, the Lost Mini Driver made specifically for threading barrels, the one you had taken to Java even though you couldn’t get barreled while you were there.

     As you drive around 26^th Street, your favorite local break, that banana starts hitting you. It’s pushing out last night’s chicken, rice, and macaroni salad like a Spartan Phalanx. You’re anus is the Persian Army, and right now, it’s losing.

     Thankful for the street parking that you found near Marine Avenue, you walk to the 76 gas station around the corner. You take your wallet with you and go over what you’ll say to the gas attendant who will refuse to give you the keys: “I’ll buy something, man. Anything. I’ll even buy a pack of cigarettes.” As you pass the cashier booth, you see Twix candy bars displayed in the window, and you consider offering to buy one of those instead if it comes down to it. To your luck, the bathroom door is unlocked. After you’re done, the flush of the toilet is weak, and last night’s dinner still floats around, slowly in a circle, lingering like it wants to tell you something. You wonder what.

     Now you’re on the sand watching the surf. It’s a clear South Bay morning, and the wind’s offshore. Black dots of wetsuits are strewn along the lineup, and they bob up and over the oncoming waves. You realize you’re wrong. The surf isn’t smaller. In fact it’s bigger and breaking differently than yesterday. The waves are around four feet plus, fast, semi walled, and breaking section on section.

     You loiter through the lineup, maneuvering around the high school groms that have been out since first light. To display proper etiquette, you pass up the first couple of waves and set yourself up for the right-hand peak that’s coming your way.

     After three four strokes you’re in and sliding down the face. The wave is about to closeout, and it doesn’t surprise you, but the wall of water crashes into you with the force of a landslide, something you weren’t expecting. When you resurface, Java comes to mind: the fear you had felt knowing that you were in the impact zone, and the knowledge that the next wave could pummel you into the reef if you weren’t fast enough to remount your board and paddle back out.

     As you return back to the lineup, you see other surfers pointing north, and hoots and shouts erupt through the whole lineup. You look up and see a kid, literally a high school kid no older than sixteen, he’s in the tube, going frontside with his hand in the face of the wave. His efforts to stall in the barrel cause his torso to shake, but he’s stubbornly holding his line as white wash throws out over his head, giving him a dry almond slot of safety. Just like that, everyone catches barrel fever. Davey, the 26^th Street aerialist, pulls into a right on his backside. He gets slotted but the wave pinches him at the end. An old bald guy pulls into the next wave. Same result. An outside right is coming your way. You’re late, but you’re experienced enough to know you can turn and go. You paddle in at an angle, and before the wave pitches you, you grab rail and stick your arm in the face of the wave, but there’s a problem. You’re board is so short that grabbing its rail pivots the board so fast that the fins release from the face. Now you’re air dropping in the tube, upside down as the lip crashes down on you. You resurface, wondering if anyone saw.

     You curse yourself for bringing the wrong board today, but you still commit to pulling into every wave because you want to get barreled badly; you want one just like that kid had. You’re technique’s not so bad, sliding down with a low crouch, hand in the face, grabbing rail both on your front and your backside. Even though you’re getting pinched in the tube, you penetrate out the back in time to beat the next wave, but it’s still not enough. You’re not surfing, you’re catching closeouts. You think about how long you’ve been surfing and the travels you’ve taken over the years. You’ve surfed multiple South Bay winters, traveled to Indo twice, and still, you haven’t been barreled. You wonder how long that high school kid’s been surfing. When you first picked up a longboard, he was probably still a toddler, and yet he got his today: the glory that you’ve told yourself to be patient for—it will come. But you secretly fear that it won’t, fear it so much that you’ve put a barrel curse on yourself.

     On the next rogue wave, you’re in position to go right. The left is too walled. It’s big. You hear a couple hoots in the lineup. You focus on keeping your rail in the face as you draw a long line down, and as you reach for your rail everything goes black. Now you’re suspended, weightless, like a baby in a womb. You’re involuntarily curled into a ball, and even though you’re under water you feel yourself being lifted higher and higher. You wait for the explosion in peace, feeling comfortable in this antigravity chamber, but the wave releases you.

     When you resurface, everyone in the lineup is looking back at you, even Don Kadowaki, the local vet who pays more attention to the waves than the surfers. So is the old lady who wears a fisherman’s hat and rides a blue Costco foam board. Your friend Mel breaks the silence and says, “What happened?”

     “I don’t know,” you say. “It all happened so fast.” You wear a grin that feigns humor but hides humiliation. People divert their attention away from you now that you’ve said something.

     Mel says, “It’s like the whole wave doubled up again and slammed down.”

     You figure that it must’ve looked gnarly, even from behind.

     You find yourself paddling back up to the lineup again after another series of awkward wipeouts. Mel is in front of you duckdiving a wave. After it breaks, you duckdive it too, and as you resurface your head runs into a blunt object. You resurface bewildered, holding your head and saying, “Owwww!”

     Mel’s in front of you, looking behind her, saying, “What happened?”

     “Ahhh!” you say as your rub your head, expecting it to be sliced open and dripping red. “I ran into your board. How did that happen? You were so far in front of me.”

     “I don’t know,” she says. “I duckdived the wave, but it sucked me back. Are you all right?”

     Now you see everybody in the lineup watching you. Some are smiling. You’ve created a scene.

     “Yeah,” you say. “I’m all right,” and you turn your board north and paddle away.

     Back at your car, you change our of your wetsuit and drive home. You think about why you surfed badly today. You blame it on your board, but you know that your ability level is to blame too. You tell yourself that everyone has a bad session every once in a while. You drive past El Porto, glancing at the waves as you pass by. You vow to only ride your barrel board until winter has come and gone.

FAST LINES, WED 25SEPT2013 MOR

Loc: 26^th

Time: 0645-0930

Crew: Klaude, Mel                                            

Conditions: 2-3 FT+, overcast, consistent, fast

     From the top of the hill I already see some lines coming in . . . accompanied with a bunch of heads. I scan for Klaude in the lineup, but he’s not here yet. The lifeguard tower and the brickhouse are working, but they’re packed, so I paddle just north of the brickhouse where a grom and some other guys are. I sit behind them on the inside, and I catch a couple fast closeouts. The grom is a kid that’s local, and I’m not sure if he’s on the surf team or not. He has short, black hair and looks mixed with white and Asian. He turns to his friend and says, “When I first came out here I was the only one here, now look how crowded it is.”

     I can’t help but think how ridiculous his statement is. Where else am I supposed to surf? In the thick of the high school kids where it’s three times as packed?

     I see Klaude paddle out to the lineup, so I paddle up to him for a man hug. Mel’s with him too. Even though the groms are clearing out, there’s still a little crowd, and it’s hard to score a wave that’s unridden.

     Long lines are coming in, and they’re breaking fast. To milk the ride, you have to be right on the shoulder and ready to pump. With the mid tide, the waves aren’t mooshy at all. Combined with the overcast, they stand up really fast, revealing thousands of textured triangles on the water’s surface.

     I’m lucky enough to get a left that no one’s on, as I’m pumping to the open face, a couple of people back out of the wave. I almost fall but regain composure and get one hit off of the lip before it closes. Paddling back to the lineup, Klaude gives me a thumbs up.

     Most of the crowd leaves when Klaude and Mel do, and even though the wind is beginning to switch, the surf is still good. Most of the waves are fast, which has me pumping for one single shot at the end. I find myself a little more behind the sections on my backhand, so I end up pulling in on a lot of closeouts.

     I hope that all this pulling in is helping me with my barrel technique. I want to be ready for the winter, and even though I’m not getting legit barreled, the feeling of grabbing railing and stalling in the tube is becoming more familiar. Sliding down the wave, conformed to the face, with one hand in the wall of water is a wonderful feeling, and I hope the winter will throw me some waves with room to make it out of.

     A little after 0900 is when the wind starts blowing sideshore from the south and the tide starts slowing things down. Most of the waves are walled now, and the water’s choppy. I catch my last wave in, and I’m completely exhausted. The sky is still overcast when I leave. It’s time to go home and do some homework. I’m glad I paddled out, and I hope that all this surfing I’ve been doing won’t interfere with school.

SWITCHING BOARDS, MON 23SEPT2013 MOR

Loc: 26^th

Time: 0800-1000

Crew: Klaude, Joyce, Mel                                     

Conditions: 1-3 FT, sunny, consistent, EMPTY

     I’ve been getting up early lately, so this morning I must sleep in. While the eight o’clock sun pours down on me, I can’t help but feel late. The sky is clear and the wind is light, pristine conditions. When I reach 26^th, I’m surprised to see that the groms have already cleared out.

     Klaude is in the water with Joyce, and a few other heads around them. When I ask Klaude about the high school kids, he says, “They weren’t even here. In fact,” he motions around him, “It’s more crowded now. It’s been like this all morning.”

     I’ve dusted off my Motorboat Too. I don’t know why. I guess I want some snappier turns and want to ride something loose, something different. My backhand turns aren’t as crisp on the Lost board, and I’m feening for a different feel.

     Right away, I catch a left. The swell size has tapered off, but the waves are still fast. Immediately, I feel the speed of my board. I’m pumping hard and the board responds. It’s a lot of work, but I try to float it, covering some distance even though I don’t make the whole section.

     Klaude and Joyce have to leave, but Mel is still out. I ask her how her job’s been, but she says she’s quit teaching. I tell her I admire her for that, and then I share my own story about how I used to work for Honda. Once upon a time I was a corporate clown. . .

     She leaves to feed the meter, and the second shifters start filtering into the lineup.

     I get this right, and I’m pulling off these semi floaters, clearing the sections. Before the wave closes out, I get a little hit off the closing lip. It feels good because a hit like that would’ve been hard on my Lost board.

     The crowd begins to thicken, and the waves get a little more walled. The best set of the day comes. Ross is paddling back after a ride, and he tries to turn around at the last second for a four-foot right, but he’s too late, and he eats shit right in front of me. A left rolls in for the second wave of the set, but some guy on my outside gets it.

     For my last wave, I take a left that walls up. It’s gonna be a closeout, and it’s doubled up, showing a little slot for a suicide barrel. I pull in and duck for a second, and again, there’s a guy on the inside in front of me, so I pull out and take the rest of the wave on my belly. I have a lot of reading, so I figure I can conserve some energy.

     On the drive back home, the conditions still look good. Some of the waves are walled, but I can already tell that it’s gonna be good all day. The wind is still light, only giving a slight texture on the water. As much as I’d like to stay, I can’t.

ASSES AND ELBOWS, SUN 22SEPT2013 MOR

Loc: 26^th

Time: 0645-0945

Crew: Cheryl, Klaude, Dais, Tom, Calvin, Joyce, Hideki, Chris

Conditions: 2-3 FT+, sunny, consistent, crowded

     Bri’s sick, so I’m on this surf session solo. This is a true dawn patrol, and I’m at 26^th before 0600. It’s still dark out but there’s still barely any parking. Unbelievable. I snatch one of the few parking spots left and see Calvin by the run path checking it out. He’s stolen Mike the Vietnam Vet’s, front row parking spot. The moon light shimmers off of the low tide waves, but it’s consistent, and there’s a little bit of size.

     I’d really like to dust off my Motorboat Too, but I just can’t get away from my Lost Mini Driver, so I stick with it. I justify the decision by means of crowd factor: I’ll get more waves on a fatter board.

     When I paddle out, Roy, Don, and Calvin are already on it. It’s a real fast and peaky morning. My first left is sectiony, but I reach the shoulder. My timing is off, and I don’t get a carve in, but I can tell that the waves are a little round because of the tide.

     On my next left, I get a little carve, but the shoulder looked like I could have pulled in. After that, I tell myself to just pull in on everything, at least while the tide is low.

     I almost get barreled, and “almost” doesn’t count, but the attempts are fun. There’s a left, and I fade out, waiting for the section to wall up a little bit. When it does, I pull in, but right in front of the hollow section is a guy on the inside. It’s shallow, so he’s in waist deep water. I pull in but penetrate out the back. I try to pull in on another end section but get pinched. Now the crowd is getting thicker. I paddle into another left, grabbing rail as I slide down. Crouched down low with one hand in the face, I feel myself stalling as I slide down to the base of the wave. This would be a textbook ride, but the wave closes out. Calvin paddles up to me after and says, “Hey, I saw you trying to pull in!”

     Once the sun is up, so is the crowd, and now everyone is out. I paddle south of the tower and run into Hideki, who I haven’t seen since late July. His friend Chris is with him, who asks me how the rest of my Java trip went. Paddling towards them gives me some luck because a right comes my way, and I get a solid snaparooski off the top. After that Klaude shows up, then Dais, and lastly Cheryl. Klaude introduces me to his friends Helen and Joyce.

     There are a lot of quality waves rolling through, but the scene is thick. In the lineup, it’s hard to maneuver without bumping into a board. Even the inside is a warzone. Because of the consistency, a lot of people are stuck on the inside as people are trying to drop into their waves.

     One guy gets so frustrated that he yells, “FUCK!” as he’s kicking out. It was Calvin who was in his line on the inside, but it’s not Calvin’s fault. Even I was in the way of a couple of people; it can’t be helped. I later hear the Fuck Man telling Roy, “Every time I get a wave, there’s some stupid idiot on the inside.”

     Well, what can you do about that? Fuck Man continues to paddle around, mumbling to himself, “I just want one.” I’ve been there before.

     It’s a fun morning, but the buffet is overpacked, so packed that you can only put a little bit on your plate at a time. The wind picks up turning the conditions choppy, and then Hideki, Klaude, Joyce, Cheryl, and I meet up at Blue Butterfly for some breakfast.