RIDING YOUR EX BOARDS, FRI 25OCT2013 MOR

Loc: El Porto

Time: 0730-0900

Crew: Manny A, Jimmy B

Conditions: 1-2 FT+, overcast, offshore, glassy, walled, inconsistent

     Think about the board that you used to ride, a long time ago when you were a Barney . . . but I mean like a green, unripe, LEGIT Barney. Back in 2006, after only six months of longboarding, I had prematurely stepped down, a whole foot, from a 7’10” NSP to a 6’10” Becker shortboard. I didn’t even know how to turn yet, and on that Becker board I caught waves going straight, thinking that I was the shit. Now fast forward seven years, and imagine that you get to ride that old board again. How would you surf on it?

     I had sold that Becker board to my friend Christina, but she didn’t like it, so she leant it to my friend Cheryl. Cheryl doesn’t surf so much nowadays, and I ain’t mad at her. People fall out of surfing like they fall out of love. Surfing becomes a neglected friend after a while, one you were so close with who eventually gets downgraded to a text or a Facebook message, and then next thing you know you haven’t seen each other for years.

     So now that Bri is surfing well on my old NSP, Cheryl’s been kind enough to hand over the Becker for Bri to use. But of course, not without me testing it out first. . .

    

     It’s Friday morning, and I’m so eager to test the old Becker out that I have to paddle out local, even if the surf is shit. I’m really curious to see if seven years of added experience will have me ripping on this board. Am I guilty of sounding like a Barney here? Would you have the same feelings?

     Looking back, I couldn’t even turn this fuckin board. I thought I was turning, but now I realize that I wasn’t. I was trimming at best. Seven years later, I at least understand the mechanics of turning. Something good must come out of this session!

     I check Porto on the way to Parks, and then I see Jimmy and Manny looking out from the railing. I park and sneak up behind them. They lower their voices to a mumble, aware of my presence but not looking back. When they do, they’re surprised. “Fuck,” says Manny. “Here I was, trying to be all quiet about this surf spot, and I was wondering, ‘Who’s this weirdo?’”

     They say they’re ready for breakfast, but I tell them that I’m paddling out despite the crummy conditions. “Let’s just paddle out,” says Jimmy to Manny. “I just want to get wet and get some exercise.” So we wax up our boards and head out.

     It’s overcast, and the waves are inconsistent, leaving all the surfers in the gray ocean, stagnant, waiting to fuck each other over a wave. Manny leads the way just south of the sandwich shack.

     “That’s a big ass board,” says Jimmy, looking over at the Becker. “Looks more like it’s for a big day.”

     I explain that it’s an old flame, and that I’m riding her again for the first time in years, but I’m not sure if they can relate to how I’m feeling.

     So once we’re in the water, Jimmy and Manny go at each other. Their friendly competition is intense, like they’re surfing in a real heat. “My kids’ friends told me that Manny’s better than I am,” says Jimmy, “just because he can do 360s and I can’t.” Jimmy’s face is ferocious on each wave. I wonder if my friends and I will be the same when we’re older.

     But now I got this boat of a board under me again. The board feels enormous under my belly. Much more volume than the fish. I’m too far up, so I have to scoot back and see the elongated nose stretch out before me.

     I paddle and kick into my first wave. It’s a right, and I catch it so easy that I probably didn’t even need to use my feet. The extra volume propels me through the section all the way to the open face. On my backhand, I walk the board out a little and trim from top to bottom. Fuck, it’s harder to turn this board than I thought.

     From here, I get a lot of closeouts. The volume gets me into waves easily, but as the waves close out, I take awkward stances all the way on the tail with my ass back and my shoulders forward, trying to keep the nose from purling. I forgot the challenges of riding a longer board.

     On other closeouts I eat shit, and wiping out with a lot of board strapped to your ankle is brutal. I appreciate Bri more for taking some sets on the head with the 7’10” NSP.

     Manny and Jimmy take off, and the waves get more inconsistent when they leave.

     I catch a left, and there’s a little shape that allows me to pump down the line. I bend my knees and feel the board rising up under my feet. I push back down, feeling the speed. I can’t remember if I was able to pump effectively seven years ago.

     Then I get a right. It looks walled, but it holds shape. I drop in with speed and struggle to keep the nose out. From here I set myself up for a deep bottom turn, and it takes all my weight being thrown to the nose of the board for me to crank out a small, backhand hack. I hear a little toss of water out the back. The wave closes out, and I ride the whitewash in. Fuck, now that’s something I wasn’t able to do on this board before. It is possible to turn this beast.

     But when I’m back at my car changing I look at the tail and see that an ancient repair that Cheryl had done on it has cracked. The leash dug into the tail and caused it. I scratch away at the jagged chips, exposing the foam beneath it. My first time taking it out again, and I fucked it up before Bri even had a chance to use it. We had given it some TLC the other night too, cleaning it up, putting a new coat of wax on it, and even slapping on a brand new traction pad. 

     So I’ll have to ask my friend Rick for a favor, and Bri’s gonna have to wait until she can ride this thing.

DOG BEACH, THU 24OCT2013 MOR

    

Loc: HB/Cliffs/Dog Beach

Time: 0730-1015

Crew: Hideki, Chris

Conditions: 3 FT+, overcast, offshore, strong current

     Due to the demands of school I’ve missed a couple pulses that have brought some waves in the last ten-odd days, but this Thursday morning I have a chance to paddle out. I’d like to take advantage of my parking pass and head to Brookhurst or Bolsa, but Hideki says that he’ll be paddling out at The Cliffs in the morning. I’ve never surfed there before, and I’m not keen on paying for parking, but I haven’t surfed with any of the homies for a while, so I don’t mind the sacrifice. Aren’t a couple of bucks worth some face time with friends?

     When I arrive, I’m not even sure if I’m even parked at the proper spot. I have no idea how to get down to the surf, and I don’t see that much surf activity where I am. As soon as I step up to the railing to take the bird’s eye view of the surf, I see two big peaks breaking right in front. For me it’s validation enough that there’s some swell happening out there.

     I change and watch some longboarders hop over the bar and disappear down what looks like a very steep trail.

     Unsure of what fin setup to use, I stick with the thruster setup on my Mini Driver and scale the cliff down to the water.

     I have no idea where Hideki is or if I’ll even run into him this morning, but I figure I can paddle out and maneuver through the lineup and find him that way.

     I’m wading waist deep on the inside, not even paddling yet, when I notice Hideki’s streak of silver hair through his black mane, and he waves at me, probably seeing my chiseled jawline and my pecs through my wetsuit. From that distance, it’s hard not to notice.

     When I reach him, I notice Chris further north, catching a left. I ask Hideki how the surf is, and he says that the current’s taken them all the way down here, but that they had originally started off by the “V”. I wave at Chris and notice that I’m getting pulled further north too, so I fight the current back to center of the cliff.

     About fifteen minutes later, I see Hideki and Chris on the sand doing the carousel, walking back on the sand to reset and paddle out further south. When I see them again in the water later, they catch their waves in and leave for work.

     My surfing is off. I’ve been smoking a little, here and there, so my lungs struggle for air. The inside is walled and consistent, not that big but really punchy. I struggle and get caught on a long set, getting pummeled despite my duckdives.

Understanding the Drive:

     There are a lot of lefts this morning, but the waves are so racy that I have a hard time connecting more than one turn. Further south I see a guy get a legit in-and-out cover up. I’m envious but props to that guy. He earned it.

     The current’s strong, so I have windows when I’m alone until guys drift in my space. I fight the current, but every time I catch a left, I have much more distance to get back to my spot.

     Seeing that guy getting barreled motivates me, so I start pulling in on waves. I practice my pig dog going right, and surprisingly I get a little distance inside. Not much, but it’s enough to notice that it’s a lot longer than usual, than when I usually just get closed-out on right away. I pull in going left, and there’s a moment of clarity inside the tube. Again, it only lasts a second or two, but I notice the difference. I have air or free space inside, like discovering an air pocket if you were buried alive in a dirt grave, and then I realize something. . . Shit, after all this time, years even, of me saying that I’ve been getting “pinched” in the barrel, I’ve been using that term incorrectly all along. I wasn’t really getting “barreled” to begin with. All those times pulling in, all I was doing was wiping out—induced wipeouts on closeouts. But this morning, on those two waves, I got a little bit of “drive” in the tube, and that’s what makes the difference. These things are becoming clearer to me, especially after my recent sessions at DMJ. Without any distance inside, I shouldn’t even use the word “barrel.”