THE SNEAK SESH, SUN 08DEC2013 EVE

Loc: El Porto

Crew: Bri, Dais

Time: 1530-1715

Conditions: 1-3 FT, scattered peaks, light onshore.

     I shouldn’t be in the water today. There should be no time for it, but I’m off work early after our holiday party. I should still be there, but I told my squad to ditch our clean-up detail. Why not? I was stuck for over an hour last year, so I’m not doing it this year.

     Before going home, Bri and I cruise by Porto. It looks like a nice evening, the wind is light, and the tide is already coming back down, hopefully relieving the symptomatic moosh.

     When we pull into the Porto lot, we see small scattered peaks everywhere, only affected slightly by the north wind. I call Rick, but he’s at his niece’s birthday.    

     “I don’t really feel like surfing,” says Bri.

     “You don’t have to,” I say. I haven’t surfed since Friday, so I’m frothing.

     “No, I’m not gonna let you go out there by yourself so you can tell me what I missed out on. I’m not letting you get that one up on me!” So Bri and pack up the wagon with speed and head back to Porto.

     Before paddling out, I send the DRC Signal to Cheryl, Christina, Khang, and Dais. I tell them: Porto is clean for the evening session.

     When my toes touch the water, I realize that I made the wrong decision by wearing my 3/2. Yes, winter is here. It is fucking freezing. I can only imagine how cold it must have been this morning.

     With the swell on the down slope, this is it. I have to make the best out of this session.

     In the lineup, I worry that I may have made the DRC Signal prematurely. The surf had looked better from the shore, but now . . . eh . . . it’s a little on the walled and racy side. Every wave I catch is running away from me. Since Bri’s on the longboard, she’s able to get into the waves early and make the sections. These are not shortboard conditions.

     About fifteen minutes into the session, and I see Dais on the sand making his way out. It’s so easy to spot him with his long hair in a tail and his long Confucius beard.

     “I was wondering all day when to paddle out,” he says. “Go when the tide’s high or wait until it comes down? And then I got your text.”

     I tell him that you have to be in the right spot and that I haven’t really gotten many waves. But something about Dais’ presence changes my luck. I’m in prime position for a left. Upon popping up, the section is already building. But I pump down the line and get one carve before it closes out.

     Even Bri is getting better rides, finding herself right on the shoulder in expert position for the building sections.

     Once the sun goes down, the water begins to clear out a little. A school of dolphins cruise in front of us.

     “Oh shit!” says Dais. “What’s that?”

     Suddenly I’m not so sure if those are dolphins. There have been so many shark sightings lately. I duckdive the next wave, thinking the worst: jaws upon my face under the black ocean. When I resurface, I see that the number of fins in the water can only mean that they are in fact a school of dolphins.

     On the next peak, Dais is too deep and duckdives, but I’m on the shoulder for the right. As I slide into the face I can’t believe that the shape is holding, so I wind up for a backhand snap. The inside takes some section maneuvering and setting up, but I get a second blast off the lip. Who knew? This evening session wasn’t even planned. I ditched my detail at work to make it in time for an evening session, and now I’m actually scoring some turns, much more fun than the cleaner, crowded session on Friday morning.

     It’s dark when Bri and I leave the lot. We see Dais changing, and we say our goodbyes and plan on meeting up to surf again this week.

     At home, Bri’s decorated our tiny studio. We even have the holiday candles going. She warms up some leftovers from the holiday party. I return Klaude’s phone call from Oahu. He tells me about meeting JOB at Pipeline and how he caught day one of the event right by the competitor’s area. We’re both stoked for each other.

     Kobe Bryant makes his debut, coming off of an eight-month injury. With a mouth full of sweet potatoes, I can’t wait to watch Kobe make his triumphant return over the Raptors, perhaps breaking his eighty-point scoring record. Oh yeah. With good surf and good food, how can anything go wrong tonight?

LONGBOARDS AND SUPs, FRI 06DEC2013

   

 

Loc: El Porto

Crew: Bri

Time: 0700-0830

Conditions: 2-3 FT, scattered peaks, crowded enough.

     Bri only has an hour to surf because she has work, so we drive separately. The initial plan is to surf a little further south, but Bri calls me and says that Porto is looking fun. As I round the corner on 45^th and look down the hill, I see scattered lines rolling in. Sold.   

     Some of the waves are a little lined up and fast. Good positioning will be key this morning. A bigger board also helps, since some of the waves are breaking a little late. Of course, Bri schools me on her NSP, able to catch just about anything that rolls through. While I’m concerned about being positioned on the shoulder, her thick NSP makes the sections, and she’s getting long down-the-line rides, which are uncharacteristic for Porto.

     I fall behind the section on my first left, but the face stands up for a while, so I consciously try to pull off a wrap-around cutback. By the time I rebound and try to redirect my board, the section closes out. But, I do get some fun, racy waves, and am able to finishing off with single carves. On one I get a baby floater, so despite the shape I’ve already reached my stoke quota for the day.

     Bri leaves for work, and I had already put in enough coinage until 0830, so I’m looking forward to catching more rides. Unfortunately, someone must have put the word out about the surf because now the lot is filling. 

     More guys come out, and since the waves are only breaking semi consistent, a lot of heads wait for the next rides.

     A longboarder catches two waves too small for me. He comes back. When the set wave comes, he back-paddles everybody and takes that wave too. Motherfucker. He has no concept on sharing. No one wants to see him catch three waves in a row, just coming back over and over again and taking the waves for himself. I’m not a violent person, but I feel closest to it when I’m in the water. That’s not good.

     Then an SUP guy does the same thing. Doesn’t give a wave up. On the rights, he paddles back out after each one, going for the next one coming in.

     I swear, I’m so love/hate with Porto sometimes. It’s already 0835, and catching a “last one” is so goddam hard with all this greed. I love surfing, but I’m actually leaving the water angry and unsettled.

BRI’S BIRTHDAY SWELL (double), FRI 29NOV2013

Loc: Churches

Crew: Bri and Rick

Time: 0645-0945

Conditions: 3-5 FT, overcast, drizzling, consistent, crowded.

     Since today is Bri’s birthday, I give her the genuine option of where to surf. I say “genuine” meaning that I try not to commandeer the decision into what I want to do. The swell will be at its biggest today, so South Bay beach break is out of the question. Turkey day was already a closeout sesh. We need turns or shape, one of the two.

     Yesterday she had decided on a choice between Palos Verdes or Bolsa Chica. PV sounded good, but we were worried about the crowd factor. The winds at Bolsa Chica would also be questionable. “Churches,” said Rick, yesterday in the lineup. When Bri and I drove by to borrow his hooded five mil for Bri, he said, “Churches,” again. “I’ll drive. It breaks good on the northwest swell.” Churches, long rippable right handers. Bri’s sold.

#

     Rick shows up to my apartment at 0500. I’m already in the garage getting my gear together. I walk up and look in the van, and Rick looks dazed, like he’s hung over or still half asleep. Even his hair as all fucked up: hair unevenly sticking up around the crown of his head like George Washington having a bad hair day. I ask him if he’s all right. He takes a while to respond. “I’ll drive,” I say.

     Bri’s conked out in the back for most of the journey. Even with the sky getting lighter, it reveals gray clouds without a break for sunshine.

     When we reach the military camp grounds on San Onofre, we see that the swell is showing nicely over here. Old Mans is a little mooshy, but there is size. A light drizzle dots our windshield, making everything outside grayer and more cold. Even though Churches and San Onofre are ideal summer-time spots, it is breaking classic out here in the dead of winter.

     Peaks start rolling in, and guys are getting three-four turns on four-foot waves that peel for a hundred yards a pop. But it’s crowded. Middles is always an option when this place is too crowded, but the surf here is so inviting that we have to try.

     One of Rick’s old buddies from Charlie Company 3-160^th Infantry is parked by us, an old short and ripped Polynesian guy who looks like a surfing Manny Pacquiao, just more wrinkled and leathery. He has a huge flag pole sticking out of the back of his truck, its banner in spray-painted black letters reads: SURFER. 

#

     Bri and I paddle out first, sitting wide to the south away from the main pack. I tell Bri that I’ll try my luck here first before paddling north. Of course, every wave has a surfer on it. Only people like us want to sit this wide. It’s a double edged sword. We hate crowds, but our isolation prevents us from getting waves. I paddle closer to the top of the wave. Just then, a wave passes me up and begins to stand up on the inside. I turn around and see that Rick has just made it out to the lineup. He turns around and gets it without being in the water longer than a couple of minutes.

     Bri and Rick stay in the same area. I shift positions, sitting in the pack, outside, and then finally on the inside. A wave comes my way, but I’m too deep for the right, so I say fuck it and go left. I pop up and see that there’s an open face to work with. I feel the raciness of the wave. I guess the lefts are breaking faster. I pump and set myself up for one deep carve. It’s not a long epic right, but I’m stoked.

     Again, I get another left. No one wants the left. Two solid waves with a turn each. I paddle further out into the lineup with a smile on my face.

     In the distance, Bri and Rick are sitting more towards the top of the wave. I see him calling Bri into a right. He watches her as she pops up, and keeps going and going. I want to wave to her, but she can’t see me. Rick waits for her to look his way. They wave at each other.

     And just like that, from my vantage point I see Bri on at least three long rights, the same rights we had gawked over when we arrived. Now Bri, my woman, is on those big rights. She’s not turning, but she doesn’t have to. All you have to do is stand up on one of those long waves, and you can get the ride of your life.

     I’m now on the north side of Churches, but I’m taking the rights now. Even though it’s crowded, there are enough scattered waves that many people find themselves out of position for, giving up the rides for those who lurk on the peripheries.

     My wave of the day is a late takeoff right. I’m getting more used to my quad fins now. Winding up for the bottom turn I see two surfers trying to get the wave on the shoulder. I’m like the terminator, targeting that one spot on the shoulder where the first dude’s face is. I climb the face towards his head. He stops paddling and watches me. I lean forward as if falling and whip a backhand snap at the top of the shoulder. With speed, I crank out a second turn. After that, the wave mooshes out.

     At the top of the third hour, Bri and I catch a wave in and find Rick at the van. He’s eating his snacks, talking to his old Army buddy. It’s still cold as shit. Regardless, Rick whips out three birthday beers.

     “It’s your birthday?” says the petite Polynesian. Out of nowhere, he breaks into the happy birthday song. Right there, with our hair matted in saltwater, our toes on the cold pavement with sand stuck to our heels, with freezing hands with freezing bottles of beer, and with the cool drizzling droplets landing on our faces, Rick and I sing along with the happy-birthday tune while Bri’s awkward smiles transforms into a genuine one. 

Loc: Oceanside

Crew: Rick, Gary, Bri

Conditions: drained tide, fast, walled, hollow, empty

     Rick really wants to meet Gary who’s in Oceanside. I’d rather stay at Churches. The surf is good, Bri is surfing it good, and why increase the distance to drive? Well, but we are in Rick’s vehicle, it’s a rare day off for him, and he needs to take advantage of the moment and milk this trip for as much as he can.

     When we reach Oceanside, Gary, Matty C., and a couple of his homies are already there. Matty’s done surfing for the day and says, “I had eight barrels for breakfast with a side of barrels.”

     Now I’m with Bri, watching Rick and Gary already in the lineup. There is nobody here, save for a few heads, but the whole beach is ours. It’s still overcast here, but the clouds have shifted from a dark gray to a blinding silver if you stare at the sky to long. The wind’s howling offshore onto the low-tide waves that are pounding the shore. I tell Bri to be careful and to be very picky.

     I want to be picky and wait for something with shape. The waves are coming in at about three-to-four feet, but a set sprouts up on the outside. The surf just feels so sketchy because of how low the tide is, yet big set waves are rolling in. The first one is an A-frame, but its perfect hydro-dynamic shape is menacing. I’ve said this before: sometimes perfectly shaped waves are more intimidating than big closeouts. I fake paddle for it and let it go. I’m nervous, having the worse jitters that I’ve had since surfing Java six months ago. I tell myself that there’s no reef here, and that if I hit the bottom, at least it will just be sand.

     So I go. The lefts wall up. I move down the line, kicking out before the closeout. I catch a right that looks walled and critical. I straighten out and see that the shoulder is still peeling away from me. Fuck. I could have maybe gotten barreled on the one. I go for the medium sized ones, still pulling in and grabbing rail, but going nowhere.

     Bri is wisely sitting there, not choosing to go. She looks at me and smiles. I think she’s already gotten satisfaction out of this birthday trip.

     I see Gary on the shore, and Rick says that he had hurt his shoulder. After a couple more closeouts the rest of us go in.

     Gary meets us on the sand, fully dressed. “It still looks fun,” he says, pointing out to a fast inside wave that spits before the hollow section pinches.

     “You wanna go back out?” says Rick.

     “Whatever, up to you,” I say.

     Rick and Gary talk it over, debating on surf, grabbing food, and then the prospect of Rick getting into trouble with his wife since he had left this morning to “surf” but she had no idea where.

     “Let’s grab something to eat,” says Rick.

     Thank goodness.

#

little does he know...

     We eat some Mexican food at Roberto’s. Rick’s the only one who orders chicken in his burrito, and as we’re leaving he has to take a shit. On the way home, he has to shit again. Once we reach home, Rick has to take another shit. Bri and I ordered the carnitas, so we’re all right.