WHEN THE SWELL BACKS OFF, SAT 04JAN2014

 

Loc: El Porto

Crew: Bri, Dave T., Gary C., Bri

Time: 0700-0830

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

     Surfline says that the surf will be “poor to fair,” but I’m realizing that I can’t trust Surfline one-hundred percent. Living this close to the beach, I’d be a fool not to look at it myself. Rick and his WHC homies will be out in the water too, so it will be nice to see them. Even though the swell is backing off to nil, I have a feeling that there will be some leftover energy, and if any break in the South Bay will be working today, it will be Porto.

     El Segundo’s foggy as I drive through Main Street, but the sky clears up as I drive down 45^th Street. There are two empty parking spots on the hill, so I pull into one. It’s nice to get a break from feeding the meters. The parking here is good until 0900, and I think two hours will be enough.

     On the sand, I already spot Rick in the water in front of the bathrooms. Gary and Dave are with him too. The first shift of surfers begins to bunch up in front of 45^th. There’s a right there that’s been working, so I’m not surprised. But I am surprised at Rick’s choice of where to surf since it looks inconsistent there.

     Bri and I paddle out. Gary’s already on a two-foot right, pumping and getting some tags off the lip. He sits further south all by himself.

     It doesn’t take long before the crowd at 45^th multiplies and spreads all the way to the bathrooms. Now there’s a pack there, and Bri and Rick are sitting in the middle of them.

     To start things off I get a left that closes out. My next wave is just as fast, but I do a little foam climb and stick the landing.

     The waves are still a little lined but much shorter than yesterday, so it’s easier to chase down the shoulders.

     Bri has a good start this morning. On one right, she raises her arms as she drops into the face of the wave, riding it all the way to shore. Everyone on the inside watches. Gary watches too and says, “Gidget!” to himself.

     On Bri’s next wave, the same thing happens. Rick turns to me from across the lineup and yells, “Matt, I think your girlfriend is showing you up!”

     Dave T. is having a hard time, and I can see it from the look on his face: frustration. He’s on my outside on a left. I have priority, and I see him watching me as he scratches for it. I pull out and motion my hand forward, giving him the signal to go. I don’t mind sharing waves with buddies. Anything to prevent an aggro session. And then I go through an aggro moment of my own. On a right, I’m all alone because the wave right before it has washed everyone out towards the inside. As I’m scratching for it, I can see that this is a good wave with a well defined shoulder, a sight that’s been rare during the recent swell. It’s a set wave, so I have speed as I drop in, and I get a good snap off the lip. Just as I set myself up to climb the face once more, some guy who isn’t even looking back snakes me. “Hey!” I say. He looks back, but I can tell from his body language that he’s too committed to pull out, so he rides the wave straight before jumping off.

     When we resurface, he says, “Sorry, man.”

     “It’s okay,” I say, but it’s not okay. I’m fuming. Porto is already crowded as it is, but when people snake you, it takes away a wave. Sometimes it’s hard just to get one good wave because there are so many people. So my wave of the day is gone, thanks to this old Japanese dude (some of my best friends are Japanese, handsome Japanese guys at that [KK & Dais]).

     Now the crowd has just enveloped the lineup. It’s a cluster fuck out in the water. Everyone is sitting on top of each other. Guys are sitting on every position: outside, middle, and inside.

     Gary paddles up to me and says, “Where were these motherfuckers two days ago?”

     Indeed. Where were they? When the swell is pumping, most people don’t want to paddle out. They’re at home waiting for the swell to back off so they can feel much safer, and this morning they’re all out at once.

     I paddle north to escape the crowd, but there are people everywhere. I tell Bri that I wish a six-wave cleanup set would just roll through and clear everyone out.

     My only hope is to let a wave come to me, and I don’t know how, but I’m the furthest one outside in the perfect spot to take off on a left. Towards the inside, everyone else paddles out to beat it. How did I get this to myself?

     I pop up deep behind the section but hold a high line to make it to the open face. I bottom turn and tag the lip once. I’m pumping down again, and Gary’s in front of me scratching into the wave. “Whoa!” I say. He sees me and pulls out. I have clearance. I get an emphatic gouge on the shoulder, flaring my arms out and displacing some water. It’s a power turn, my best frontside turn in a while, wave of the day easy. The wave tapers off on my last little check, but it feels great. Suddenly, I’m okay with the guy who had dropped in on me earlier. I’d massage his balls. I’m cool. I got my wave of the day and connected two good turns. It’s not bad considering the crowd.

     Soon the WHC leaves, and it’s just Bri and I. I’m in position for another left, but there are so many guys in the inside that running over them is unavoidable. I’m about to drop in a wave, but I pull out, or I try to pull out. I straddle my board, hoping to turn it around, but the wave sucks me down with it.

     Back at the shower, Bri and I take turns rinsing, and then I notice that my fin sliced my right foot on that last wipeout. What sucks is that it’s on top of my foot on the outer edge, right where my slipper strap goes.

     After some Neosporin and breakfast, Bri and I head to the gym, and then Rick gives me a call.

     “Matt,” he says. “What color is Bri’s board? Is it blue?”

     “Yeah. Blue on the deck with white rails.” I’m on the stair climber. I was watching Who is JOB? On my iPhone, so I’m able to talk to him (I’m a surf geek).

     “You might want to check swellmagnet. I think Bri’s on there, but it’s hard to tell.”

     Sure as shit, when I get home I see a picture of Bri posted on the slideshow from two days ago when we had surfed Porto. Fuck, she made the swellmagnet.com slideshow before I did! Either way, I’m stoked for her.

     That’s my trophy meat on swellmagnet, that’s right.

     Bri’s lying down with a headache. She moans and asks me to get her some Advil. “I got something that will cheer you up,” I say. I show her the picture on my laptop. Her face goes from aching to smiling. I think her headache will go away in no time.
 

 

THE STUBBORN SWELL, FRI 03JAN2014

Loc: El Porto

Crew: Randy, Rick, John A.

Time: 0700-0830

Conditions: 2-3 FT+, walled, foggy.

     The swell is stubborn because even though it’s smaller and backing off, it is still walled. It’s foggy at first, and none of us can see anything. The sun’s absence makes everything colder. With Bri taking a lay day, I’m using her 5mm hooded wetsuit and Randy’s using my 4/3. Rick says he doesn’t even want to paddle out, but since John and I start changing, he joins in.

     The parking lot is about half full, with people peering through the fog. Some guys walk closer to get a glimpse of the waves. Others are like us, just changing to go for it.

     One the sand, the waves look like they’re breaking close to shore. Shoulders, but already soft and only two-to-three feet. But we’re all here and all dressed, so why not paddle out? I do so, hoping that there’s something else beneath the fog that’s better than what I see now.

     And once out in the lineup I can see how the ocean is glassy, but it’s flat. The lull is suddenly broken up by an outside wave, but it’s walled. We all catch waves but with nowhere to go.

     One longboarder is scoring though, popping up early and getting down the line before his waves closeout. I can’t help but think that if Bri was here she’d be clowning.

     So the sets are long and lined, but the end of some of the waves have shoulders. The challenge is just being in the right spot at the right time. Waves approach, initially looking like they’re rideable, but once they hit the sandbar, the shoulders line up and turn into walls, shifting the shoulders further down the beach.

     I’m lucky enough to be in the right spot for one of them. Randy’s on my outside, saying, “Go, Matt!” as I paddle into it. I can’t believe that the wave is holding shape. With my friends and brother watching, I want to put a little extra mustard on my backhand snap, but the wave is so soft that I can only do what my speed allows. I do a get a snap though, a small one. I pump down the line and get a second one. On the inside, I fall on the third snap once I’m over shallow water.

     Paddling back, I see John giving me a thumbs up. Despite this stubborn swell, I got my one-wave quota for today.

     The fog’s so thick that we can’t tell how far south we’re drifting. Rick goes in, and John gets one back-hand blast on a right before going in.

     I feel bad for Randy. The surf’s not that great here, but his trip to Cali wasn’t about surf anyway.

     Once the fog lightens a bit we see that we’ve almost drifted to Rosecrans, so we paddle back north towards the sandwich shack. The area we’re in is not breaking, and we catch some shitty waves in.

     Back at the lot, we see that 45^th is way more consistent, and the waves there seem to have more shoulders now.

     Since Rick has to go home to babysit, he has to leave early, but he agrees to meet Randy and me for breakfast at Denny’s.

     At Denny’s there are six of us: Rick, his two daughters, his brother John, Randy, and I. It’s a crowded morning for a weekday, but here we are having a family meal, laughing and joking around. Not a bad way to start the morning, even with the walled conditions. Although, I’m looking forward to a better swell. I hope that the next one that comes in has more angle in it so we can get more shape. I’m glad this walled week is coming to an end.

SUPPOSED TO BE SMALL, THU 02JAN2014

 

Loc: El Porto

Crew: Bri and Rick

Time: 0730-0900

Conditions: 3-4 FT+, walled.

     Surfline called the swell 2-3 FT+ today because it’s fading, but as Rick, Bri, and I look out at the surf, we see that it’s still walled and thumping. Yesterday at Bolsa was an okay sesh, but I’m not in the mood for walled conditions again. I need fucking shape, some shoulders that I can get some turns on.

     But Rick’s been surfing every day this week without any battle buddies, and I’m committed to paddle out with him today. Randy had said that he wanted me to let him know if I was gonna surf today, but he didn’t even paddle out last time, so I doubt he’d want to paddle out today.

     As Bri and I warm up on the shore, I begin to worry for Bri. I know that these conditions are out of her comfort zone. I can be a hard ass and say that these conditions are good for her progression, but I also want her to have fun, which these conditions are not.

     I time the sets correctly, and Bri and I make it out unscathed. My hair is still dry. However, it doesn’t take long for an outsider to break, which sends everyone scrambling towards the blue horizon.

     It’s a typical, sunny day, but the warm winter we’ve been having in SoCal is atypical. Despite the walls, some of the smaller waves have better shape on the inside. Rick’s way on the outside, scratching through the high-tide waves. I’m on the inside, thinking that he can’t get it, but somehow his bionic paddle gets him into it. When he comes back, another surfer says, “Dude, you had to paddle hard for that!”

     Bri manages to take advantage of the smaller waves too, scoring on some long rights, but before long we’re all paying for it.

     There’s a cleanup set that just about takes everyone out. I see Bri taking a wave on the head. I’m duckdiving, not covering much ground but still managing. Meanwhile, I see Bri turn her board towards shore and ride the whitewash in. I don’t blame her.

     The waves keep coming. It must be like a six-wave set because I’m paddling forever just to get back to the outside. When I reach safety, I turn around to see Bri paddling back out again. She’s a tough motherfucker.

     And even though the conditions are walled, I still get a two-turn left. I’m stoked at the end of that one. To connect two turns on a day like this is pretty damn good.

     There are also people in the water who shouldn’t really be out in these conditions. One chick is on a neon-green fish. She’s lying on her board a little too far in the back. Two other chicks are out here, and they’re just hanging out. I don’t see them go for anything.

     After an hour and a half, Rick is done. So is Bri. I try to finish the session with a good wave, but I end up with a closeout.

     Walking back through the parking lot, I see a chick standing by the trunk of her car, watching the surf. She has a pretty cool stance with her hoodie and glasses. I take my time changing, shooting the shit with Rick. Driving out of the lot, the same chick is barely getting into her wetsuit. Sometimes I wonder if people are more interested in the image of surfing than surfing itself.

WEST COAST WALLS, TUE 31DEC2013

 

Loc: Bolsa Chica

Crew: Bri

Time: 1100-1300

Conditions: 4 FT+, walled.

     Rick had called me this morning at first light, telling me that Porto was big and walled. I thanked him for the info and went back to sleep. I don’t mind challenging conditions in the surf, but I’ve surfed the South Bay long enough to know how those “walled sessions” go: sitting out at the lineup, dodging walls, finally getting frustrated and paddling into one just to go straight, and then getting worked on the inside. Over it.

     Since I have to pick up my brother from his son’s house in HB, I make the call to check Bolsa instead. Now Bolsa is ripe with surf signs. Even on the freeway there were dozens of cars with surfboards strapped on their roofs. Imagine what it’s like to live somewhere without surf where such a sight is rare, while we SoCal’ers take it for granted.

     The parking lots along Bolsa Chica State Beach are packed, and surfers can be seen from PCH going to and from. My favorite parking spot is taken and just about every other one for that matter. It’s the most crowded that I’ve seen Bolsa this year.

     Bri and I walk out to the sand for a look, and . . . the surf is just a hair better than Porto. To think that I expected the sandbars here to be much better, but there is so much west in the swell that it’s still walled here. However, there are some shoulders.

     A pack of surfers sit in front of the main life guard station. A clean right breaks and peels. The break in front of us, my break, is more on the walled side.

     “It’s a little smaller and softer here,” I say to Bri.

     We change and paddle out at 1100, and the sun is so high that it’s evident that we’re on the late train for surf. With the tide dropping, I’m not sure if the surf will improve or not. 

     We time our paddle out well and avoid getting worked, but once the sets start rolling in, I realize that it’s not much smaller than Porto nor less walled.

     The sets lift us up and bring us down. Out back more are coming. I’m still within my comfort zone. Another foot would be another story. If anything, I’m concerned for Bri. I would hate to have a huge longboard strapped to my ankle in these conditions.

     Despite the walls, we both fair well on the surf. Bri gets a right that holds shape. She gets another one, and a guy hoots her into it. Although, she draws a low line on a fast section, which causes her to fall behind and lose the wave, but I applaud her for trying.

     Later, she has a critical drop in on a set wave. It’s a late take off. She pops up, but it closes out. Once her popups get faster, she’ll be able to take off on more bombs.

     Surprisingly, I get a long, sectiony left that I do two floaters on. I also get a single-shot right on my backhand. More than I expected on a walled day.

     After Bri goes in, I’m in the water with five guys. A lull sets in, and a guy in a speedboat goes cruising by with the stereo blasting, and all we can hear is: “Your love is like a wre-e-ecking ba-all!” We all look at each other and smirk. Fuckin’ Miley Cyrus has to be part of my last surf sesh for 2013.

POST-OREGON SESSION, MON 30DEC2013

 

Loc: Palos Verdes

Crew: Bri

Time: 1500-1700

Conditions: 3-4 FT, glassy, soft, cool, sunny, low tide, crowded

     Bri and I got back from Oregon on the 27^th, but the surf has been walled since we’ve been home. We had checked Porto this morning but concluded that it was so walled that our only chance at decent surf was to go to either a point or a reef break.

     So it’s now the evening and the tide is dropping into the negatives. Any beach break in the South Bay isn’t even worth looking at, so Bri and I head straight for PV. On the way down the coast, I look for surf signs: cars, surfers, surfboards. But as we pass Torrance Beach, there isn’t anything of the sort.

     It isn’t until we approach The Cove that I see a line of cars parked. The conditions are right for The Cove to work: low tide, direct west swell, at least four feet of wave height. We park and take a look down the cliff. The longboarders far away are black dashes, paddling over smooth lines that look like dick veins. The inside is roaring white wash. I’m stoked.

     I whip out my 6’10 Becker Board just in case the waves aren’t as big as they look from the cliff, but I also want to sample it to see how it rides at PV.

     The tide is so drained out that we have to walk a good portion of the inside to get to deeper water. Rocks are sticking out that I never knew were there. My shoulders burn from the long paddle out, and when we reach the lineup there are more surfers than I thought I had seen earlier. Today, surfers are sitting directly in the middle of The Cove. I like to sit wide to the north, but the waves here are coming in walled.

     The main peak has the best waves. The sets roll in at about four feet, and longboarders are getting long rides, long enough that I have to back out even from my distant position.

     But waves do swing wide to where Bri and I are, but my Becker board feels sluggish. I still paddle and kick to get into waves, but I don’t feel the advantage of this board’s size. The best I can do is pump and get as much distance as possible. I get a half-ass floater that ends up being my wave of the day.

     With the sun already low, more people still paddle out. Now a pack of Brazilians sit next to me and Bri.

     The session turns frustrating, as I can’t scratch into the bombs. Even with this low tide and swell size, PV breaks so soft that big boards are the way to go here.

     Bri gets much better rides than I do. She even offers to swap boards.

     We surf until it’s dark, and even with only six guys left out, everyone is still greedy for waves. I sit in with the pack, and I still get outhustled by the longboarders.

     Back at the car, Bri and I change in the dark. I’m bummed that my first session back home has to be a frustrating one, but I hope that the swell improves. Maybe the shape will improve over the next couple of days.

THE PRE-OREGON SESSION, SAT 21DEC2013

 

Loc: El Porto

Crew: Bri and Rick

Conditions: 3-4 FT, offshore, cool, sunny, high tide, crowded

     This is the pre-Oregon session because Bri and I are flying out tonight to visit her parents for a whole week. Yup, so that’s a week without surf.

     My brother Randy is in town from Java for the holidays as well, so the three of us have arranged to meet Rick for a surf session this morning.

     Upon pulling into the lot, Rick’s already here and is talking to Dave T. We go through the morning greetings, and then Bri and I start suiting up. When I’m done, Dave tells me that he’s going home instead. Randy’s not dressed either. “I’m not paddling out,” he says.

     I’m wearing my 3/2 wetsuit. I had packed it this morning because I was gonna let Randy use my 4/3. I had also packed my brother’s board and a towel for him, but now he’ll just be hanging out in the parking lot. I look out at the surf and . . . yeah, so it’s not phenomenal, but it’s still rideable. There are peaks similar to yesterday. The main difference from yesterday is that there’s now a weekend crowd.

     Rick goes out ahead of Bri and I, and we see him paddle out at 42^nd right into “the pack.” I have a special place in my heart for the waves here, but I usually don’t surf here on the weekends because of the crowd. As much as I’d like to follow Rick, I look north and pick a spot for me and Bri in front of the tanks.

     The tanks . . . back in the day this was my favorite spot to surf at Porto, and as much as the sandbars have shifted over the years, it seems that there’s a right here that breaks consistently.

     In the water, I run into Brett AKA Whiffle Boy, my fellow South Bay surf blogger. Ray’s out here too. I haven’t seen him in months. I wave, and he waves back. The crowd here’s a little thinner, and it’s nice when familiar faces go along with it.

     I get my wave of the day early. The tide is going from medium to high, so the waves are starting to go a little soft. A fat, right-hand peak rolls my way. I paddle into it late to prevent from scratching out. Whiffle Boy’s on the inside as I’m paddling for it. My take off is much later than expected, but the mooshiness of the wave is forgiving, and I get to my feet as the lip crumbles behind me. I get a steep drop and wind up from my bottom turn to set myself up for a backhand snap. It’s a set wave, and seeing that textured face behind me with the rising sun in my face, just over the Manhattan homes, fills me with the feeling of home—this is my local break and waves like this make me fall in love with Porto every time.

     Whiffle Boy just makes it over the shoulder as I’m climbing the face. I get a gouging backhand snap and reenter the wave with speed. The sensation of feeling, seeing, and hearing the bucket toss of water out the back is invigorating. I’m just so happy to be a surfer.

     Back at the lineup, Whiffle says, “That was a late drop.”

     And . . . the tanks get even more crowded with surfers. With the tide rising, we shortboarders begin to struggle. In the distance, Rick is now in front of 45^th, so Bri and I paddle there.

HOW VETERANS SURF:

     Rick gets this long ass left all the way to shore. From behind, I’m watching, and during his whole ride I watch him throw buckets out the back on his frontside (he’s goofy foot too), and his head turns from going down the line, back into the face, and then rebound again for another carve. Rick’s using the full potential of the wave, cutting back the whole time. My brother once told me that spray comes from carves, and Rick is living proof of that. Rick isn’t even trying to snap the lip, but the railwork on his cutbacks is so clean that he’s throwing water out the back just from his arcing carves.

     I need to be more like Rick. Instead of just setting myself up for snaps, I need to go rail to rail.

CLOWNING SESSION:

     And Bri gets way more waves than me nowadays. She and Rick party wave a left with Rick on her outside. Bri’s timing and wave selection have improved so much that watching her from out the back, it’s unquestionable that she draws good lines. Even other guys watch in disbelief that a girl surfer can catch wave after wave and look good doing it. She only needs to do three things to bring her to the next level: 1. Pop up faster 2. Never pass up big waves 3. Lean to turn.

     And I need to do one thing to help her, which is find her a smaller longboard.

     Regardless, I’m proud of the progress she’s made, and I’m proud that that’s my girlfriend out there getting her clown on while other guys watch.

#

     Two hours later, we head back to the car. Randy’s there, chilling by the railing and watching the surf. I feel bad that he’s been there for two hours, but he could’ve paddled out and surfed if he wanted to.

     We grab breakfast at Blue Butterfly with Rick. After that, Bri and I spend the rest of the day packing before Randy drops us off at the airport. I hate being away from the surf, but now that the school semester is over, I think that this is a much needed break. Sometimes it’s good to disappear from your life, even if it’s just for a day. For me it will be a whole week. Food, family, and cold weather. Oregon, here I come.

 

 

 

HANDLING THE PORTO CROWD, FRI 20DEC2013

Loc: El Porto: 42^nd Street Tower

Crew: Khang

Time: 0730-0930

Conditions: 3-4 FT, offshore, cool, sunny, high tide, crowded

     I haven’t surfed in four days because I had landed on my heel hard when I last surfed Huntington, which caused a mild ankle sprain, but I’m down for a surf session this morning.

     The homie Khang comes out to meet me at Porto. I barely see him since he’s been promoted to store manager at his surf shop, so a session with him is rare.

     Earlier this week the surf was walled, but as the swell’s on its way out, the conditions have peaked up a bit and actually produced some shape. The crowd is at about medium capacity with fat, long four footers rolling through on the sets.

     We paddle out in front of 42^nd and join the crowd. There are plenty of good waves to be had but there is a lot of competition in the water. I have to back out of a lot of waves, but eventually a left comes to me. I pop up, eyeing the section that I want to race down, but a guy drops in on me. Not only is he dropping in, but this guy decides not to go down the line and turn right into me. “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” I yell, as I straighten out. Luckily he straigtens out too. We both get taken down by the white wash, and when we resurface he avoids making eye contact with me. Paddling back out to the lineup, I wonder if I was at fault. I swear the wave was a left.

     After backing out on more waves, another left comes my way. Sure as shit, the same guy who had almost run into me does the same fucking exact things again! What the fuck?

     Once we resurface, I say, “You must really like me.”

     “Shit,” he says, “I went the wrong way again.”

     Now I could be a dick, and I’m entitled to be one in this situation, but instead I just turn around, laugh it off, and go back to the lineup. Afterall, this is Porto . . . there are surfers here who rip, surfers without etiquette, and surfers who are beginners. It kind of comes with the territory: at El Porto you have to be tolerant or else you’ll be frustrated from being burned on so many waves, which is guaranteed to happen everytime you paddle out here.

     When I do finally get an unmolested left, it’s a set wave, well worth the wait. The wave doesn’t go round, but it’s so steep that I feel the momentum forcing my weight down on the board. I do a long and drawn-out bottom turn, trying to get as much inside rail in the face to set myself up for a good climb. My first turn isn’t too powerful. I get a little hung up on the lip but still manage to reenter. With all the speed that I have, it’s better to make sure that I don’t make a mistake and lose the wave.

     Afterwards, I get a decent right, but it doesn’t top the left.

     Back on shore, Khang stops to talk to a photographer who’s shooting from the shore. “Matt,” says Khang. “I want you to meet Ruben.”

     Ruben’s about my height, a little stocky, wears a hat, and is using a big lense with his tripod-mounted camera. “I got some pics of you guys,” says Ruben. He has Khang on a couple of his waves, and then he shows me the left that I was on. My bottom turn is so deep that I’m crouched low with my ass sticking out. It’s hard to see with the sun shining on the camera’s LCD screen, but he also shows me my top turn. I can’t tell if it looks good or not, but I’m stoked for my bottom turn.

     Even though I had to back out of a lot of waves today, and some guy almost ran into me twice, I still managed to get some decent rides. Despite the crowd, it wasn’t a session where I get out of the water feeling frustrated. Satisfied, I’m glad I started the day at Porto.

FIRST BARREL, MON 16DEC2013

Loc: Huntington Beach

Crew: Randy

Time: 1200-1600

Conditions: 4 FT, offshore, cool, sunny, mid-to-low tide, empty

     It’s my first surf session with my brother Randy since he recently arrived for the holidays, and with the recent bump in swell, we’re parked in front of my favorite local break. The surf here is a little smaller than Porto, where we had just came from, and the crowd is just as thick. For a Monday, a lot of people already have the holidays off or they had just said, “fuck it,” and called in sick. I can see what the excitement is over this swell, but it’s still on the walled side. Porto had decent size but not much shape, and add a full crowd of hungry surfers on top of that—anything with a shoulder will have dozens of takers.

     “We can go down south,” I say. “We’re supposed to do sushi with the boys later on anyway.”

     “Yeah,” says Randy. We both gaze out at the surf. A wave breaks and closes out onto the shore. “If we go to HB, the wind might be on it though, and the tide might be too low. I know what it does on low tide.”

     “Well, we can surf Porto where there’s surf, but with how crowded it is there’s no guarantee that we’ll even catch any waves. Or we can go down south, where I know it will be empty.”

#

     Driving past the northernmost peak at Bolsa Chica, we see a three-foot A frame break. A longboarder is going right, the shoulder in front of him peeling like a right at Middles. His ride continues until he disappears when I past Seapoint. The Cliffs has peaks too, not as big as the South Bay but waves are going unridden with a medium crowd.

     Along PCH, cars are parked in long lines, but there are so many decent sandbars that they can handle the capacity.

     When we reach our surf spot, we change without checking the surf. A guy leaving says, “It’s still fun out there. I hope you guys score some good ones!”

     I’m surprised at the friendliness here, and I’m hoping that it is still fun out there like homeboy said.

     I whip out the Mini Driver and my brother uses the old Tokoro that he gave me before he had initially left to Indo, a 6’0” standard shortboard, a board that feels much to chippy for me since I started riding my new board.

     The wind is switching sideshore from the north, but I don’t say anything. I look at Randy, and he’s looking down as we walk to the surf, probably thinking the same thing too. But at the water’s edge, we see that the water is still glassy. Only a few heads are out, but the surf is inconsistent and appears small.

     A wave breaks a little to our north, a lone and soft A frame that a surfer takes in.

     “That’s our peak,” says Randy.

#

The Right Recipe:

     Even though the tide is getting low, some of the waves are still breaking softly. I’m first to draw blood, catching a rampy two-foot right. On my voluminous board, I’m able to crank out a sharp, backhand snap, clean and precise. It’s not round HB but there are small and playful conditions for powerful carves. I go again on another right and bust another snap.

     Paddling back to the lineup, Randy says, “Damn, I haven’t even caught a wave yet.” He looks down at the Tokoro. “This board feels huge!”

     So a lull ensues, and the swell doesn’t seem to be hitting this part of HB anymore. Either that or it’s dying out. The wind switches from sideshore to offshore again, making the water even more glassy. Then I can tell that today is one of those ideal SoCal days when the wind remains offshore.

     Bumps start coming in from the outside, and with the tide getting lower, I only know from experience that the waves will double up quickly once they hit the sandbar.

     Randy’s on my inside, heading straight for the middle of the peak. As I paddle over the shoulder, I watch my brother calmly do a late take off, going left. From behind the wave, I watch it curl over, revealing streaks of whitewash up an arching back of water, like millions of mini torpedoes firing straight up and curving down into the sand for a massive explosion. And all the way at the end, where the shoulder is, I see my brother break through the highline and blast the lip of the end section, sending an enormous bucket out the back.

#

My Turn:

     I know I have to try today because my brother’s here. Not only that, but with the lowering tide, those rippable sections are becoming more sparse. The waves are breaking faster, which means that I must pull in.

     I take off on a wave, but I straighten up because it looks walled. Randy goes again, getting barreled once more on his forehand. Now a rogue wave approaches. I’m deep towards the inside, but I paddle out towards its shoulder to meet it. A guy is on my outside in perfect position, but I can’t let this wave go. I can’t let this turn into a “I should’ve gone” situation. So I turn and go. I’m late. My board is angled for a late take off, and as I pop up, the wave is going round under my feet. I’m getting more used to this now: I’m looking down, and everything underneath me is turning green. My only concern is keeping the nose out of the water, and pretty soon the green underneath becomes the green beside me, and then the green spilling over me. The guy on my shoulder looks inside the barrel, sees me inside, and pulls out. I’ve survived this late drop, but the speed has caused me to fade out too far. I crouch and feel the face of the wave with the middle, ring, and pinky finger of my left hand. I need to pull in to at least mid face to gain momentum, but I’m flat on my board where the lip’s about to be. After that, everything goes from green to white, as I’m pummeled into the shallow shore.

     When I resurface, I see Randy going extremely late on a right. He gets pitched even worse than I did. “Are you all right?” I say when he resurfaces. No response.

#

Barrel 101:

     “What happened with that one?” says Randy.

     “I was in it, but I faded out a little too far.”

     “Yeah, you looked late.” He gives me some pointers, tells me that I need to make sure I get that one pump while I’m dropping in to get under the lip. “You’re too upright,” he says, placing one palm over his chest and sticking it out. “You wanna get down there and crouch like you’re in the barrel.” He places one hand by his left ear, his right arm and hand extended out. He looks at me again and says, “You know what I’m talking about. I couldn’t really tell you these things before because . . .”

     “Yeah, I couldn’t even relate back then.”

     “Yeah, and your surfing’s much better now.”

     Two groms paddle out next to us and share the peak. Some clean, three-foot barrels roll through. One of the kids goes. He’s a dirty blonde probably in the sixth grade. He makes it all the way to the end section and yells out to his friend, “I was getting barreled the whole time!”

     On the next wave, I go left, pull in, and get pinched. It’s a typical ride: no drive, pull in, wipe out, the end.

     “What happened with that wave?” says Randy.

     “Oh . . .” I say. I have no idea. I guess the thing that went wrong with that wave was just ME. Suddenly I’m mad that that little kid had gotten barreled so easily. The two turns I got earlier have now been cancelled out by my inability to barrel ride. I think about how I always surf poorly every time I surf with my brother, poorly on my part and how my surfing looks in comparison to his. I’m always out of my comfort zone with him, but Klaude had recently told me that it’s being outside of our comfort zones that makes us grow.

#

Long Time Coming:

     A four footer rolls my way, bumping up from way outside. Randy’s closer to the peak, but he looks back at me and says, “Go!”

     I’m not late like that set-wave barrel attempt that I had earlier. I’m kicking and scratching hard, J.O.B. style, fully committed. The water’s so glassy, like pure Trestles marble when the sun’s going down, but there’s a lift to this HB wave. I’ve always said that there’s something scarier about big, clean waves—the shape is there, now all you have to do is have the balls to pull in.

     And as much as I want to say that what I do next is textbook, I have no idea because I’ve never made it out of the barrel before, but since I’m paddling in at the shoulder, I’m not forced to fade out too far. I keep my drop-in line tight to the face of the wave, the water under me becoming greener and rounder. I crouch down and make myself as compact as possible, my right arm stiff and outstretched while my left hand is close to my face. The shoulder in front of be becomes rounder until it’s curling over my head. The shoulder that was once next to me is now in front of the pocket, further away. My fingers skim the smooth face of water beside me, and I hold this line until I catch up with the pocket. I eject out of the barrel, holding a high line. I can’t believe it. Mark the date, officially: 16 DECEMBER, 2013, Donny Duckbutter has finally gotten his first in-and-out barrel. Two trips to Indo later, multiple winter ass beatings at Porto, and now here I am at the end section of the wave. How many times have I sat out the back, watching guys shoot out of the end section, knowing that the only way to get there is threading through the barrel. I’ve never stood here before. On the highline, the wave is still rampy, and I want nothing more than a finishing gouge, so I fade out hard on the bottom turn to set myself up, but the shoulder stands up and goes hollow again. The lip comes down on me, and I miss the double barrel, but that’s okay. I came out cleanly. There was probably only three feet of room inside the tube, but I made it. I’m counting it.

#

The Risks:

     I know that I’m a Barney compared to my brother, so I try hard to filter my barrel stoke. If Klaude, Dais, Rick, or any of the DRC were here, I’d be as giddy as a fourth-grade girl. “I just kind of got my first barrel!” I say. “I wasn’t too deep, but I was in there.” I show all my teeth, unable to close my mouth. Light reflects back up towards my brother’s neck and face, the water glassy like a pool.

     He smiles. “Good,” he says.

     My brother tries to call me into the next waves. I want another barrel, but the tide is getting lower and the waves are breaking faster. I go on a right, immediately pig dogging. The water swirls over me, but instead of wiping out, I am driving inside the barrel. I’m moving so fast that I can only see the nose of my board. As the water crashes over me, I get a glimpse of the sand before I get pinched in inches of water.

     I pull out on another wave. Randy tried to call me into it, and as it passes he watches it peel to the left, empty and unridden. I force myself to go on the next wave and get pitched. I toss my board and cannon ball into the water. My heel hits the sand bottom hard as if I had jumped onto concrete. When I resurface, my heel hurts, but I get back on my board towards my brother.

     At the fourth hour, the tide is so low that everything is closing out. The surf crowd goes from thin to nonexistent, and then we leave too.

#

     So now I sit here with a sprained ankle that was well worth it. I’ve tried to be as humble as possible when it comes to getting barreled, so much to the point that I have never claimed to be legitimately barreled until that Monday on December 16^th. So is it possible for people to get accidentally barreled? If it is, I’ve never been so fortunate. If anything, I’ve learned the hard lessons of “trying to get barreled.” You can throw on a Kai Neville or Taylor Steele flick and watch Dion Agius or Mikala Jones pull into barrels with ease. It’s so easy to fool yourself from the futon in your home, thinking that it looks so easy. Bali and Java really brought me to reality, that the sharp reef that lurks underneath can add to the already insurmountable amount of stress of pulling into barrels. Porto has shown me the raw power of monstrous closeouts that can bring you close to drowning before you even have a chance to sit on the outside for a wave. HB and Oceanside have exposed how technically flawed I am on critical drop ins. Yet I somehow made it; I dropped in with decent timing and chose a line that had me threading the barrel. Accident or progression? All I know is that I hope I can do it again.

     And what now? You know that feeling you get after beating a video game? Finally beating Mike Tyson in Punch Out or saving the girl at the end of Double Dragon. You lose interest in the game and look for another one, but in the case of getting barreled, I’m so far from feeling accomplished. If anything, all I’ve gotten is a taste, nothing more. Not being deep enough, missing the second barrel section, and getting pitched at the peaks, instead of saying that I have finally gotten barreled I would rather say that I can finally start getting better at them.