FISH TRIALS PT. III, THU 27FEB2014

Loc: Palos Verdes

Time: 1500-1730

Conditions: 5-6 FT, low tide, south wind, consistent

     With this morning’s rain, I don’t expect the surf to be any good. The swell’s late. It sure wasn’t around yesterday morning when I had waited at Manhattan Beach for it. But I just got out of class, and there’s no need to check the surf. The wind is up, and I can imagine that El Porto has its first dose of dogshit out of the storm drains by now.

     Shan calls. He asks if I’m going to check PV. I tell him no, unless the swell is starting to show. “Not unless the beach breaks are big and walled.”

     I hang up the phone and get to my car, but before turning the ignition I check the surf report: El Porto, occasional 8 FT.

     I call Shan back. No answer.

     From Long Beach, I catch the 405 N, 110 S, and take PCH to Palos Verdes. At a stoplight in Lomita, I look at some banners on the sidewalk, and the wind doesn’t look too bad.

     And then I round the bend towards the Cove, the moment of truth. A line of cars parked means that the surf is good. If it’s empty, it means it’s blown out.

     There are cars.

     I walk down the trail a little to look at the surf. The tide is so drained that rocks protrude throughout the whole inside. The shape isn’t perfect, but about a half dozen guys sit where it’s breaking, and four-foot shoulders peel unridden.

     I text Shan, letting him know that I’m paddling out. Pulling out my fish, I realize that the heat from the car has melted the wax. The coat on the deck is soft to the touch, so I decide to forego putting on any more on.

     At the base of the hill, an old longboarder behind me says, “Can you help me out?” He’s reaching for his zipper on his back, failing. “I can’t pull out the stuff. I usually cut it out.”

     I help him pull out the guts and the choker. Walking into the water, I am reminded of how I had cut my foot here during the last big swell. The old guy wades past me. “I’m following you,” I say. “I have a feeling you know the secret path.”

     He lies on his board and starts paddling. “You can pass me if you want.”

     We’re side by side, working through the shallows, and then the inside whitewash begins to churn a little harder. Luckily my fish paddles easy. Through the foam, the water is smooth. I’m just so happy to be in it.

     Once we’re near the impact zone, old guy gets knocked off his board. I do pass him, and I have to duckdive quit a bit to make it out. And then I get that queasy feeling in my stomach as I see the incoming set. I’ve said many times that PV is an easy wave, fat and mooshy, kind of like Old Mans. But I can tell that this is a juicy swell that’s on tap. I duckdive a mountain of whitewash, still holding onto my board but get pulled back. There’s a lot of water moving around. The queasy feeling in my stomach is a message from PV: Respect.

     The sun’s angle makes the water bright and blinding, revealing the blemishes on its surface. An Asian dude looks back at me, out towards the horizon, then back at me again. His face is pale, and he’s on a shortboard wearing booties. He wears an anxious grimace on his face. Probably out of his comfort zone.

     I’m a bit winded when I reach the lineup, but a left with a long shoulder pops up, so I turn and go. Time to see how this fish handles in these conditions. It’s exactly what I’ve been waiting for. What a better trial day to test this board.

     Paddling into the wave feels good, and as soon as I pop up, my front foot slips clean off the deck.

     Wax . . . I thought I had enough wax. I don’t. Now here I am. In the water, a long hike downhill from my car. I’m so desperate for wax. I imagine asking the guys in the lineup if any of them brought any out with them, but the only guy I know who brings wax to the lineup is Rick, and Rick’s not here. I thought I would have learned this lesson from Java, from that fateful morning at Choco Point when I had one of the worst sessions ever on a thumping day because my board didn’t have enough wax. My only today choice is to surf conservatively.

     Pale Face is sitting on the inside when the rogue waves roll through. I said that they looked four feet from the cliff, but in the water it’s more like five-to-six feet. After duckdiving, I turn around, and Pale Face is caught on the inside.

     Sitting next to another guy, he takes the next wave. As the wave breaks, his surferless board churns up and out the back. The guy who he was sitting next to shakes his head.

     I’ve never seen PV with this much punch. The drained out tide and powerful swell are making the waves stand up much more than I’ve ever seen before. Instead of the fat, mooshy peaks that this place is known for, the top lip is actually standing up and curling, not barreling, but vertical. The trick is to catch the waves that don’t section out along the whole bay. I need to watch for shoulders.

     On my second wave attempt, I take off on another left. I can’t say that my board has enough volume to get into waves that much easier, but as I’m taking off on a six-foot wave, I can’t believe how stable the board feels from the twenty-one inch width. Aware of my lack of wax, I keep my feet planted, pumping and staying conservative so as to not lose my board.

     The left is racy but still lining up to a shoulder at the end. I make the first couple sections, and then the wave turns into white marble. I get two check turns off the top before jumping over the lip.

     So I get two small turns, and it’s satisfying because it’s a big day. Paddling back out, my only goal is to make it to the lineup without getting worked, and my timing is impeccable, as I make it back unscathed.

     I need to be picky, but I have poor wave choice on my next couple rides. I take closeouts but kick out in time and away from the impact zone.

     Pale Face is gone, and a few more faces show up to rush the surf.

     A random right comes my way, and it’s shouldery. I’m still scared to lose my board, so I do a little backhand snap and then stall over the lip on my second turn.

     On my third wave, a left, I’m pumping down its face. My fish’s thin rails are set in the face so well that it feels like I’m on tracks. The shoulder is impossibly far away, so I can only go down the line and kick out.

     Paddling back, I see the lines in the horizon coming my way. The whitewash is mountainous, hard to punch through. Closer to the lineup, I’m in the worst part of the impact zone. Nevermind that I’m running on fumes—two apples, two tangerines, two cups of coffee. My muscles are burning. Underwater, my board is snatched away from my grip. PV has teeth today. My abdomen even starts cramping.

     Go home, is what the voice inside of me is saying. I’ve already caught some waves. On a day like today, what else is there to prove?

     Sometimes I hear surfers say that they’re not in as good as shape as they were on their last surf trip. I used to scoff upon hearing this, but now I understand. To think that in Java I was doing close to quarter-mile paddle outs (a good wave was well over a minute long)in surf that was easily a couple feet bigger than this. Donny Duckbutter, last May, would whip 2014 Donny Duckbutter’s ass. This is all I can do to motivate myself. I’ve been in worse. Afterall, it’s not like I’m being worked at Porto, Huntington, or Oceanside, where this size on a low tide would have enough power to suck you down and hit bottom. Tired as shit, I make it to the lineup.

     Being picky, I choose a smaller wave with great shape. The shoulder is fat and short, a perfect setup for a cutback. I’ve never been able to pull off frontside cutbacks so easily before. I don’t know what it is about this fish. I never expected to feel so fluid on a swallow tail fish with twin keels, but I rebound back off of the pocket, only stalling for a moment, and then drop back in. The only problem is that the big sets are coming again, and I get worked on the inside once more.

     On my next wave, same thing. I go a little too aggressive on my cutback, wrapping the board around too far behind the shoulder. When I rebound, I know I can plane through the flat sections to get to the shoulder, but it’s too big to do that today. I need to kick out and make it back to the lineup.

     My last wave is a big closeout that allows me to belly ride close to shore.

     Back on top of the hill, at my car, I feel so stoked about my fish purchase. It’s settled. This board is well worth the $140 that I had paid for. But next time I’ll make sure to wax my board.