Loc: El
Porto
Time:
1600-1730
Conditions:
1-3 FT, foggy, cold, semi crowded
I only have school Tuesdays and Thursdays.
It’s the best school schedule I’ve ever had, but because I’m a cheap ass, I
have to drive to campus early in order to score free parking. It’s the only way
I can secure a parking spot, so Tuesdays and Thursdays are long days for me.
However, in the evening I’m able to catch the surf.
The sun’s shining off of the 105 East when
I exit the offramp into El Segundo, but there’s a thick marine layer straight
ahead. The wind looks light against the trees, and I have the feeling that the
onshore wind is light; there’s a chance that the surf is decent.
I take my shortboard but I also take the
NSP just in case.
When I reach Porto, the lot is desolate. On
top of that, I can’t see shit. I mean, the fog is so thick that I can only hear
the whitewash but everything at the edge of the sand is invisible. I wait for
surf signs: someone on the sand with a board, someone suiting up, or cars with
any kind of surf paraphernalia.
Nothing.
Who knows what the surf is doing? It could
be fun out there, but I sure as shit can’t see it from here. With the obscured
sun going down, I’m burning daylight. I should go home.
The gray coast looks cursed. A lifeguard
truck drives in front of 45th, heading north towards the jetty. I’ll
be the only one out there. What is something were to happen to me?
But then there’s the thought of catching at
least one wave. What if it is good out there? It would be worth it to paddle
out and disappear into the marine layer, having the place all to myself. Even
if it’s only a foot.
The image of clean, empty, long shoulders
enters my mind, so I enter my wetsuit and feed the meter in response.
#
I forgot the feeling of walking out to
shore with a longboard. It’s kind of funny, back on this thing. It definitely
doesn’t do much for image, but who cares? I just want some guaranteed waves.
Two other guys suit up from the parking
lot, so I’ll at least have a couple guys out here with me.
The water is cold. The tide is low, and
there is a lot of chatter in the water on the inside—waves criss crossing,
peaks peeling at different angles, chop. And already half way to the lineup I
can begin to see through the fog. What I see astonishes me. Alone in the
lineup? Fuck no. There are heads bobbing in the water as far south as I can
see. Two longboarders are sitting way out in front of me, too far out to catch
anything. It’s not crowded to morning standards, but for an evening session?
Yeah, there are a lot of people.
#
The surf is small and junky. I’m picky,
waiting for something with shape. More shortboarders paddle out. One guy is
short and skinny in a neon wetsuit. His hair is long and black, but his face is
weathered and aged. He looks like he’s been around and experienced different
surf destinations. He looks at me and suddenly looks away. I know that look.
He’s thinking, Look at the kook.
There are cliques of surfers out with that
same look. The I’m-good-so-don’t-get-in-my-way look. And I’m thinking to myself
. . . Is that how I fuckin’ look?!
But I don’t. At least right now I don’t
because I’m on a flaming Barney board. Literally flaming—there’s a flame design
around the 7’10 words on the deck.
So I mind my own business and catch my
waves, making the best out of them.
I go down the line, trying to utilize the
length of the board. More rights today than lefts.
Outside sets appear, only three feet but
closing out.
#
BARNEY
BEATDOWN:
And it’s been years since I’ve taken a
beating with a longboard, and here I am . . . memories. I’ve forgotten how to
turtle dive. I flip the board around, holding onto it in a submerged embrace
with arms tight. My bottom torso droops down. As the wave washes over me, my
face is awkwardly mashed upside down against the deck. It looks like I’m stuck
in mid motion trying to suplex my longboard, but my neck’s getting tweaked. I
do turtle dive the next wave, and I pull the bottom of it down which causes the
nose to submerge, and the wave rams into it like a breakwall, snatching it out
of my hands.
Once I make it out, the surf gets more
consistent and walled. I misposition myself, sitting too deep and paddling too
soon, forcing me to pull out. I need my shortboard.
#
JUST ONE:
Now I’m back in the lineup in the mix with
the same faces, and this time I’m on my Lost Mini Driver. Being on this board
after surfing on the NSP, it feels so tiny. To think that my previous boards
were shorter. I even have a 5’9 Merrick Motorboat Too collecting dust in my
garage, neglected and abandoned. I’ll never ride anything that short again.
But even on this board, I’m able to paddle
into these waves. It’s more suited for these beach break closeouts. I pull in
left and right, going for broke, not expecting to get barreled but I’m willing
to surf them despite the lack of shape.
A right is breaking off of 45th.
A guy in a red-trimmed wetsuit pops up on his shortboard, actively pumping down
the line. He digs in deep off the base and does a front-side air.
So there are waves right now, but you just
gotta be in the right spot.
The peaks are scattered, and guys are
jockeying in the lineup all around me. The first wave of the set sends everyone
scrambling, but I’m left by myself with the second wave. The left is walled but
the right is tapered. And on this racy, three footer, I get down the face,
doing subtle trims to set myself up.
A surfer on the shoulder contemplates
paddling in. He sees me and backs off.
I climb the face and get one backhand snap,
disrupting the waves face, followed by a splash from the disturbed water.
It’s a small consolation, this wave, but
it’s all I wanted paddling out here. In the midst of the crowd and the
conditions, I got my one turn.
I change in the dark, heading back home. My
headlights illuminate guys changing in their towels, half naked in the cool
night air. All of us here together, in search of one turn, too.
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