A RARITY, SAT 19APR2014

This pic has nothing to do with the surf, but I ate this for dinner that Saturday night at The Dumpling House in El Segundo. REALLY GOOD. You should check that spot out. My cousin and I got full for $22.

Loc: Manhattan Beach

Time: 0615-0915

Crew: Gary, Bri

Conditions: 2-3FT+, offshore, consistent, low tide.

     Imagine that El Porto is just a ten minute paddle away and that you can see it in the distance. In the distance, you see a pack of black dots jostling for each wave that rolls by, not leaving any untouched. And in the other direction, there are just as many surfers. Imagine that amidst the different breaks along Manhattan Beach that you score a spot all to yourself with a few of your buddies for three hours.

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     I was going to meet Klaude at our usual surf spot, but Gary had told me that he’d be surfing with his son Russ just north of there. When Bri and I find parking, it’s only a street away from that lifeguard tower. Walking down to the sand, we already see Gary in the lineup.

     It’s low tide, and the surf is sectiony. However, in the midst of these scattered sections are random shoulders. The sky’s clear, and the water’s glassy.

     The tide’s low enough to walk at least halfway out to the break. Paddling out, the inside isn’t at ass-kicking consistency, but it’s annoying to paddle through.

     I’m on my Motorboat Too, expecting that I’ll need it when the tide comes up. The waves are small at first. I get into a two-footer easily, getting down the line but not really pulling off any major turns. But all that matters is that the surf is consistent.

     I keep an eye out for the crowd. Surfers invade the breaks to the north and south of us. I see surfers on the sand watching us. It reminds me of how my brother had told me that when he’s surfing alone, and someone is watching, he’ll avoid catching good waves, in hopes that the potential invader will leave. Right now in the lineup, I’m praying that a good wave doesn’t come. The surfers end up walking towards Porto.

     Gary’s riding a pill, and he paddles up to me, saying that he had just wiped out pretty bad on the inside, like got pinned down on the sand. A couple waves after that, he’s standing on the inside, stretching and trying to loosen up his back.

     Russ, his son, is killing it on what looks like a fun board. He's pulling off snaps with this huge board, throwing all of his weight into the turns. He gets the longest rides.

     Bri is testing out the 6’8 NSP that Dais had let her borrow. The punchy low-tide surf is making it easy for her to get into the waves.

     I can’t believe how many waves I’m getting. We’ve been out for almost three hours, and only now are there a few surfers invading our space.

     My wave of the day is a single-turn right. I surf a little harder with my friends—friendly competition—and I wind up with a deep bottom turn and get a backhand carve, keeping momentum throughout the whole maneuver with speed, even going into the downturn, but I almost purl. I get my nose out of the water, which slows me down, but I ride out of the wave clean.

     Gary sees it and gives me a thumbs up. “That’s good surfing,” he says.

     By 0900, the surf gets inconsistent, and the tide’s not even that high yet. More people are out now. We leave and see Klaude out surfing. The waves don’t look as good anymore. The onshore wind picks up, making the water ripply.

     And I’m surfed out, so is Bri. Three hours is a solid session, at least from my perspective.

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     And the following day, the mystic spot that had been empty is now crowded, as if it had always been crowded, never empty. Why crowded now? Rarity indeed.