INTEL, FRI 13JUN2014

Loc: Huntington Beach

Time: 0630-0900

Weiner Sliders: Gary C. and Donny D.

Conditions: light onshore, textured surface, low tide, semi consistent, sectiony, 2-3FT.

     I had debated on going back to HB, but Gary sent me a text last night, saying that if I drove that he’d cover gas and food. The offer to chip in for gas helps. As much as I love scoring surf down south, I sure as hell hate the hurting it puts on my wallet. And as far as food, well, a Filipino eating machine like me can’t ever pass on a meal.

     I show up to Gar’s house a little early at 0509, and he’s already in his driveway hauling a boardbag in each hand. Years ago, Rick used to try to get me to join him and his buddies, the WHC, for surf sessions. I had my own crew, and still do, so at first I was reluctant. Over time, I realized what Rick’s true intention was. You progress faster when being around good surfers, and I can name off the whole WHC, and all of them rip, even in their fifties they’re schooling the youngsters.

     Gar gives me the whole DL about his Costa Rica trip, which will remain classified. I picture the reeling long lefts that he’s describing to me, and it makes me froth for my next surf trip overseas. As appealing as Costa sounds, my heart’s in East Java. It’s hard to beat two-minute lefts on a sand-bottom pointbreak. Meals on the economy are less than a buck, two bucks to dine like a dictator. Anyway, that’s another story.

     So Manny A. had given us intel on a spot that’s working in HB. Apparently, it was firing and empty yesterday, and I believe him, but as soon as Gar and I hit PCH we see that the wind is onshore. Scoring parking on the beach, we can see textured peaks, not as big as it was a couple of days ago. I think Gar knows what I’m thinking, and I’m sure he’s thinking the same thing I’m thinking, but we don’t kill the moment. We don’t rush, in hopes that the conditions will improve. Before I’m in my wetsuit, Gary’s already rushing the sand. I bust out my 6’3 JS, my Bali board. I haven’t ridden it since the winter of 2012 when it got dinged up pretty bad, and since its repair, I’ve been itching to get reacquainted with it.

     There are peaks coming in, and even though the water has a slight chop to it, there are some fast and steep shoulders that open up for a single turn or down-the-line pump action. Gary draws first blood, despite his elbow being worn out from so much surfing. I get a couple lefts, and catching waves is easy on the JS, but the length feels awkward. My Motorboat Too is a 5’9 and my Mini Driver is a 6’0, so the extra three inches just feels like too much. I try to at least climb the face before my waves closeout, and the nose just feels more purl-prone. After forty-five minutes, I run back to the car to switch boards. JS, I’ll have to figure out what to do with you. . .

     There are Germans in the water. I can’t understand what they’re yelling about, but they’re pointing outside and yelling what sounds like: “SHAAAAAA-HK! SHAAAAA-HK!” I look at what they’re pointing at. It’s a seal. Another surfer looks at me and raises his eyebrows. One of the Germans snakes me on a left. After the waves closes out, he resurfaces, raises his open palm, and says sorry. I hate getting snaked, but a post-snake apology really helps in diffusing the situation. But Gary, on the other hand, gets legit snaked by some grom in a neon-green wetsuit. It’s pretty bad.

     I don’t get any solid waves that line up nicely for a carve fest, but it’s still worth being down here, much better than what the South Bay has to offer for now.

     Back at the car, Gary whips out some Costco muffins. When I drop him off, he tells me that there’s one more in the bag that he’ll leave for me. Money for gas, muffins for my stomach, mission accomplished.