Loc: 40th
Street
Time: 0545-0845
Crew: Dave
T., Manny A., Gary C.
Conditions:
glassy, clean, 1-3 FT.
I got a text from Gary yesterday, giving me
the heads up on a dawn patrol with the fellas. 0510, he said. That means an
early wakeup this morning, so I’m up at 0430.
I meet at the rendezvous site at 0510. Gary’s
already here. He shows me the L.A. King’s design on the bottom of his C.I. New
Flyer. Dave rolls up, and Gary flashes him his board too.
This is a legit dawn patrol. Manny’s the
last person to pull up and park. There are no other surfers in sight.
When I’m fully changed, I realize that Gary
and Dave are already gone. Wow. Serious frothers, right? Wasted no time.
I trot down to 40th Street with
Manny while he tells me about his encounter with Sunny Garcia at Lowers a
couple years ago. These WHC guys, they always have cool stories.
At the shoreline, Gary and Dave are just
about done warming up. Before us, clean two-footers roll into an empty lineup.
As far north and south as I can see, we are the first surfers to break sand on
the beach.
Manny’s on a foam longboard. “No leash when
you’re riding one of these,” he says. He paddles out first, immediately scoring
two back-to-back waves. It’s odd seeing him on a fun board since he’s a ripper.
Upon initial submersion into the ocean, I
feel how warm the water is. I could’ve trunked it.
Porto’s a playground at first, consistent
with wave after wave. The four of us trade off, going in circles like a
conveyor belt. My first left looks small, but upon popping up it’s racy and
fun. I get a turn. My Motorboat Too thrives in these conditions.
Gary gets a juicy set-wave right, throwing
a small bucket out the back as he milks it all the way to shore. We have it to
ourselves for about forty-five minutes before we get invaded by the post-dawn
patrollers.
After they leave, the surf hits a window of
inconsistency. It almost looks like the lowering tide is making things more
lully and small.
Roy, another MB local, paddles out next to
me. He usually surfs at my favorite spot, but he says that it’s bigger here. I
tell him I’ve been at HB lately, and he says that he’s been at Zeroes.
I thought that I was surfing pretty well
this morning, but Roy goes to work right away, paddling into the tiniest waves
but going the distance. After watching the Roy Show, I put myself to work and
start moving around the lineup for better positioning. A peaky left stands up,
and I’m in the perfect spot. It’s a three footer. I pump on the highline to
make the section, and a longboarder is about to drop in on me. I decide to pull
the get-off-of-my-wave card and hoot him off of the shoulder. He backs off.
With a spilled section in front of me, I bottom-turn underneath it, climb the
face, and get a good gouge on the shoulder, full weight on the tail. The
feeling’s like being on a drug, the sensation I’ve been waiting for.
Roy throws me a shaka on the way back out. “Lotsa
spray,” he says. It means a lot hearing that from him.
The lineup gets more crowded. Wagner is out
here on a SUP. He’s usually standoffish with me, not smiling or saying hi, but
today he paddles up to me and says, “Good morning.” I guess I caught him on a
good day.
Later in the session, he switches to his
shortboard, and he’s just busting airs the whole time, a fucking highlight
reel.
The set waves are inconsistent, but they’re
out there. When the clock strikes 0845, I gotta head in before I get a ticket.
Hall
& Oats’ “Private Eye” bumps on my stereo as I cruise back home through
Main Street El Segundo. I’m laughing to myself, car-dancing to the music, and it’s
only nine o’clock. What a difference a good session makes to start the day.
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