SOUTH BAY SURPRISE, THU 26JUN2014

Loc: Rosecrans

Crew: WHC

Time: 0545-0830

Conditions: Overcast, gray, light onshore, crowded, consistent 3FT+.

     Out of my whole body, my eyes hurt the most from all the sun I’ve gotten in the last three days. Second is the sinus headache that I currently have. Sore paddling muscles are manageable.

     Bri and I are supposed to be taking a day off to recover, but Gary had given me the local intel about the current windswell. The verdict is to dawn patrol this morning.

     We wake up late, and by late I mean 0445. I sit up, head to the bathroom, and brush my teeth. Bri follows behind me and squats on the toilet for a hot morning piss. I’m quite shocked to be honest, but not about the piss. I had expected her to sleep in, for her to say, “Tell the guys I said hi,” and for her to plop her head back down on her pillow, but no . . . she’s determined.

     We reach the “secret lot” at 0530, but there are a lot more cars here than the last time. Dave T. is suiting up. He says that everyone else is already down there, and then he takes off running. Brett AKA Whiffleboy is here, too. He says it was warm yesterday, so he’s trunking it. Then Rick pulls up.

     There’s something in the air and in everyone’s energy that has the makings for a good session. Was it really that good yesterday? I add an hour to the meter just in case.

     Even Rick takes off down the hill before me and Bri, and we had reached the lot first. Onshore wind palpates my face. Reaching the sand, there are already people sitting at 40^th Street and Rosecrans. The sky is turning a light purplish blue. Two-to-three foot peaks peel over choppy low-tide surf. We’ve been bamboozled.

     In the lineup, I see Gary pumping down the line on a right in his classic gorilla stance. His wave is fast and racy. No turns. I’m thankful that I had taken my holy Rip Curl wetsuit instead of trunking it.

     Bri and I paddle out. The water’s actually warm. Whiffleboy was right. But what about the onshore wind? There’s no way that the conditions are going to get better.

     After surfing Trestles, the consistent beach-break surf feels different. Peak after peak rolls in. I’m scrambling, trying to turn and go when I should be picky and waiting. Then through the choppy surf, a random four-footer breaks. Dave yells for me to go even though I’m too deep. I do and fall behind, but I’m impressed. There’s some decent size out here, much funner than the last windswell about a week ago. Then the place starts going off. Gary, Ricky, Jimmy, Dave all get good waves. I get a three-foot left. It’s racy but standing up because of the low tide. With speed, I set myself up for a good frontside snap and ride out the rest of the wave. Back at the lineup, Gary says he saw some water come out the back.

     Since the guys have to work, I’m willing to pass on waves. I call Rick into a bomb left that takes him all the way to shore. Dave is the top shredder of the morning, killing it on the backhand rights, at least two turns every wave.

     Around 0730 everyone has to get their last waves in and go to work. By now, Rosecrans is packed. Porto is packed. There are surfers everywhere. Things get a little testy. I take a good right and eye the section before me that I want to hit, and then a guy on a funboard drops in on me. He almost loses balance while trying to kick out, but he ruins my wave. I miss my section. Then on a bomb left, I pull a turn-and-go, and some guy is right in my drop line. He duckdives, but we’re close. I turn around and bail on the wave.

     “You could’ve made that,” the guy says after resurfacing.

     “No,” I say. “I was about to run you over.”

     I turn and paddle for the next one, but so does he. He’s on my inside. I back out, frustrated, but he backs out too for an attempt to let me have it. Too late. Now I’m pissed. How I love this place when it works and how I hate its crowds. What El Porto surfer doesn’t feel like this? I paddle south away from everyone to reflect and cool off. Was I being an asshole?

     About ten minutes later, I paddle back North to join Bri. Another bomb comes in, a solid four footer, and this is during the summer months when the South Bay should have nothing. And did I mention that the wind had died and the surf turned glassy? Bri is closer to the peak. It’s her wave. I tell her to go, but she’s already turning and going for it. I’m envious but at the same time, I’m so stoked for her. From behind the wave, I see that she’s not just going down the line. She’s using the face of the wave much more now, cruising and taking different lines. No wonder she had gotten up no problem this morning. She’s discovered TURNS. How can she stay out now?

     There’s a set-wave left, and I’m a little deep taking off. Watching the WHC has really inspired my surfing. Seeing Rick take a floater earlier and make a long section really motivates me to step up my game. I make the section, climb the face, and throw in as much ass as possible into a frontside man carve. It feels good, like how momentum and speed just allow you to get into your turns much harder. My transition out of the turn isn’t so pretty, as I poorly set myself up for turn number two, but I’m no Gary or Ricky; it’s gonna take time.

     It’s 0830 by the time Bri and I head back. There are still waves, but the incoming tide has softened things up a bit on the inside.

     I wanted to spend the rest of the day relaxing, especially after a long camping trip, but my fellow DRC member has had a death in the family. It’s my friend Cheryl. Her mom had recently passed away while she and her husband Silverton were on their honeymoon. She had extended the invite for the DRC to attend the viewing. At first I had felt uneasy about going because I didn’t know her mom well, but last night my brother Randy reminded me what being a good friend is all about. It doesn’t matter that I didn’t know her mom well, I know Cheryl, and she’s my friend.

     Uneasily, I approach the group of mourners and wait my turn to talk to Cheryl, and then she starts crying hard, her light face and freckles now red and flushed with tears. When I get to her, I give her a big hug. I know that there’s not much I can do, but I remind her that she was one of my friends who was at the airport when I came back from Iraq, and that I’m here for her now should she need anything.