Forcing
It
Loc: Oceanside
Crew: Bri,
Rick, Juan, Allen, Vance, Colby
Time: 0800-1000
Conditions:
2-3FT+, inconsistent, sectiony.
I really don’t want to drive further south
again, especially if the surf might not be much better than it was yesterday,
but Rick’s pushing for Oside. No one challenges the call. I’d like to say that
Bri and I will just stay here, but I don’t want to be “that guy” who breaks up
the group. I love Rick, he’s like a father, and I’d hate to put him in a
position where he’d have to go against his initial judgment just to please
everyone, so I opt to convoy south with them.
Upon reaching Oside, the surf looks a
little better. There’s a small increase in size, and even though the waves aren’t
lining up perfectly, there is a little more activity.
Bri’s not feeling well, so she’s on camera
detail. Vance opts to stay dry, as well.
A set rolls in shortly after paddling out.
Rick gets the first wave, but it’s a short ride. He gets back to the lineup
quickly. We’re both paddling outside for the next wave. Need I remind you, Rick
had just caught a wave. What does he do? He paddles right out and catches the
next fucking one, too, and this wave is a nice down-the-liner. Behind it, there
are no other waves coming.
I’m a bit upset. If I’m gonna get
backpaddled or snaked, I’d rather have it be by one of my homeboys, but this
one really stings. I just have a feeling that that was my only shot at a decent
wave today. I hope I’m wrong. Meanwhile, Rick paddles back up to me, smiling
ear to ear.
Frustrated, I sit at the top of the wave. A
rogue wave comes. I paddle into it. It’s good for two deep swooping pumps, but
it sections out. Other surfers are here, too, and everyone’s jockeying for
position at the jetty. I say, fuck it, and paddle north away from everyone.
Again, I only get one decent wave that I
get two turns on. Other than that, nothing. Just closeouts.
Back at the van, Rick argues with Juan.
“Don’t move the boards,” says Rick. “Put
them back how they were. They need to be packed in a certain order.” Rick grabs
his board and pushes its nose in Juan’s ass.
While Rick reorganizes the van, Juan rolls
up his towel and tries to snap it on Rick’s ass for some brotherly butt revenge.
We drive back to the campsite, where we’re
pelted with rain on the 5 North. There’s even thunder and lighting.
After packing up the campsite, Rick invites
Bri and me down to Churches to hang out and drink. It’s high tide. The surf is
a bit swamped out, but the shape looks better. There could be a good window for
surf in the evening, but I’m over it. I tell Rick that Bri and I are hitting
the road. Usually, I’d stay, but other than the company, the surf has been
unfulfilling. I know that there are people out there who work so much that they
wish they could paddle out as much as I have, but I’ve been so spoiled in the
past, so I can’t help but bitch. Truth is, the trips down south haven’t been
paying off surfwise. Either the surf is walled or sectiony, and I’m left hoping
for a decent peak out of the shit bundle. My surf theories haven’t paid off.
Both direct south swells and south swells with some angle in them, haven’t been
producing good shape. I don’t know what it takes anymore. You don’t know unless
you go. Maybe I just need more gambles, but I’m tired of losing every hand.
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