HAMMER TIME, THU 11SEPT2014

Loc: Rosecrans

Crew: Randy, Bri, Gary C.

Time: 0630-0830

Conditions: 1-3 FT, glassy, inconsistent, walled.

     Traditionally, Rosecrans is better than 26^th Street. Sometimes it’s even better than Porto’s premier sandwich shack peak. So when Gary says he’s gonna surf here, I say hell yes. I can see a friend who I haven’t seen in about a month and try to milk the minimal NW windswell at MB’s most consistent spot.

     Since Bri has to work much earlier this school year, I spot her in the lineup. Actually, she is the lineup. Her purple rashguard makes her even louder, compounded with being the only surfer out there. The low tide brings in drained shorebreak waves, but the tide push should change that.

     All the way at the end of the lot, we spot Gary. GWC. He’s just about done suiting up in boardshorts and a rashy, too. His Lost RV sits unsheathed in the back of his Suburban. He and Randy exchange pleasantries before he heads out ahead of us.

     The sun is barely making its way over the Manhattan homes, making the morning atmosphere a little dim. The wind’s even a little onshore, making the low-tide lines look less appealing with their chop, ripples, and triangles on the ocean’s surface. Eh . . . but the wind has been changing later in the morning to more favorable conditions.

     As always, I expect the water to be freezing, being in boardshorts, but after getting fully submerged, I ease into acclimation.

     First I join Bri. Randy and Gary are further south towards 34^th. I’m on my old Becker board, the 6’10, since I had expected the surf to be small. Occasional three footers roll in. Walled. A little more size than anticipated. We all try to go for them. I follow Gary’s cue by attempting to pull in. One walls up and sucks out so fast over the sand that I have to kick my board away. I know . . . bad habit.

     Gary gives me props, but I feel they’re undeserved. I could be trying to fit inside the closeouts to pump a little further, but to me nothing seems makeable.

     Randy’s on the fish this morning, and he’s trying to be more selective. It’s obvious that the waves are shit because he’s passing up on a lot of them. I can’t blame him.

     Bri wipes out on the inside. When she resurfaces, her board flops down hard into the water right by her head. A scolding is in order. I can’t help myself. She didn’t have her helmet hands up. I tell her she almost got whacked.

     “I covered up,” she says. I know she didn’t. I don’t want to be a dick, but I worry.

     She leaves. Gary does, too, and the better conditions never come. With a slight tide push, the waves become more inconsistent with occasional walls.

     Two guys paddle out on longboards, one on a foamie and another on a wooden longboard that’s been so faded by the sun that I’ll have to describe its color as cockroach. They both catch a wave and wipeout. The cockroach shoots up high in the air, full length and upright; that’s what gets my attention. And just like Bri, the surfer’s head comes up to resurface just as the cockroach’s tail is coming down, and WHAM! right on top of his fucking head. It’s bad. You could hear it.

     “Ohhhh shit!” I say to Randy. “Did you see that?”

     “No,” he says.

     I tell him what happened. “Did you hear it?”

     “Yeah,” says Randy. He peers a little closer. “The guy’s bleeding. You can see it from here.”

     Randy motions towards the surfer who’s now stumbling in the waist high surf, holding his head. He returns a hand gesture back. His homie sends a polite nod back to us as well. They’re all right. Kind of. They exit the water, blood still running down the guy’s head. The image of that guy’s board hitting him, the noise, the THUNK!, is just ingrained in my mind. It came down on him like a hammer hitting a nail dead center. THUNK!

     Later that day when Bri gets home, I bring up how I saw her almost get hit. “I know you said you covered your head, but I know you didn’t,” I say.

     Bri goes quiet. Silent treatment. I know I’m a dick, but . . . man. I really don’t want that to happen to her.