Loc: 45th
Street
Time:
0800-0945
Conditions:
3 FT+, glassy, high tide.
I had sent the bat signal to KK the night
before about surfing in the AM. “I’ll go if you go,” was his reply, meaning
that we’d be surfing. First light. Unfortunately, I hit the snooze button one
too many times. My eyes jolt open, noticing the light filtering through my
apartment windows. I look at the clock. 0645. I check my phone. Klaude left me
a vox at 0623, saying that he had just woke up. I don’t even reply.
Knowing KK and the pressure we put on each
other to live up to our commitments, I can imagine how he thought he was late.
He probably imagined me in the water already, looking around for him. Oh the
irony. I imagine him there, just paddling out.
I scramble for my gear and head out the
door. I’m just a little late. I head towards 26th Street Manhattan
Beach. Getting back into the surf groove, I forgot a major lesson. Parking
sucks on Fridays. Street cleaning. The metered parking lots are already packed;
people are even sitting in their cars, waiting for surfers to leave. Round and
round, every little nook and cranny of a parking space that I know about is
taken. I circle the streets for a half hour, finally giving up and scoring free
parking on 45th Street. I vox Klaude back, leaving him a defeated message
of how I tried . . . I tried.
Since the water was warm the last time I
was out, I choose to trunk it with a rashguard. I’m on my Motorboat Too, hoping
that there will be some occasional three footers.
It’s about 0800. The first shift is already
leaving, and only a very manageable crowd remains. The tide is high, but there
are waves coming in. It’s a bit on the walled side, but easily three feet on
the sets. When I paddle out, I notice how there’s a lot of water moving around
on the inside. High tide.
Right when I reach the lineup, a set wave
approaches, a right. I turn and go, and the wave doubles in size when I pop up.
I have speed on the drop, and there’s an open section before me, good enough for
at least one big hack. Next thing I know, I’m bucked off of my board, and I’m
thrown in front of it into the flats. It’s an awkward wipeout.
When I paddle back out, a Costco guy says, “Hey,
man! You actually got that.”
“Yeah.” I paddle closer. “I don’t know what
happened. I just . . . lost it.”
“I thought you were gonna like . . . do a
back twist or something.”
Back twist?
What the hell is he talking about? An
unexpected surge of water pushes at my back, lifting me. That’s when I realize that
the backwash had caught me on that wave.
And for the rest of the session, I try. I
try to get a good wave, but everything is walled or running away. Could have
used my Mini Driver with the quad setup.
But there is one wave, a small left.
Probably only two feet. I get two lame turns on it before it fizzles out on the
inside. And that’s it.
I’m unfulfilled, walking back up the hill
to my car. I haven’t scored good surf in a while. Checking my phone, Klaude
hasn’t gotten back to me yet. It’s not until later that afternoon that he tells
me how the surf there was pretty much the same but that our other friends,
Khang and Dais, had paddled out with him. Damn. Haven’t seen those guys in a
while. Missed out.
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