RECESSION, SUN 21SEPT2014

Loc: El Porto

Crew: Bri, Dave T., Gary, Rick

Time: 0730-0915

Conditions: 1- 3 FT, glassy, overcast, moosh.

    

     “It was walled,” says Dave, after asking him how the last swell was at Trestles. “Once you popped up, there was like nowhere to go.”

     I had felt guilty about missing last week’s swell down south. I made the call not to go because everything in my surf senses told me it would be walled. O-Side camera looked like shit. Gary said Carlsbad was walled. Cassady said HB was wonky. Skunk avoided. Good call. But on this morning, looking out over Porto, the surf has dropped off dramatically. The later hightide being a nonfactor since hightide today is higher. Lame. Yet, it’s crowded. Surprise? No. Not for here. There are a couple SUP guys, plenty of longboarders, and maybe less shortboarders than yesterday.

     After yesterday’s epiphany about my useless boards, I bring the Zippifish, a board that’s definitely too big for me but a board that can get me waves on a tiny day like this.

     We paddle out in front of the 40^th Street Tower, but I have to make my rounds and find Rick, who’s been out at 45^th for a half hour already. Before I leave, I watch Gary on his Lost RV, a groveler. Even on these longboard waves, he’s getting down the line rides. With a soft face, he can’t pull gouging turns, but he’s still surfing top to bottom the best that he can. Dave’s on his standard short, and he has to sit way inside. Bri’s fine, as usual. She rules in days like these.

     My first two waves are dismal rides, mooshing out on the shoulders not long after popping up, so off to find Ricky I go.

     So many people out. Over the horizon, occasional three footers approach the lineup like long fat rolls under a blanket. Good waves for today but so many takers.

     Rick’s at 45^th, longboard, brand new Hurley wetsuit with the double band around the thigh. Dave had his on, too. I forego a lot of waves to chat. It’s just not a ripper kind of day. It’s like Malibu at Porto, crowdwise.

     When Rick leaves, Bri and I sit at 42^nd. I get dropped in on a couple of times, but I’m easy. I’m in someone’s way paddling back out. I apologize, and he’s easy, a reminder that I should practice on my own tolerance.

     My best wave is a left. I’m behind the section, but I do a foam climb, easy on the Zippi, stick the landing, and walk the nose before the wave closes out. Even though I didn’t ride out of the wave, the timing just felt right, right after the foam climb and shuffling to the front of the nose, holding the line before the closeout. Lately, I haven’t had much to feel good about in my surfing, and it’s nice to have a little moment like this.

     Some familiar Porto locals are out here on shortboards, somehow getting into the mooshy waves. There was a time when I wanted some kind of local celeb status, just to be nodded at and regarded as “good.” Eh . . . that’s not important anymore. Simply put, I just need to catch as many waves as possible. Gotta bring it back to the days of just having fun, regardless of who’s ripping around me. The little shuffle that I did on the nose of the fish, more moments like that. The sensation, fun on the face of a wave. If I can consistently surf like that, it doesn’t matter if people say “good wave” or “he’s good.” If I’m stoked on a wave, isn’t that good surfing in itself?