AND THERE ARE THE DAYS WHEN . . ., THU 25SEPT2014

Loc: 26^th Street

Crew: Randy, Klaude, Dais

Time: 0630-0930

Conditions: 1-3 FT, glassy, crowded.

     And then there are the days when you make the wrong choice. After surfing the fun boards, Randy and I decide to gamble on our shortboards, since there’s a little pulse in the forecast. Looking off towards the El Porto Jetty on the way to the beach, we see that the surf is small, but of course . . . we don’t mention it.

     At 26^th Street, there’s no avoiding the obvious. The tide’s a little low, and there’s potential for size, but they section out over the sand.

     I’m optimistic on my Motorboat Too, able to paddle into the small ones late and get a pump or two before they close out. Randy takes off north towards 33^rd and stays there the whole session.

     Klaude comes out. We manhug in the water. On his Channel Islands Neckbeard, he’s doing all right. He catches a left all the way to shore, eclipsing every ride that I’ve caught in distance. I’m jealous.

     When he paddles back, he says, “You wanna ride it?”

     “No,” I say, even though I mean yes, but I don’t want him to be stuck with my gear.

     Dais paddles up to us on his Average Joe and immediately gets a long ride, too.

     I try. I fall behind sections or pump to no avail. I need more board.

     Meanwhile, Dais and Klaude are holding hands, exchanging boards, trading off waves. In the distance, Randy’s surrounded by longboarders and SUP guys.

     Klaude leaves. Shan shows up. I still haven’t reached my one-turn quota. Yet, even though I can’t catch shit, the water’s beautiful. It’s so clean that the water has a clear bluish green tint, the sand as visible as tropical reef. It’s actually a good day, but my equipment . . . bad choice.

     I have to waive Randy down when it’s time to go. The look on his face is serious. I can’t tell if he’s been scoring or not. When he exits the water, he looks off in frustration.

     It’s a quiet drive home. “Damn,” says Randy. “Wasted session.”

     “I know,” I say. “I just thought . . .”

     “We kind of had a feeling,” he says.

     The rest of the drive is silence. Our thoughts do the talking.