DUMP RIDERS, SUN 26OCT2014

Loc: MB, 26^th Street

Crew: Klaude

Time: first light

Conditions: 5-6 FT+, offshore, consistent, sectiony and walled.

“Forecast”

     I’m no surf expert, but I’ve been trying to pay more attention to how long period and short-to-mid period swells work. After yesterday’s tiny session, it’s hard to believe the forecast that today is supposed to be 4-7 feet. Being that this swell is short to mid, I wonder if it’s actually going to have that much size.

“In the Dark”

     Everyone and his dead grandma will probably be on it, so that’s why I’m parked at 0630 when it’s still dark out. I walk to the pull up bars on the strand and take a seat. Surprisingly, no surfers are out patrolling it yet. There was free parking when I pulled up. Other than a few power walkers and one guy who’s doing push ups, I’m the only potential water walker out here.

     I can’t see what the waves are doing, but I can make out some dark lines. When each one breaks, crashing whitewash races along the water. Palos Verdes is my backup call, but it doesn’t look too big out here. Maybe five feet. Manageable. One giveaway that it’s not too big is that the waves lack bass, that pounding vibration that you would feel through the sand and in your gut on a big day. It’s not huge and round.

     I send a couple texts out and head back to the wagon to suit up.

“In the Light”

     More guys are on the strand watching it now. Only three guys have paddled out. A longboarder stands next to me at 26^th Street tower. I may have been a little wrong about the size. It’s still not round and thumping, but it’s a little bigger than I had thought.

     The guy looks at me, shoots me a half grin, and shrugs.

     A blazing pink horizon peeks over the houses behind me. Even the water looks pink. Offshore texture, little cross-hatched triangles flutter along the water’s surface. The waves coming in look soft but with size. Unfortunately, they’re a little sectiony. I understand why no one’s out. It’s gonna be a mission to find a good one with shape.

     Did I say I’m no surfing expert? I sure ain’t, but one thing that I’ve learned is the lesson of Respect. You gotta respect the ocean, even on a manageable day like this.

     Because the swell’s coming in nice and consistent with size, it’s a long paddle out. I think I’ve surfed for about a week straight, so about halfway out and my delts are on fire. I haven’t taken any on the head yet, but there’s that warning beacon in the back of my head: Beware the Line. By line, I mean how sometimes you think you’ve made it out, and then there’s that fucking monster out the back, and no matter how hard you try, you’re not gonna make it to the chopper. But I do. I turn around. I’ve barely drifted. It’s manageable.

“Selling”

     I see heads in the parking lot, dudes on the strand. Guys are watching, debating. The locals aren’t out yet. That’s a bad sign. Especially if Don K., the King of 26^th Street, isn’t out yet, then there will be a better window later. That’s what a lot of the older vets do here. Patient in the parking lot with binos, it’s an exclusive club. They might as well paint their names on the parking stalls. Whoever’s in the lineup is a guinea pig. Worth it or not, our surfing will tell.

     I’m not a fan of getting worked on the inside. You ever catch a bad wave out of frustration, and then once you come up for air, the real set comes? Yeah. No thanks. I think I’ll be picky instead.

     I let the walled and sectiony ones pass. My first wave looks like it has a shoulder. Paddling into it, I appreciate the power that it has from its size, and I don’t mean power like gnarly barrels or anything. What I mean is, I don’t have to scratch hard to get into this wave. It’s automatic. One, two, three strokes, and I’m up with fluidity and ease, but it’s too bad that the wave just stands up and runs away. Closeout. My next right is smaller, and I get two weak backhand check snaps. Even though there’s size, they fatten up on the inside. More closeouts. I do kickout snaps before they dump.

     My wave of the day is a two turn left. I practice a layback turn and actually ride out of it. That’s something to take home.

“The Green Light”

     The South Bay, at least Manhattan Beach, can be fickle. Sometimes it holds shape, sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes it holds shape at six feet, and sometimes it closes out at four feet. Depends. It always depends on something.

     I’m not sure when the gun went off to officially start the race, but now everyone’s out here. The only problem is, as consistent as it is, shape is still an issue. So now there’s a sea of bobbing heads, all waiting for that magic shoulder. I can already tell it’s gonna be one of those days when you just paddle in for the hell of it, closeout or not.

     Since the waves aren’t round and heavy, it’s so easy to go for glory. I turn and go on an overhead wave, and right before I slide into it, I see Klaude paddling up right next to me. He has his tongue out. It wags rapidly as he shakes his head. The mating call of the Neanderthal. Classic Klaude. I slide down the face, make the drop, and ride into the flats.

“DUMP RIDER”

     Back in the day, my friends and I would joke about how the waves here are so dumpy, and that’s how the Dump Rider Crew began. It must’ve been a year of bad sandbars at that time, no shape. We still had fun on those days, and today is a nice throwback to that.

     While most are picky, Klaude and I just say, “Fuck it,” and go for everything. Down the line? Not gonna happen. Not today. Yet, while everyone’s still stagnant, only moving around to dodge the closeouts, it feels good to be making the rounds—paddle in, popup, closeout, paddle back out, get another one.

     Eh, nothing to brag about, but it’s better than sitting still.

“Perspective”

     From the sand, I see a guy pumping down the line on an inside right. Two turns. Not sure if it’s the tide, but the waves are starting to look peakier. There are more people out, more on the sand racing towards the water. Ha . . . guess it was worth the wait.