FISH FOOD, FRI 10OCT2014

Loc: Manhattan Beach

Time: 0745-0930

Conditions: 1-3 FT, overcast, light onshore, warm, inconsistent.

     In an effort to get back into the swing of my priorities, I had decided to call lay days when the surf is tiny, so yesterday, I didn’t paddle out, and I’ll have to say . . . I did get some things done. After some writing, I had to pull “uncle duty” down in HB. No workout, no surf. I didn’t care about the gym part, but I definitely felt like something was missing. Not starting the day with a surf, whether small or only for an hour, doesn’t start you off with that same pep that you would normally have. There’s just something about getting a couple waves under your belt before the errands and obligations start that puts you in a better mood, that feeling of accomplishment.

     I missed it. Today, dead or alive, I had to paddle out first.

#

     My nephew didn’t go to sleep until a quarter past midnight. I don’t spend much time with him. Being a kid in a single-parent household, I can tell that my nephew needs more interaction. I had been a kid raised by a single mom, too, but at least I had sisters. I had plenty of friends. I was a hoodlum in a neighborhood of hoodlums. Watching Jaya fish out toys to show me, games to play, it seemed like he was trying to cram as much in for the limited time that we had. I felt sad watching this. I need to spend more time with him.

     I didn’t get home and go to sleep until 0200, so I woke up late at 0702. With light creeping through my curtains, I still got up, loaded the whip with the fish and the 6’8 NSP, and headed to my local spot.  

     No street parking on Fridays. I tried. Some construction guy beat me to a rare spot near Marine. Had I been on it . . . oh well.

     I park in the lot. A high school grom walks past, dripping wet.

     “Is it small out there?” I ask.

     He turns around, board in tow. “Yeah. Occasional chest high. But there’s some barrels, though.”

     “Thank you very much,” I say.

     It’s funny. These kids, I swear I can’t stand them when they’re all out there in full force, but it’s these same kids who will eventually be sharing the lineup with you more often once they graduate. The same kids who might share a wave with you, if they’re good, meaning etiquette too. Years ago, in my full-fledged kookdom, there was a day when I was paddling on the shoulder on Roy’s waves. Whenever I pulled out, I knocked the wave down. I didn’t know this. After the third time, Roy went off on me. He was pissed. I had resented him for a while about it, but now . . . yeah, I see why. I wasn’t even a local yet, and I was ruining his rides. Yet, I share with him and hoot him on now, and he’ll call me into waves, too. Funny how that works out. I shouldn’t be such a dick, I guess.

     I grab the NSP and the fish, double fisted, as I head to the tower. The water’s still glassy, but the still bodies in the water reeks of long lulls. South of the tower usually has lefts, so I shoot for that spot, solo, but not before taking a shit.

#

     Yup. I had to go. It was that pizza that I had with Jaya. Standing in the shallow water, I paced as I dropped about five pounds in my shorts. I had hoped it would be runny, but it was thick like chili, even clung to my hamstring and held on stubbornly before it dropped in the ankle deep water. My first duckdive was like a natural toilet, flushing out the smeared shit around my ass, anus, and inner thighs. I did a finger check in the lineup. Clean as a whistle, baby.

#

     And surprisingly, a lot of waves are breaking in my spot. Good enough for the fish. They are a little walled but slow, good for pumps and distance. My wave of the morning is a floater that I stick on an end section. No power carves or nose riding but still fun.

     Ross paddles over, saying that he’s seen me getting waves over here. We trade off. Two guys show up and paddle out right where I’m sitting. I don’t recognize them, so I maneuver around them to keep claims on my left. When a chick, a longboarder, a Costco girl, and another longboarder invade my spot, I’m done.

     I switch to the NSP. Expecting that I’ll get even more waves, I actually don’t. I scratch out. Even though the NSP is longer than the fish, I feel the lack of volume—thinner nose, thinner board, not as thick.

     I swap back, ending the session with a couple more rides on the fish.

     The sun never comes out. Even though it’s overcast, the water was warm enough to trunk it. I rinse off good just in case there’s still shit in my shorts. I do a secondary hot-water rinse at the car. I laugh at how good my shorts smell, and I mean good as in they don’t smell like shit. Nature’s toilet. I hope the little fishies enjoyed my leftover pizza. Extra cheese and garlic.