Loc:
Manhattan Beach
Time:
0715-0900
Conditions:
1-3 FT, sunny, glassy, warm, swampy, crowded.
I stood on the sand, disheartened, at how
crowded the lineup was. And yet, I shouldn’t have been surprised, for the high
school groms take this spot over every morning. I had already learned the
lesson of what happens when you paddle out in their midst. You won’t catch
anything. They're greedy. You will become frustrated, on the verge of hurting a
kid and becoming a bad guy, so now I know better.
I wanted to paddle out away from the pack,
but their surf orgy ended way north and south of the tower into a no man’s land
of lully flat surf.
Bri was out there, in the middle of all of
them, doing battle, but that’s not me. I can’t surf like that. Instead, I
walked north where the grom-line ended and a couple old farts like myself were
sitting. Even Don K. paddled out a little further to my north.
In boardshorts and a wetsuit jacket, I was
warm. Feeling loose in my gear and armed with a thick Zippifish, I felt like I
had the advantage over the potato-chip riders around me. The sets stood up
three feet and walled, but some of them had corners. They doubled up as I
paddled into them, and as the sections ran away, I managed to pump for
distance, often practicing floaters to end the rides.
I saw Klaude on the shore warming up, his
orange Zippi by his side. He paddled out and hugged Bri. I wanted to join them
but it was still too crowded there.
Once Bri left, the kids left shortly after,
so I paddled south to join Klaude. We manhugged in the water, which caused us
to miss a perfect A-frame. Oh well.
But after the kids left, the lineup was so
empty. I expected the second shift of surfers to come out, but they never did.
It was an even thinner lineup than yesterday.
The surf got significantly softer around
eight o’clock, but we had it to ourselves. I got some fun lefts, walking the
nose and back to the tail, pumping down the line again all the way to shore. Even
Klaude got a long left all the way in front of the brick house.
It’s been fun, reverting back to riding
bigger boards. I wouldn’t even mind riding something with a fatter and wider
nose to practice hanging ten or five on. At this point in my surfing, I’m
learning to appreciate whatever conditions are out there, and, instead of
complaining, just busting our the right equipment for what the surf is doing. I’ve
been catching more waves on the fish than I have on my shortboards. That may be
the priority—wave count.
I got a rare right that opened up for one
backhand hack, but afterwards the tide mooshed out the surf.
Klaude said he’d catch the next one in, and
I told him that I’d join him. Looking at my watch, it was 0850. Most of my
sessions had been going into the ten o’clock hour, so I thought it would be a
good idea to get out early.
Back at my car, two ladies kept driving by
me, waiting for me to finish changing. Another local guy pulled up and waited
in the red zone. I gave him a nod and rushed a little bit to make sure he got
it before they came back.
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