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| I need bigger fins since I've lost my girlish figure. |
Loc: Manhattan
Beach (26th Street)
Crew:
Klaude
Time: 0715-00945
Conditions:
5 FT+, offshore, consistent, round.
I’m on the sand with my Motorboat Too
pitched, nose first, into the sand and my Zippifish at my feet. Don K. walks up
to me with Davey, the local aerialist, and asks about the MB Too. “Those are
the large fins?” he says.
I acknowledge. Those are the AM2 Futures
that Khang had let me borrow a while back, a reminder that I need to see if it’s
cool that I still have them.
Davey shoots me a shaka. They both walk a
little south and paddle out away from the high school kids. I figure it’s
crowded, so I opt to use the Zippi for the first part of the session in order
to have an advantage over the crowd.
When I paddle out by Davey and Don, Don
catches a left. When he comes back, a left is coming. He motions for it, looks
at me, and says, “Go!” You have to go when Don’s calling you into it.
I scratch out, embarrassed. I want to make
up for it, so I eye the next wave coming in. Don tries to go. I should back
out, but he stops paddling. Now I really have to go. The wave has a tapered
shoulder for promising shape. A guy hoots me from the inside, yelling, “Yeahhhhh!”
As I’m popping up, the wave doubles in size. The bottom sucks out from under
me. I’m hung up. The Zippi’s too fat, and I’m not good at surfing this
monstrosity in punchy surf. I slide down to the base of the wave as the lip
starts to curl, but my board just doesn’t bite into the line; I eat shit.
I resurface with the Hooter still inside,
saying something to me and smiling. Fuck. Embarrassed part two. I paddle back
out. Don can’t even look at me. There goes my local status for the morning.
Idiot! I catch a small one in and switch boards.
Klaude’s on the shore warming up. The waves
are getting even bigger. Guys are saying that throughout the lineup. These high
school kids . . . they’re tearing it up. There’s a right in front of the
brickhouse that actually has shape for turns. I watch the same groms, the same
older dudes, not even the 26th Street O.G.’s, getting good rides. They
pull in, most not making it out, but some hooting as they do. Barrel.
My timing’s off. There’s backwash making
the drop more critical, too. I haven’t caught shit.
Klaude and I manhug in the water. He’s
going through the motions of life right now, and he looks kind of down, but I
can still tell that there’s a fire in his eyes for today’s conditions. While I
continue to struggle, Klaude’s going for just about everything. He sits with
the main pack. I paddle away back in front of the tower.
At Marine, I see a guy get barreled on a
left, claiming it as he straightens out in the flats. He lets out a long howl
like a wolf. I hear him from all the way over there.
I’m human, so I’m jealous. I’m also
frustrated. Could use more board today. Lost Mini Driver would have been nice.
Round pin tail, quad fins, speed. It’s not a day for turns. Shan paddles out,
too. Other surfers scramble around us, getting good rides. Every time I turn to
see Klaude, he’s on the inside, just finishing a wave.
Then something in me clicks. I have to
catch something, anything; I can’t just sit here waveless.
I paddle away from Shan and meet the line
on the horizon. I turn and go, paddling into a closeout. The lip swirls over my
head before I penetrate out the back. The next wave crashes right on top of me
in the impact zone, but my MB Too is so small that I take minimum beatings.
Commitment. I change my mindset. I know I’m
going. Closeout or not. I meet the next peak. Being more aggressive, my
positioning is much better. I slide down the face and draw a swooping line
right into the hollow pocket. The lips swirls over my head again. My natural
instinct is to bail, but I hold my line, which means that I freeze from
inexperience. Crouched and paralyzed, I get shacked for three seconds. I can’t believe
I’m in the tube. It doesn’t happen enough. I focus down at my board, my rail
biting into vertical marbleized liquid, and then everything goes dark. You’d think
obliteration would be bad, but I’m all right. Paddling back, I’m frothing. I
shoot a wide grin at Shan, shaking my head. “I was in there,” I say.
Now every barrel I see is pure
entertainment. I want guys to make it out. I’m envious, but it makes me want
one for myself even more. I go through the mental trials, tell myself that I’ve
been to East Java and ate shit on slabs over sharp reef. I can handle this.
Klaude gives me the signal that he’s going
for one more. I shoot him the same signal back. It’s time to go.
On the outside, a set wave approaches. I
paddle out to meet it, but I’m too deep. The guys on the shoulder freeze up and
don’t make a move for it. Down the line, surfers yell, “GO-O-O-O!” They’re
probably yelling at the guys on the shoulder, not at me, but it might as well
be me, as I’m the only one left who can get it. I don’t know how many good
waves I’ve let get away and the regret I had felt afterwards. This is supposed
to be my break.
I turn and go. I expect to be too deep and
get pitched, but I’m making the late drop straight into the barrel. The water
starts throwing out over me as I set my rail. The rest of the section builds
before me, but I’m tripped up, and I eat shit. Darkness.
Embarrassed part three. I resurface. The
guys around me are rubbernecking it to find out what happened to the Chino who
had gone for that wave. I paddle up to Shan.
“I almost had it,” I say.
Davey paddles up to me and says, “If that
part of the wave right in front of you wasn’t white, you would’ve made it. The
rest of the wave opened up after that.”
“I don’t even know what happened,” I say.
He starts to paddle away, turns his head,
and says, “That was sick, though.”
“Thanks. I tried.”
I should have caught my last wave in, but
now I want another one just like that failed barrel. I have to redeem myself.
Unfortunately, the surf gets a little smaller into the late morning, and it
gets inconsistent. I try some backhand pigdogging, but the rights are even fast
and more racy, at least in front of the tower.
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| Home |
Back at my car, a guy’s double parked,
waiting for me to leave. I change, pack up, and go.
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| Kind of hard to be bummed with a view like this. |
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