LINES LIKE DICK VEINS, WED 22OCT2014

On the way

Loc: The Cove

Crew: Bri

Time: 0745-0930

Conditions: overhead, consistent, unruly.

     Bri and I get to 26^th Street Manhattan Beach when it’s still dark out and, surprise surprise, it’s walled. The high school groms rush it. I can’t see much, but I can tell there isn’t shape. Fuck this. After yesterday, I need some shoulders.

     Bri takes off to PV. I trail behind her, stopping off at Torrance Beach for a gander. It’s light out now. There’s size here, too. I watch a guy pull in on a right and get a quick barrel before kicking out. There are a few guys with him. The paddle out is short. I could surf here, but I’m anxious about new spots.

     Bri Voxes me, saying that it’s smaller and that she hasn’t seen any good lefts come in. I’m bummed because I left the fish at home. Fuck it. I pull up and park. Bri’s already dressed, so she heads down right before I do. I race after her down the trail. The Cove is in the backdrop. First, I notice how much whitewash is churning on the inside, longboarders scattered and disoriented like ants washed away by a garden hose. Outside of the cove, I see huge lines coming in. An A-frame breaks, producing a big long left. Behind the wave are more lines pushing in. They look like giant dinosaur earthworms beneath smooth skin, like giant dick veins underneath a thin membrane. Looks like I didn’t need the fish after all. Suddenly, I wish I had a bigger dick.

     Bri paddles out first while I warm up. There’s so much water moving on the inside that I have to jump over a wave just to get through the rocks.

     The first incoming rows of water are weak. Little by little as I make my way out, I have to start going under them. When I reach the halfway point, the rows of whitewash are long and stampeding. Every time I duckdive one I get pulled back. Way up ahead, I see Bri going over a wave. How the fuck did she get out so fast? I’m barely past little reef. My board feels leafy and light over the churning surface. I think about the long paddles that I’ve done before, but that doesn’t matter now. All that matters is how my rear delts are on fire.

     When I make it further out, perfect inside waves start breaking. I could easily turn and go, but I don’t. I’ve learned my lessons in the past: Get to the lineup first, rest, and then go for one. I got all morning.

     I forgot to mention how the hill was packed with parked cars, which is funny because the lineup looks empty. Where the hell is everyone?

     Bri paddles for a wave. I yell, “Go, go, go!” but she scratches out. The second waveone of the set comes. She paddles into it and pops up. I watch the wave as it pushes forward. I don’t see her going down the line. When it’s gone, I get a glimpse of her NSP in the water, but no Bri. Another wave comes, and I lose sight of it.

     I’m mad worried. Mad because I wish she’d hurry up and appear so I know she’s okay. Worried because I’m hoping she’s all right. No waves are breaking where I am during her disappearance. They are all outside sets, so I maneuver around the lineup to duckdive them and stay in place. I feel sorry for those who are caught inside, but Bri has to be there.

     In the meanwhile, Ryan H. from Porto is out. He’s telling me how today’s bigger than yesterday. “There weren’t cleanup sets like this,” he says. “I caught this crazy right, and there was so much speed that I just face planted.”

     I tell him about Carlsbad and last Monday at PV, but I can’t really commit to the conversation. Where the fuck is Bri?

     Finally, I fucking see her. She skirted the north side of the cove to make it out. I throw up my arms.

     She shakes her head and says that her leash got caught on a rock and that she had to unvelcro it to get free.

     Scary. I don’t know. I just lost my mom in August, and I worry about Bri. I don’t want to lose anyone else.

     Another set comes. We’re in the impact zone. I duckdive, get sucked back, but still resurface with my board in hand.

     Bri gets shaken up again. She looks at me, motions towards the shore, and says, “I’m going in.”

     Another longboarder nearby is swimming towards shore. Broken leash. It’s one of those mornings.

     The longboarders up top are getting waves, but they’re kicking out early. The ones who ride them too far end up getting caught. It’s inevitable. A double-edged sword. More foam to paddle out faster or less foam to avoid beatings?

     There’s an SUP guy. He catches two waves in a row. He rides the last one in too far. After that, I don’t see him anymore.

     “Here’s a right!” yells Ryan.

     I turn and go. The take off is steep, but aside from that it mooshes out fast. I do a backhand snap and kick out. Same thing on my next right.

     The challenge is where to sit. Impatient, I move inside a little, and that’s when that great wall from way outside pops up. Some of them still offer a corner, but I find myself deep many times.

     With proper positioning, I get my first left, but I have to paddle in a little late. The waves aren’t critical like round barreling crit, but it’s just the size. The waves are well overhead, so purling means brutal beatings. When I pop up, the drop is long and damn near vertical. I’m taking precious care to make sure that my rear foot’s on the tail, keeping the nose out. Once I bottom turn, I’m precise on where I pump. There’s so much face that the objective isn’t to get a power carve but not to fall and to get down the line.

     After kicking out, there’s no avoiding payment. Here come the dick veins.

     My second wave is just a straight drop with the lip crashing right next to me into an explosion of whitewash. I know I’ll never forget this wave because I’m literally caught inside and stuck paddling for what seems like at least twenty minutes on the PV treadmill.

     I’m not the type of guy who paddles hard to get to the lineup. I paddle like I run—one pace unless I’m paddling into a wave. Just breathe, conserve your breath, conserve your energy, is what I usually say to myself. It’s not working today though. I see guys catching waves and kicking out not too far ahead of me. They’re right in the safe zone where they can make it back out in time. I’m just inside of them. Impact zone.     

     Let me be honest. I ditch my board twice, I’m so torched. I lack the energy to get deep. This is a major fail. I know it is.

     I stop short before making it to the safe zone, a premature rest break. There’s finally a lull. I’m all right.

     I’m next to Ryan and a couple of other guys. I paddle out a little further to make sure I’m safe and able to rest without being surprise attacked. Just then, another dick vein appears in the distance, its shoulder tapered. Sometimes these are hard to time. It’s like, you know its gonna break, you’re in position, and you have so much time, almost too much time, that you can easily give the wave too much respect or not enough.

     As it stands up, I’m deeper than everyone else. I should let Ryan have it, but I can’t help myself. I must. I turn and go. He looks right as I’m popping up. He backs out. It’s the most vertical drop that I’ve had all morning. A bomb. Sand and dirt is all churned up from all the activity that the water is brown, and it’s reflecting off of the sun as I drop down. I pump down its huge face, getting rhythm, making sure that my footing’s right. I have so much speed that I do a cutback high up on the face without losing momentum and rebound off the whitewash. As I kick out, I see Ross from 26^th Street riding the oncoming section towards me.

     I could go in. I’ve caught my fair share of rides. My arms are dust at this point, but . . . I paddle back out one more time. Each duckdive, I tell myself that it’s worth it.

     My last wave is a closeout, but I ride that fucker as long as I can to avoid a long ass paddle in. It takes me a little past half way.

     The tide’s so high, and the waves so big, that there is no shore. The waves are breaking all the way up on the dirt, covering the rocks. I’m slipping and sliding trying to walk out of that motherfucker. Behind me, I see an SUP guy getting knocked off of his board repeatedly, trying to make it out.

     Making my way back up the path, guys are coming down, asking me how it is. All I can say is that I hope they brought their paddling arms.

     On top of the hill by the cars, surfers are watching it, phones and coffee cups in hand. Grown ass men. Some of them turn around and leave. It’s crazy. Bri paddled out and caught a wave. These guys don’t even want none.

     I get on the phone and start sending out texts. Well overhead PV. I button up the wagon and blast some jazz music. Instead of taking the coastal route, I take PCH in hopes that traffic will be minor, but I hit just about every traffic light.

     Dry in my car with the sun blazing over my lap, I can’t believe that I had spent so much of my morning under water.