NO PLACE, MON 10NOV2014

Loc: Manhattan Beach

Time: 0700-0845

Conditions: 2-3 FT+, overcast, cool, glassy, consistent.

     I should get up when my alarm clock goes off, but I sleep in for another hour. After the weekend camp out, my body’s toast. I look at the surf cams and the report. 1-3 poor to fair. It’s small. Totally not worth it.

     However, after surfing Lowers’ asshole crowd yesterday, I have the longing to surf local and catch waves with familiar faces. I miss my break.

#

     The surf looks small from on top of the hill. I don’t even see any surfers out. The tide’s gonna be on it, but fuck it. One good wave is all I need. I got the right equipment, too. With my Zippi in sick bay, I bust out the Kainalu Fish.

     I debate on bringing my shortboard down, too, but I tell myself to be reasonable. It’s small. Swampy. Save my strength.

     I paddle out just south of the tower. Immediately, a small left sprouts up. Some shortboarder in a two-tone wetsuit, black and green, tries to dart over to catch my wave, but he’s not deep enough. I go down the line and get some decent distance before it closes out.

     Resurfacing, Two Tone scratches out on a wave and yells, “Fuu-uuck!”

     Wow. No shit. That upset? Over a day like this? I wonder if he’s pissed that I got that wave, but when I had paddled out, no one was there. I shot for a gap. End of story.

     But there’s something about Two Tone, he’s surfing this break like he’s in the Vans Triple Crown or something. Yeah, he rips, but it’s like fuck . . . calm down. After his waves, he looks around the lineup, checking to see if anyone’s watching.

     Meanwhile, I’m just here to cruise. The lineup’s still empty, I’m fighting the south current, and I’m just catching my small waves.

     My first good wave is a left. I get a decent wrap around cutback, rebound, and continue down the line. As I kickout, Two Tone’s watching me. Fucking gazer.

     After that left, I sit further north at another peak, but now I’m kind of mad at myself. I gave up my spot to avoid Mr. Rapey Eyes. Just then, Locals Stocky Jon and Longboard Robert paddle out.

     “It’s actually better than it looks,” says Jon.

     And then the surf changes. Even though the tide’s up, some outside sets start breaking in the 3FT+ range.

     I go left and pull into a closeout barrel, a small one in the shallows. I expect it to just envelope me, but it stays open for a little bit, giving me its swirling perspective. Fuck. I could have set myself up better and made it out if I had known it was gonna do that.

     The surf’s not tiny anymore. I should have brought my shortboard down.

     Robert’s on my outside on a left. I paddle into it but still tell him to go. Party wave. Fuck it. He backs out. Later, he tells me that he still didn’t want to snake me even though I had given him the okay. I swear I can’t find this kind of etiquette anywhere else.

     The homie Toru comes out to surf his twenty minute heat. Every time he paddles out, he has to leave right away, but he’s the coolest guy ever.

     Even though I’m on the wrong board, I’m having a lot of fun. My turns aren’t that snappy, but I’m connecting two on the good waves, still walking the deck on others.

     I catch a wave to shore. Standing in ankle-deep water, I struggle with the decision to leave. There are other things I need to do today, but the surf is still good. If I paddle back out, that’s another hour, easy.

#

     Back up on the hill, I watch the surf while I change. Peaks are still coming in. The morning report may have been accurate at first light, but it’s better now. Way better. If I wasn’t such an addict, I wouldn’t have troubled myself to at least come and look at it. I’m glad I did.

     I flirt with the idea of taking a pic, but some lady drives up and asks if I’m leaving. “Ten minutes,” I say, but she double parks and still sits on me.

     After drying off, I throw on my shorts and leave.