RICK’S BIRTHDAY WEEKEND PT.V, SUN 09NOV2014

Loc: Lowers

Time: 0630-0830

Conditions: 2-4 FT, overcast, cool, glassy, consistent, crowded.

“To Lowers or Not to Lowers”

     Rick, Juan, and Gary make a beeline straight to DMJ at dawn. Personally, I’d like to just paddle right out here at camp somewhere instead of hit the road again, especially if the surf has a strong chance of being like it had been yesterday.

     Bri’s knocked out. Daniel and Nate head to Lowers, still dressed with boards and their backpacks strapped on.

     “See you there,” I say. After a banana and some coffee, I change and start trotting on the sand.

     This morning isn’t as classic as the last two. For the first time during this trip, the morning sky is overcast and gloomy. Yup, definitely looks like winter. Even the Churches’ lineup is pretty empty. People are either unmotivated by the weather or the surf report. Maybe both.

     I stop short at Mons Pubis, eyeing a lonely peak. This is my spot. I can have it to myself, but I have to shortboard it today after yesterday’s board casualty.

     Three fishermen cast out their lines from shore. It’s just me and them. Why not paddle out here?

     Did I say how much I hate this leaky wetsuit? Fuck. Hurley is great for everything, I love their apparel, except wetsuits. I’ll take Hurley shorts and shirts any day over Quik stuff, but their wetsuits suck.

     I’m cold as shit. Water infiltrates my wetsuit around my balls and then the small of my back. Lame. I get four waves, but they’re too soft for my board. Lame. I surf them like shit.

     Instead of getting out and walking, I paddle through Middles. The waves are too soft here as well. Paddling my way into Lowers, I see Nate and Dan still dressed and sitting on the sand. They have to recognize me. Why wouldn’t they? I’m right in front of them. When I make it up to the Lowers pack, I turn around and see them heading back towards camp.

“Fifteen”

     Sad to say, fifteen people sitting on Lowers is actually a manageable crowd. I sit wide south to catch the spare rights. I’m surprised at how many swing wide my way, and then I’m not surprised. No. The wide rights aren’t standing up that well. There’s more size here, but after my first snap, the wave goes soft. Too much tide.

     Now I’m at the main peak. The crowd seems mellow. A peak rolls in. Everyone turns. I’m in prime position. Now there are only four of us. I want the left. Someone has the right already. I look down my line and see two groms still paddling for the left.

     “Which way you going?” the kid next to me asks the kid on his outside.

     “Left!” I say. The kid next to me backs off, but his homie snakes me. I’m riding the wave right behind him, and he does a tight frontside wrap, causing me to fall in his wake.

     Fuck . . . I’ve always hated kids. Even when I was a little kid I fucking hated kids littler than me. Today’s no different. I paddle in circles, fuming. The kid’s friends don’t want to look at me. I stare at all of them. Please, please don’t let me be the guy who goes off on kids.

     The little fucker comes back. I circle and stare. He doesn’t look up once. As long as he knows. . . As long as he knows.

     Then, I don’t fucking no how, but sitting a little wide north, I catch a legit left. Motherfucker. I forgot how the lefts stand up more than the rights here. The section peels vertically. I’m caught off guard. Plus, I really don’t want to fall. Instead of attacking the wave, I do a measly check turn and try to snap the end section, but the wave’s lost its steam. Fock. That’s right. Fock with an O. Shit.

     Paddling back to the lineup, the last wave of the set sprouts up. Two guys are going for it. In a moment of confusion, they look at each other in a stale mate and accidentally let the wave go. I mean, the wave is already peeling. The first section’s gone to waste, but I’m ready to turn-and-go on the shoulder to milk the final two thirds of the ride.

     I slide into the wave on a steep and rampy section. Bottom turning, I climb the face and crank out a layback snap. I’m shocked when I ride out of it, rebounding and still flying down the line. I’m not a pro, so I’ll do the same damn turn twice. Again, I end the ride with a small layback on the shoulder. My laybacks are ugly and need work, but I pull off both of these practice sons of bitches.

“Twenty”

     Twenty may not be a crowd for others here, but for me it is. I sit inside and try to go for a wave. When I turn around, there’s a guy paddling back out in my way. He throws up his hands and says, “Really?”

     Fuck. I’m confused. Is that bad etiquette on my part? I guess there’s more about surfing that I still need to learn. But what if I have to turn and go on the spot? I don’t let a perfect wave go, right? I’m the surfer. Don’t I have the right of way? Can’t he just paddle around?

     The same guy turns to his friend and says, “I just got burned on the right by some kid.”

     I feel the lineup grow tense. Yeah. The energy’s switched.

     On my next left, some old fucker in a neon green wetsuit snakes me. Second time this morning. I could strangle someone.

     “Yeah,” I say out loud. “Nice wave! Keep going!”

     The guy falls on his turn. When he resurfaces, he puts both of his hands on his face, shaking his head, embarrassed.

     Whether he looks at me or not, I don’t know. I don’t even want to see his fucking face. Back to the lineup for me.

“Working for Waves”

     I don’t want to deal with the main peak. Too many assholes. I sit wide on both sides or inside of everyone, picking off the smaller waves that people let pass. Some of them paddle for them, but I know they’re not in position. Haha, twenty people at Lowers means that you can at least get insiders. How’s that? What’s working on my side is how the waves are coming in. It’s scattered and consistent here. The waves are shifting all around the main point. Twenty people at the top of the wave leave me to my own devices.

     I can’t say that the rest of my rides are solid, but I at least crank out single shot turns on each. Better than DMJ. Also, I’m able to put my shortboard to use. This is the third board that I’ve used on this trip.

     After getting snaked a third time, I’m over it. This guy, he’s good. He’s so fucking greedy though. Everyone here is.

     We were both going for the left, and when he popped up, I mean, he was fucking gone. I couldn’t even say anything. I literally had just pushed my chest off of my board, and this guy had already gotten up to his feet and swooped away.

     “Hey,” says a voice from behind. “I’m sorry about snaking you earlier.”

     I turn around. It’s that old guy in the neon green wetsuit. He’s actually apologizing. I wipe the anger off of my face, smile back, and say, “It’s okay.”