Loc:
Manhattan Beach
Time:
0945-1145
Conditions:
4 FT+, mid tide, walled, light onshore.
Crew:
Klaude
Board:
6’0 Lost Mini Driver
After our annual DRC Christmas Dinner last
night, Dais, KK, and I make plans to meet at our local break at 0930 when the
tide goes down a little.
At 0915 I get a Vox from Klaude. He’s on
the way. I’m still at home, closing up shop and heading to the garage. Despite
Friday’s cluster fuck for parking, I score one of my favorite spots. I imagine
KK’s already out, but he drives by and tries to bust a bitch to snag a spot
right by me. Before he can turn his car around, some other guy takes his spot.
Klaude flicks the guy off and continues his search.
A couple minutes later, he whistles at me
from the top of the hill. I’m already changed, so I warm up in the shade and
watch the surf. It looks soft and walled. No shape. I squint it out and try to make
out some corners, but even that’s hard.
I walk to the top of the hill where Klaude
is locking up his car. There’s a cone next to the corner fire hydrant. I’ve
been standing for a while, so I sit on it. When I place my hand on the hydrant,
something feels wet. I look at my palm. It’s covered in yellow paint, and it’s
also all over the back of my wetsuit.
I show Klaude. He laughs his ass off.
“Now at least I’ll always be able to spot
you,” he says.
Truth is, I’m embarrassed, but I change the
subject and walk a little faster down the hill to the surf.
It’s a sunny offshore morning with the sun nice
and high. Sunblock mandatory. I spot a few locals who I haven’t seen in a
while. There’s Costco Kim with her trademark boonie hat. Kurt’s also out. Don
K. The King. Miles.
I shoot a good morning to the locals and
wait for some waves. Even though the shape is walled, I’m lucky enough to pick
off a couple corners. My first wave is a right, and I get a backhand
single-shot snap before it closes out. I paddle into a racy left, pump hard and
long down the face, and manage a check turn off of the lip. My third wave is
another frontside left. Behind the shoulder, I pull in and get a little swirly
swirl action, small closeout tube. Feels good, but I’m getting greedy. I paddle
back to Klaude.
Little by little, the dropping tide makes
the waves dredge more. A light onshore picks up. The waves start sucking out. I
pull into another left. The face stands up and yawns over me. A grom going over
the shoulder watches my indecisive move, as I pull in and straighten back out
real quick. I don’t get clobbered by the lip, but in the flats, there’s no
clean escape. Like yesterday, I’m dealt with another awkward hold down. I
scratch my way to the surface, praying that there isn’t a second wave coming.
Fuck. Lung power. So underestimated. You’d
think that holding your breath over consistent months of surfing doesn’t
account for much, but it does. My lungs need to retrain.
KK and I let the current take us north in
front of the brick house. Here, a little sandbar is working, and some of the
lefts actually have racy shape. I pull into a couple more closeout tubes. I’m
super late on one to the point that I have to grab rail to keep from purling. I
get that swirl perspective and get pinched deep. I wonder if I could hold on a
little stronger or do more in the tube to make it out of those.
The inside gets treacherous with the
dropping tide. Klaude’s caught on an inside rip and gets dragged south, damn
near all the way to the tower.
When he makes it back out, the surf turns
choppy. He calls the next one in.
The sesh was a bit lackluster, but we’re
glad to have paddled out. High tide and swampy in the morning, low tide and
sucked out towards noon. Either way, I need to get consistent again.
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