SOFT SHOULDERS, TUE 14JAN2014

Loc: El Porto

Crew: Bri, Gary, Dave T

Time: 0645-0800

Conditions: 2-3 FT, sunny, offshore, glassy, high tide, soft, crowded.

     Bri opens the door to the bathroom, the light bulb behind her radiates around her head like an aura. I can’t see her face, but I’m blinded. Squinting, I sit up butt naked. She’s dressed and heading for the door. What the hell happened to my alarm? It’s 0615, and Bri’s ready to head out the door and hit the surf. This isn’t the way it’s supposed to be. I’m the dawn patrol master in this household, but my woman’s outdone me in wave count and popularity in the lineup over the last year.

     “Here’s your water,” she says before closing the door. I brush my teeth and start changing. On the carpet is a hot-water jug filled and ready to go.

     I have a special delivery for Gary: a box of 12 military rations or MREs. On the way to Porto, Bri calls and tells me that she had done a surf check at our other spot further south and that Porto is better.

     When I enter the lot, I pull up next to her and tell her that I have to find Gary because I have to give him the MREs. Bri’s parked near 45^th, so I know that that’s where she’ll be.

     I park next to Gary, but he’s already in the water. I skip the warm up and paddle out. I gamble with my 3/2 since yesterday was pretty hot, and it pays off.

     With the tide about to top out, the waves still have shape. Gary’s popping up into a long, three-foot right. I hoot him on as he passes me. I turn and go on a little left, but it’s smaller, and the inside mooshes out.

     Dave T. is out here too, but the lineup’s already getting much thicker.

    

     It’s a typical California summer morning, but the only thing is that it’s not summer. It’s technically still winter. The water’s glassy without any fog, and the high tide makes a fatter board the wiser choice. There are still plenty of people on shortboards though.

     I see Bri in the distance, but she’ll have to leave for work soon. By the time I would get there, she would already have to leave. I try to watch her catch some waves, but she’s with the main pack at 45^th, and it’s super crowded.

     I struggle to get a good bomb. Since the waves are softer and breaking long, I have to be in the right place. I get two more waves that moosh out again. I try to muscle in some power carves without much momentum to begin with.

     The best sets break outside, and with the overflow of surfers, it’s hard to get prime position. Somehow, Dave T. does.

     He drops in on a longboarder who’s too deep, and he takes a long, three-foot right to himself, throwing a lot of water out the back towards the inside. And then he gets another one. Two bombs for Dave.

     I paddle towards Bri and see her go right. I want to get some face time with her before she leaves, but she walks up the sand and heads to work.

     The rest of the session is a little frustrating. I haven’t minded the Porto crowd lately, but on this morning, and the way the waves are breaking, I just can’t get good positioning.

     I see another local guy from my usual spot. He tells me that it hasn’t been working over there. There’s this chick named June here too, another local from my other spot. Wow, I guess Porto is the only option for local surf. I wonder where the other vets are surfing right now: Don Kadowaki, Ross, Roy.

    

     Back at the meters, I give Gary the box of MREs. The tide is still high, but there are soft inside waves that look fun, so I whip out my credit card to pay the meter. It doesn’t accept my card. I try it again, and the fucking meter is broken. Dripping wet, I’ll have to get in my car and switch parking spots, or should I?

     Sign from God? The universe? Maybe it’s not meant for me to get that second session in. I have to be aware when the cosmos is trying to tell me something: “Don’t go out. It won’t be worth it. You have school assignments to get a head start on. Start your day early.”

     So I guess another paddle out isn’t meant to be for today. I go home, change into my house shorts, throw in a Toaster Strudel, and polish off my surf blog early. Afterwards I’ll kill off a book of poetry, maybe get some PS3 in, and then hit the gym with Bri. Either way, I’m glad I had begun the day in the water. 

HIGH-TIDE CLOSEOUTS, MON 13JAN2014

Loc: El Porto

Time: 0815-1000

Conditions: 2-4 FT, sunny, offshore, glassy, high tide, walled.

     I had to work over the weekend, so I had to listen to Briana’s stories about how she scored local surf with all our friends.

     I had planned to wake up at 0545, but I snoozed until 0700. I couldn’t help it.

     Driving down Main St. in El Segundo, the street is packed with cars and school kids. It’s that time of year, back to life and reality for everyone. I wonder if the lineup will be a little emptier now.

     When I reach the Porto lot, I see that the conditions are clean, but the waves are high-tide walls. Soft too. I check my favorite spot more south, and it’s even smaller.

     I score free parking on Highland again. I also have to shit again, so I walk down the hill first for a poop and a surf recon.

     Even though there aren’t many defined peaks, the water just looks so inviting that I can’t help but go in. I contemplate on heading to Huntington. It would make sense since the tide is high and it’s going down now, but I’m impatient after three days of not being able to surf.

#

     It’s a long paddle out to the lineup, and there’s a surf couple on shortboards caught in the impact zone. Both of them, guy and girl, have ditched their shortboards. When the whitewash comes in, they dive underwater while their boards flail behind them. I think about what I’ll say if their boards hit me. Luckily, I make it out incident free.

     By the time I make it out, I’m winded. Those three days of not surfing have really taken me out of surfer condition.

     The current’s going north, so I paddle south in front of the sandwich shack. Even though Porto’s crowded this morning, for some reason it doesn’t get to me. I’m so happy just to be out that I have no expectations, and I’m ready to share some waves.

     When the sets come in, they’re all walled with a little shoulder all the way at the end. I try to get into position, but I’m either forced to pull into closeouts or go straight.

     My wave of the day is a left where I’m in perfect position on the shoulder. I pop up and clear the first section, bottom turn, and get a little top turn off the lip. After that, the wave tapers off, and I get a little check to end it.     

     I’m hoping that the lowering tide will make the conditions better, but it doesn’t. A local guy who has a shaved head and blue earplugs says, “Mo’ betta high tide!”

     And maybe it was better at high tide. I should’ve gotten up earlier. Never again. This is 2014 damnit. No more second shifts. I gotta start going to bed early and dawn patrolling.

     After jostling the lineup, I manage a couple more rides that are more than closeouts. There’s a right. One little turn. Guys out the back are watching. I fall. Then there’s a fast left. I don’t get a turn, but I’m flying down the line trying to make the face. It never opens up and turns sectiony. Before the wave closes out, I climb the face, and the bottom of my board glances off the lip as it’s coming down. Below me, the whitewash explodes, and I stick the landing. I don’t want to call this a floater because I didn’t float above the lip, but it was nice to stick that landing.

     By 1000 I’m done. The surf isn’t improving despite the pristine conditions. It’s even warmer now, and I’m roasting in my 4/3. But I’m gone. A closeout to shore. That’s it.

WHEN IT’S NOT WALLED (double), WED 08JAN2014

Loc: El Porto

Crew: Gary C.

Time: 0715-1115

Conditions: 3-4 FT+, consistent, foggy, fast.

     Free parking and Porto don’t go hand in hand, but I have no choice but to bust a U turn when I see a free spot open on Highland Ave. The morning’s so foggy that I could have easily skipped the surf session, making the call that it’s miserable outside. It would have been so easy to just curl back up into my comforter and turn off the alarm. Instead, I’m walking down the hill to get a peek at the ocean.

     Now I stand here at the strand, eyeing the half-empty parking lot. I lose visibility half way to shore. The most I can see are the stones and patches of grass by the bike path, but I hear waves.

     After suiting up, I’m walking back down again, and every step on the down slope is jarring my shit looser and looser. I can hold in my shit though. It shouldn’t be that serious, but it hits me. The pressure builds against my anus. If it had been summer, I would’ve just shit in my shorts in the lineup, but I’m inconveniently already in my wetsuit.

     On the sand, I see the city workers standing in front of the bathroom entrance. I jog in place, waiting for them to leave, but they don’t. I walk right past them, wetsuit, surfboard, and all. They all look at me, but I try to avoid eye contact. Yes, I am the man who is about to blow up your toilet.

     If you’ve surfed El Porto before then you know that the bathroom stalls don’t have doors. When I walk in, there’s already another guy in here taking a shit. He doesn’t look up, but I feel connected with him. Here, two souls had made the same mistake earlier by not shitting at home. Together we can pay the price side by side.

    

NOT FOR BEGINNERS:

     Paddling out this morning, two images are ingrained in my mind.

1.  There’s a chick on a foamboard stuck on the inside. She’s wearing booties and gloves, even has a boonie hat on to keep out the sun, but the hat just looks ridiculous since it’s so fucking foggy out. Maybe the booties too. Maybe the board. Or maybe it’s just her. The inside whitewash is so consistent that she keeps getting knocked off of her board. The front brim of her hat is stuck in the up position. The whole time, she’s struggling with her board as if it was a mechanical bull, and the bull’s winning. At least she has all of her gear, but her gear is useless. The swell’s turned on a bit, and the noobies who were able to make it out the last some-odd days will do no such thing today.
2. A blonde guy on a blue fish is stuck on the inside too. Instead of trying to get back on his board, he’s off of it and resting his arms on top of its deck. The whitewash continues to slam into him, and he’s making no effort to get back onto his board. He has an aimless gaze as I paddle past him, and the look on his face says it all:
1. I didn’t expect it to be this hard to make it out
2. I thought I was better than this
3. I thought my paddle was stronger
4. I thought my duckdive was stronger
5. Surfing is a lot harder than I thought it was.

HOMIES:

     I hear someone yell, “Mateo!” in the lineup. All the guys around me are wearing wetsuits with hoodies, so I can’t see their faces. One of them waves at me. Upon closer inspection I see that it’s Gary.

     I have my own surf crew, but we’re spread pretty thin nowadays. Most of them have hectic work schedules, are injured, or have unfortunately lost dedication and love for surfing. I’m such a surf geek that it makes me upset to think about it sometimes, but I have to accept that surfing isn’t for everyone, and other people find other things to love besides it. But not me, surfing’s got me hooked, like a skank with a huge ass that always lets you hit no matter what.

     The water is so glassy and smooth, but the fog makes it a bit eerie, like a pirate ship is about to cruise through the lineup. The sun’s blocked out by the fog which creates a thick peach haze. The swell direction is making the waves break differently. They are peaky and standing up, but they are still a bit sectiony and closing out. However, there are some shoulders here and there.

     Since Gary has to go to work, I let him take some of the waves I’m in position for. In the middle of our exchange, a three-foot left comes my way. I get one snappy top turn and throw some spray out the back before it closes out.

     An hour later, the fog clears up. Gary is gone, and the lowering tide has the waves standing up even more. The waves are still rideable, but they are so fast that I can only pull. The window for carves has closed.

TRAINING:

     The rest of the session I’m pulling in. The barrels look makeable if I can just pop up on the shoulders. There are two waves where the shoulders throw out and go hollow. I pull in on each. I should be able to make it out, but I don’t. I don’t hold my line strong enough. Maybe I’m too upright. Maybe I thought I was better at riding barrels.

     After that, I try to be picky and choose the waves with shape that might at least give me some driving distance in the tube, but I don’t make it out on any.

     By the time I’m done surfing, there’s so much water in my sinuses from wiping out that I have a headache.

FOUR HOURS:

     But I’m not complaining about the surf. The conditions are perfect. It looks more like summer than the winter now that the fog’s cleared. What amazes me most is how even on the low tide, there is still some shape.

     Four hours later, and I’m back at the car changing. I can’t see the tan line on my neck, but I know it’s bad. My body doesn’t match with my head, and wearing a tank top or anything exposing my sternum would make a bad joke out of me.

     And it’s funny how I had woken up at first light this morning, and it’s already almost noon now. Half the day goes by just like that, and so does my energy. My back muscles are toast.

WHEN CONDITIONS CHANGE, WED 08JAN2014

Loc: El Porto

Crew: Bri, Khang, Dais

Time: 1500-1630

Conditions: 3-4 FT+, consistent, walled, onshore, choppy.

     I had sold Bri on the surf sesh this morning, and despite the report for onshore wind in the afternoon, I’m hoping that the conditions will still be decent.

     Khang and Dais have the afternoon off, so they’re heading to Porto too.

     When Bri and I get to the lot, there is texture on the water’s surface from the wind. Peaks are still rolling through like this morning, but just a hair smaller. The surf looks walled, but I make out some corners from pure desperation of wanting to paddle out again. 

     Bri and I paddle out first with the boys following shortly behind. We start off in front of the bathrooms, but a north current pulls us south towards Rosecrans.

     I get a racy little left, just pumping and pulling off a minor floater on the end section. Sets start rolling in, and they’re all walled.

     45^th has the most heads, and the right there is kind of working, but that’s where the evening patrollers are.

     Khang and Dais paddle north against the current, perching just north of the bathrooms. Bri gets the longest ride of the session, somehow making it down the line on a long racy right and literally going all the way to shore, walking on the sand with board in hand.

     I tell Khang and Dais how good it was earlier, and I’m trying to get a good ride to show that the surf is still good. I get a right and get one backhand snap, but that’s it.

     The boys do all right, getting one wave each that has some shape, but everything else is just walled. Bri has to pay for it on her longboard, getting worked on the inside too.

     “I think I’m going for my last one,” says Khang. We’ve only been out for an hour. I don’t blame him.