FRUSTRESSION, FRI 30MAY2014

Loc: Huntington Beach

Crew: Solo

Time: 0715-1015

Conditions: light onshore, 2-3 FT+

     The plan had been to surf local, especially after driving all the way to Trestles and back, but business came up. I’m to report to Los Alamitos this morning, so why not surf HB since I’ll have to be in the area?

     My best friend Manolo is the type of guy who doesn’t stress out when he’s late or when things don’t go as planned. He had told me that he doesn’t “fight against it” and that things usually work out. So with that in mind, I don’t trip on waking up a quarter to six. I take my time, eat some breakfast, and load up the car. Usually I’m beating myself up if I miss the dark hours of a true dawn patrol, but not today. I don’t even trip out on the traffic, exiting Studebaker and working my way down to PCH to cruise the coastline to get to my surf destination.

     Seapoint looks flat, but the pier looks good, like four feet. There’s shape. Guys are going down the line.

     I reach my desolate break, just north of the River Jetties, and find that the tide is still too low. The waves are breaking section on section. I could have slept in but then I would have ended up stuck in traffic.

     I’d rather wait for the window to open up while sitting in the water, so I grab my Lost Mini Driver—the right board—and paddle out.

     I’m over the barrel pressure that I’ve put on myself over the years, especially before my summer trip to Bali in 2011. To think that was three years ago. Still, I can’t get barreled on the regular. And . . . I don’t care. I had written on my previous blogs that I’ve reached a point of comfort in my surfing. I’m happy where I am. I can just exist. I love carves and working on my rail to rail game. Not saying I don’t want to get barreled (who doesn’t?), but I’m not going to kill myself over it. Surfing with pressure is surfing without fun.

     However, I have every intention on “pulling in” this morning. Why? Because the rides are short. The surf is at a playful size, and it’s perfect practice conditions.

     I pull in on every ride to no avail. The waves aren’t really doing it. I get clamped down on on every ride, but I’m not disappointed. I’m making the best of it.

     Down the beach, I see other people try to pump down the line, but the waves shut down, and they either have to bail or straighten out. Might as well just pull in.

     About an hour and a half later the tide comes up, making the waves line up much better. On one wave, I take off right at the peak. I set my rail and draw a line inside the tube. The lip curls over me for a moment, and then everything goes dark. And that’s it. The best barrel attempt I had all morning. It’s a fail, but I think about how many times I had seen my brother pull in and get dry barreled in this very same spot, like I did everything he did up to the point of losing it. Some ingredient I’m missing. Maybe faith? Am I still bailing too early? I imagine setting my rail now. Maybe I need faith in my equipment, that the speed to set myself up properly is the first step, and the next is to believe that my equipment will get me out of there if I hold my line, like I need to believe I’ll make it out of there before I do. Anyway, this is all post-surf speculation, what your mind thinks about afterwards when you’re at home on your laptop on the kitchen counter.

     Today there doesn’t seem to be any perfect waves, but twice I see perfect A-frames, roguers, just sprout up out of nowhere. The first one, I’m out of position, everyone is. All we can do is watch the lip curl, unridden. I’m paddling back out during the second one, a perfect hollow A-frame. I paddle over the shoulder as it blows a saltwater load all over my back.

     My best wave ends up being a single turner, frontside. To end the maneuver, I fancy a layback snap, and . . . I realize that my layback snaps aren’t really legit layback snaps. They’re more like finishing maneuvers on closing sections, more like a layback tail slide that I direly try to ride out of. On this occasion, I don’t pull it off.

     I purl on my last barrel attempt, swallowing a little bit of water in the process. I turn around and look out back. The second wave of the set is coming in. I figure I’ve had enough, point my board to shore, and ride the whitewash in.

     Back at my car, I see that I’ve been out for three hours. Three hours of a somewhat frustrating session. My Return-to-HB sessions haven’t been so great, and that’s to no fault of the wave. Driving away and back on to PCH, I have to remain positive about this frustrating session. Not every surf is going to be a progressive leap or “groundbreaking,” but I have to believe that it’s contributing some way.

     As easy is it was to leave the water when I went in, sitting at home now, I wish I had stayed out a little longer. 

NO PLACE . . ., THU 29MAY2014

Loc: Manhattan Beach

Crew: Shan

Conditions: overcast, light onshore, 1-3 FT, inconsistent, mushy

     I wake up after an uncomfortable night’s sleep at 0530. It’s overcast just like yesterday morning. I prop myself up and look outside. The San Onofre Beach camping area is desolate with just a few tents and cars parked along the beach. A camper with bedhead walked to the public bathrooms. The first thing I notice is how badly I stink. The concoction of camping gear, surfboards, my B.O., and surf paraphernalia combine to reek of anus-brewed alcohol. I need a shower. The rubber weather seal peels apart as I open my car door, and that’s when I feel the rush of onshore wind. I look at the flags on the RV’s. Yup. Onshore.

     Upon venturing to the Churches’ site, I see crumbly onshore peaks breaking towards the exposed cobblestones. At least yesterday was glassy. What happened to the surf forecasts?

     Other surfers arrive only to leave after watching the surf for a minute. The universal head shake from side to side and the grimace before pulling out reeks of disappointment.

     I park and walk along the beach, making my way to Middle Trestles. There are waves, but the shape is terrible. Back at my car, I pull out a book, the one I hadn’t finished for school. It was my last reading assignment, Carson McCullers, The Heart is a Lonely Hunter. I glance at the surf again. Those who had parked at San Onofre are marching towards Churches and Middles with boards in tow. I check Surfline, the actual web page and not the shitty iPhone app, and check the report. They say that conditions are “Fair.” It’s bullshit.

     So now I have to make the call. Stay and wait it out or go home?

#

     It takes about an hour and a half to make it to Manhattan Beach. I know. It sounds ridiculous to surf the South Bay after having the opportunity to surf Trestles, but trust me, it was bad. If I’m going to surf onshore waves, I might as well do it here.

     There’s free parking right by the lifeguard station. Looking out at the ocean, I’m stoked to see that there isn’t much texture on the water, and there are small clean peaks rolling in—shoulders.

     I change as quickly as my wet wetsuit allows. The sky is gray here too, but the wind is good. I spot Shan in the lineup. I wave. He waves back.

     When I make it out to him, a peak comes my way. I paddle for it, and it passes me up. There are mostly longboarders here, and even though high tide is at 1100, the waves are already hard to get into. Part of me is disappointed, and I wonder if I should have stayed at Trestles.

     I paddle north towards Marine. The peaks are breaking long, but the corners, all the way at the end, have shape. The wave is fast, but I pop up on a building left. Even though the waves are soft, upon getting into them, they are fast. I pump down the line, getting a little check turn along the way, and set myself up for a power carve on the end section. Quota met.

     An hour later, the wind has turned completely onshore. There is still enough shape for the longboarders, but I can’t compete.

     Walking back up the stairs to The Strand, after showering off, I feel a sense of security that I didn’t have at Trestles. Yeah, the surf here wasn’t that great, but I know this place and know the people. I tend to surf with much more peace and resolve here. No matter how good the waves are elsewhere, I’ll always be connected to this spot. Home. There’s no place like it. 

CAR CAMPING, (double) WED 28MAY2014

I couldn't even surf until dark, but I came close. 

Loc: San Onofre, Churches, and Trestles

Crew: Khang

Conditions: overcast, glassy, 3-4 FT+, inconsistent

     I wake up at 0439 with only four hours of sleep. The plan is for Khang to meet me at my place by 0500 so we can convoy together. After brushing my teeth, I shoot him a text. He’s not going to make it on time.

     My car is already preloaded with all my goodies, so I make myself a cup of coffee, kiss Bri, and head out the door. The clock reads 0502 at the start of the engine, and it’s sixty-eight degrees already. It’s proving to be a warm summer so far.

     It’s nice being up this early for the thrill of a legit dawn patrol. I have a long drive to San Onofre, and I hope to be in the water within the hour.

     When I reach Churches, I give Khang a call. He’s still at home.

     Surfline had pumped this swell up to be a good one, literally fair-to-good conditions according to them. Even Magicseaweed had a forecast of four-to-six feet for the morning. However, the surf isn’t macking like I had expected. There are only a few heads out, and the lullometer is all the way in the red because everyone is just sitting and waiting. The gray, overcast sky doesn’t help. Some people park next to me, get out to check the surf, and then leave. A set approaches, and it looks decent. Easily three-to-four feet. I whip out the Motorboat Too and anticipate some powerful backhand snaps.

     In my 3/2, the water feels warm, even though it’s barely past six in the morning. A pack of surfers sit at the top of the wave while a scant line of surfers sit at the last peak on the southern end. I sit in between. Lines start coming in from the outside, sectiony and walled from corner to corner, stretching across the whole break. The set waves are big, a legit five feet. Surfline was right about the size but not about the quality. Plenty of surfers paddle for waves, but the waves are so wide that they can’t get around them. I try to get down the line too, but I keep falling behind.

     I go in and swap out my Futures Black Sticks for Khang’s AM2’s, a bigger set of fins. Upon returning to the lineup, I feel how the board has more drive. I’m able to crank some single-turn rides, feeling more rooted and more grip at the top of my snap.

     I haven’t had a watch for a few days now, so I don’t know what time it is when Khang shows up. All I know is that the tide went from low to mid already, and the extra water has brought on another massive lull. Sets still show, fewer and far between, but when they do, they have some size and power. Khang and I trade off waves until about 1100.

My favorite San Clemente spot for post-surf fuel--La Tiendita. Khang opts for the torta. 

Khang told the lady that I had just graduated, and she hooked us up for four more donuts for free.

#

     After lunch, we come back and chill in front of Churches. The sun’s burnt off the marine layer, turning the day sunny and bright. Even the air is hot, so hot that Khang braves the conditions by trunking it. He suggests I do the same, but I refrain and use my torn 2/2 short-sleeve full. Upon paddling out, I’m burning up. Around us, guys are in full suits and booties.

     Khang decides to paddle towards the main pack, but I remain in the middle of the wave. With the tide going low to high again, the afternoon is much more consistent than it was this morning. I connect two-turns on each wave, even passing up some to make sure the guys at the bottom of the wave get theirs. I can see Khang paddling for waves, but it’s so crowded where he is. He has to compete with so many longboarders. Even a grom snakes him on a good right.

     At about 1700, the incoming tide brings in another lull. It also brings in the cloud cover just like this morning.

     After saying my goodbyes to Khang, I head to Old Mans and paddle out. I expect the surf here to be much better than Churches. It’s consistent, but the waves are so soft that I can’t get into them. I even sit deep and still no. Other longboarders stare at me. I’m the only shortborder. Meanwhile, the longboarders are killing it. Maybe if I had my fish I’d have a chance, but I don’t, so I do the “paddle of shame” in.

     I skip Churches this time and head straight to Middles. The plan is to surf Lowers when the sun goes down, but Middles has some decent peaks working here too. The crowd here is sparse, so I barely have to pass any waves up. For a change I get lefts. They’re not long, but the sections stand up. I pump and set up for one nasty carve. I feel so strong on my frontside turns that I’ll put my Layback Snap on the shelf for a while. It might be too early to start doing that. I’m probably not ready.

     I suffer a tremendous wipeout, purling on a right and landing into a thick mass of kelp. I’m so entangled that I have to take the next wave on the head.

     I feel the length of the day finally come over me. Because of the long days, the evening/afternoon session lasts forever. There’s still some daylight left when I get back to my car, but I punch out. I’m done.

#

     After dinner, I walk to the empty bathrooms and brush my teeth with only the sound of my toothbrush bristles breaking the silence. I miss my warm bed. I miss my woman. I miss my friends. I miss hot showers and dry feet, clean of any sand. I miss my tiny studio apartment. But being out here, car-camping it, I learn to appreciate everything I have at home and home itself. I love surfing, but I’m still incomplete and unbalanced, and I’ll keep myself away from home for a night just because I miss it so much. I walk back to my car with the cool ocean air on my face and arms, the only sound now the rustling of leaves and the rubber from my slippers. Being truly alone sometimes can be healthy too. There’s no bullshit out here, just me paying attention to my quiet thoughts and letting my mind function freely.

     My wetsuits are hanging outside next to my car. My sleeping bag and pillow are laid out. My right hip and lower back ache from today’s purls and wipeouts. Even though I miss home, I know that when this trip is over, I’ll look forward to doing it again.

Biggie's Burgers in San Clemente. Burger combo with drink is under $8. I'll be back.

Five-star accomodations

A RETURN TO HB PT.II, MON 26MAY2014

Loc: Huntington Beach

Time: 0700-0900

Crew: Bri & Klaude

Conditions: overcast, glassy, 2-3 FT+

     Bri and I meet Klaude and his friends, Pat and Pete, near Magnolia. We check the surf, and it looks smaller than yesterday but still surfable. I brought the bigger AM2 Futures fins that Khang had leant me, but I opt to leave my small fins in because the surf isn’t calling for it.

     Pat is Klaude’s roommate’s boyfriend, the guy who invited Klaude to the Oaxaca surf trip just weeks ago. He and Pete are firefighters . . . ripping firefighters. Upon paddling out, I see Pete going backhand on a right. His curly red hair and wide mustache makes him look like a boxer from the nineteen thirties, wearing high trousers with suspenders. He gets two snaps before the wave closes out. Pat kills it too, making the down the line on the fast sections, milking everything. Even Bri’s kicking ass on her 6’10” NSP, easily getting a higher wave count than I.

     Like yesterday, I struggle on my Motorboat Too. The surf looked small earlier, but now, the sets are coming in close to yesterday’s size. I fall behind the sections. Going down the line, my board and I are not in sync. I curse myself for not putting in the bigger fins.

     On a sectiony left, it’s breaking into Klaude’s right. Before kicking out, I get perfect view of Klaude pulling in on his frontside, fueled with a newfound aggression after his trip down in Mex.

     When Klaude and his friends leave, I want to stick around a little longer and swap my fins out. I eat shit on another wave and swallow water upon resurfacing. The second wave of the set approaches. Bri is on the inside, heading towards the sand. I head in too.

     We eat pho on Brookhurst on the way home. Usually I’m stoked for the fifty-percent off pho, but the noodles are hard and the meat tough, but maybe it just tastes that way. The way my board felt today was like the way it had felt when I had taken it out last winter during a big swell at Porto. The board just wasn’t working right. Despite sliding out, the board didn’t ride well.

     Dipping my chicken into some hoisin sauce, I think about the last two sessions I’ve surfed here. It’s not an issue with the fins. I have a whole quiver at home, different boards for different conditions. It’s time to put them to use. As fond and connected as I am to the mana of my MB Too, I need to be wiser in my board selection.

     I take a big bite out of the chicken. The hoisin sauce saves the chicken, making it sweet and salty at the same time. It doesn’t taste so bad. 

A RETURN TO HB, SUN 25MAY2014

Loc: Huntington Beach

Time: 00800-1030

Crew: Khang

Conditions: overcast, glassy, inconsistent, 2-4 FT

     Khang, who has a rare day off, picks me up at 0630 to head to Huntington. I barely get to see him nowadays because of his nine-to-five life. He barely gets to surf either, but that’s just life—you need money to survive.

     Cruising down PCH, Seapoint is small. There are signs of surf north and south of the pier. With the hundred dollars I had received, from my homeboy Dan as a graduation gift, I immediately put it to use to pay half the amount for a state parking pass, money well spent. It’s perfect timing for the summer, since the South Bay has only gotten minimal traces of windswell as of late.

     “Should we check it first?” I say. I want to check it.

     “We’re gonna surf here anyway, right? Let’s just suit up.”

     Usually I’m the one who’s frothing to paddle out, but Khang has me on this one.

     Since it’s Memorial Day weekend, there are surfers scattered along the stretch of scattered sandbars. But River Jetties isn’t so random, as it’s breaking three feet and consistent to our south.

     It’s an overcast morning, but the water is warm around my ankles. Despite the high tide, glassy A-frame peaks sprout up and pitch once they hit the sandbar. The gray sky makes it hard to see the waves. We both misposition ourselves; our timing is off. We’re either too deep, too far out, or we miss the waves entirely.

     Once we get used to the way the surf is breaking, Khang draws first blood. He goes backhand, getting a small snap before the wave closes out. Peaks sprout up so randomly that we luckily find ourselves in the right spot. My wave of the day is a frontside left. I get down the line, tagging the lip and tossing some water out the back before it closes out.

     Initially, my board selection seems right. I’ve fallen back in love with my Motorboat Too, arguably a groveler. For the rest of the morning I try to pull in, but I keep getting pinched. I take some beatings, getting glimpses of the swirling almond before it cinches down on me. My brother had told me that I should be able to ride this board in hollow surf. I told him that the MB Too slides out in big waves. He said to just use bigger fins. This board’s been great at Porto, but not so great in waves that have more of a vertical face.

     We expect the surf to get better with the lowering tide, but instead the surf turns increasingly inconsistent. With the lack of HB’s trademark current, surfers sit in place waiting. And then the wind picks up.

     After some Vietnamese sandwiches (banh mi), we reflect on the session. It was fun, definitely better than what the South Bay had to offer, but I know that I, myself, didn’t surf well. I had recently done a close examination of my boards, and I had it figured out, so why am I riding the wrong board for HB?

MUST HAVE SOUTH FACING, SAT 24MAY2014

Reggae band at Orlando's house. Summertime in the South Bay.

Loc: Manhattan Beach

Time: 0930-1030

Crew: Bri, Klaude & Deathwish Dave

Conditions: inconsistent, 1-2 FT

     After a late night of barbecuing with Friends, Bri and I get to the beach late. Klaude is already out there. Immediately, I spot Dave, who had moved to Mississippi, on his longboard.

     There are a lot of people out this morning, and the surf is weak, barely breaking through the high tide.

     Paddling out, I say hi to Dave. Klaude looks at me, throws his hands in the air, the universal sign for: where have you been? But he says that Bri and I haven’t missed out on much.

     Conditions are good, but size and power is nonexistent. I need a longboard or a fish at least. Klaude leaves right away. I force a few ugly turns. Dave follows Klaude. Other people are clearing out of the water too, shaking their heads in disgust, for this is the summer. The South Bay isn’t getting the south swell. Sadly, it’s time to hit the road for south-facing breaks. 

A RETURN TO SANTA MONICA, FRI 23MAY2014

Loc: Santa Monica

Time: 0700-0800

Crew: Rick and Manny

Conditions: onshore, inconsistent, 1-3 FT

     When I had first started learning how to surf on a funboard, my training ground was at Bay Street in Santa Monica. At the time, it was the perfect wave. Not big and consistent like Porto, it was a spot where I could actually make it out. Somewhere along the journey of progression, Bay Street began to look small to me. Many dawn patrols there resulted in driving back to the El Porto lot, turning my quarters, that had the intention of serving Santa Monica, into traitors.

     So now Rick has us meeting his brother Manny at Santa Monica, in hopes that the surf here is picking up a little bit of the south-swell angle.

     I always have a little anxiety in surfing new or unfamiliar spots. Porto has its locals, and this place does too. Different cars, different faces. We receive some glares as we pull up in Rick’s van, but as soon as he steps out, one of the guys already there starts talking to him. Another guy, on foot on a dawn patrol, also stops to talk to Rick—old high school buddies. And then I realize just how much Rick truly is a Venice veteran. All over the South Bay, he knows everyone.

     We spot Manny in the crowded lineup. It’s not too crowded, but for the few peaks breaking it is. The light onshore wind puts a sheet of texture on the water. The peaks are long with mooshy shoulders slowly rolling to the shore in spilling whitewash. But some of the surfers shred the little shoulders. Rick leaves to Costa Rica tonight, so small or not, we’re paddling out.

     Once we do, the crowd leaves. Manny says that it was better earlier. The lowering tide isn’t helping. All my rides are closeouts. My Motorboat Too is no match for the mulchy surf. We’re done in an hour.

     Rick suggests some Mexican food for breakfast, so we all meet up at Gilbert’s El Indio on Pico Boulevard. It’s my first time here. I’d equate this place with the Mexican version of an American diner. There are pictures of customers pinned up on the wall. The booths are made of woodgrain. Best of all, the breakfast meals are seven bucks, and that’s with coffee or tea.

     “It’s cash only,” says Manny.

     I sweat, thinking about how I only have my credit card on me.

     “Don’t worry, Matt,” says Manny. “You’re not paying for anything. You just graduated.”

     “Yeah,” says Rick.

     And then they order a round of Bohemia beers . . . at 0830 in the morning. I can’t remember the last time I drank this early. 

WHEN THE WIND IS GOOD, THU 22MAY2014

Loc: Manhattan Beach

Time: 0745-1045

Conditions: light onshore, consistent, 2-3 FT

     I stand, sheepish, overwatching this morning’s surf. It’s that kind of morning, a morning when turning around and going straight home is feasible.

     Shan shows up. The peaks are small and drowned out by the tide. Plus it’s crowded. Everyone’s swarmed around the take-off points like ants congregated around dropped food. But the waves are rideable. Guys are out there getting good carves, milking the foamy waves all the way to shore, sticking their finishing maneuvers.

     I wonder what it would take to get my fair share of waves on a morning like this. I’d have to be a good local—smile and say good morning to all the veterans. But this is the South Bay, and when it comes to surfing, in general, there are so many egos involved that one must be “accepted” before being allowed to even say “good morning” to another surfer, especially if he’s a regular.

     We take our time changing and getting to the water. There’s no rush since the tide’s high. An hour into the session, the crowd starts to clear out. I get a few single-turn waves. The tide begins to drop, which makes the waves stand up more. And now most of the crowd is gone. I have my favorite local break all to myself. Even though the shape isn’t that great, the wind is still good, and how often do I get to surf this spot without a crowd anyway? Never. So when the conditions are good and the crowd is sparse, you have to make the call to extend the session, you have to STAY.