MY ENDLESS SUMMER, PT.3 SUN 20JUL2014

Christina’s Farewell Paddle Out

Loc: Manhattan Beach

Crew: Klaude and Dave

Time: 0700-0945

Conditions: 1-3FT, clean, inconsistent, walled.

     I said fuck it on Friday and slept in. I was feeling surfed out. I checked the local surf on Saturday, and it was terrible. To think that I had complained about the shape at Trestles. Now that I’m back in the South Bay with my surfing fate dependent on weak windswell, I’d take non-classic Churches any day.

     But yesterday I couldn’t say no to surfing, especially when my friend Christina had kindly asked for a surf get together before she leaves to Australia.

#

     Looking down the hill from my street parking spot, I can see that the waves are weak. Little lines roll in with the vitality of a dying man’s veins. With Bri out of town, I had grabbed the 6’8 NSP just in case. Looks like it will see some action.

     I haven’t been punching in my “local card” lately, so it’s nice to see all the familiar faces again. Bruce, Oscar, Mitch, Roy, and Ross are out.

     Even though the surf is crap, there are occasional two-to-three-foot walls that stand up. These waves are easy to catch on the NSP. Immediately, upon popping up, they are already running away. I do fast bottom turns, pointing the nose down the line, and then I shuffle to the front of the board. I fail at my imitation noseriding attempts, purling. But there is one wave that lets me climb the face for a baby floater as a finishing maneuver. Either way, I’m having fun. The surf is small, but this NSP is making it worthwhile.

     It’s 0800, and no one is here yet. I scan the sand, but I tell myself not to think about it too much. Right now I’m in the water and catching waves. That’s all that matters.

     Roy and Ross are still managing on their short hybrid boards, and then I think about my Motorboat Too that I have stashed in my car.

     On the way up the hill to swap boards, Deathwish Dave runs into me. He’s just gotten back from Mississippi, fortunately to move back to SoCal permanently. I offer up the NSP and tell him that I’ll see him on the sand.

     Back in the water, Dave and Klaude paddle out together. Still no Christina. Even though the waves aren’t offering much for shape, we still have fun. We’re forced to pull into waves for closeout tubes. One wave even stays open long enough to swirl over me, offering a quick barrel perspective. I’m picking up my old habit of grabbing rail on my frontside, and it forces me to crouch down lower, making this little swirly-swirl possible for me.

     Dave even gets a welcome back wave, riding it straight onto shore.

     By 0930 it gets inconsistent, and we call for our last waves in.

     Walking back on the shore, I turn to Klaude and say, “Well, Christina’s paddle out sure was fun . . . Too bad Christina wasn’t here.”

     Kristen, Dave’s chick, is on the sand chilling. We post up by her, waiting for Dave, and that’s when I feel something touch my asshole. I turn around. It’s Christina, holding her blue Zippi Fish.

     “You guys gonna paddle back out?” she says.

     I’m quiet. I look at my watch.

     Klaude says, “We’ve been here for hour.”

     CC says that she lives in the valley now and Skyped with her boyfriend until 0840.

     We give her a hug and say that maybe we’ll catch her next weekend.

     Afterwards, Klaude, Dave, Kristen, and I go out for breakfast at Metro Café. The place is packed. Dave used to work here, and his sister still does. I’m familiar with the staff, while Klaude pretty much lives here. So in the midst of the crowded breakfast swarm, our table’s given a lot of attention. We still have our glasses on since it’s bright out, we share house special sautéed banana pancakes, and even drink mimosas. Whatever the surf session had lacked is now made up for during this small get together. And so what if Christina didn’t show up to her own paddle out? It made the rest of us commit to showing up, and if we hadn’t, we wouldn’t be here right now, buzzed off mimosas, eating breakfast. Plus Deathwish Dave picks up the bill. What a guy.

MY ENDLESS SUMMER, PT.2 THU 17JUL2014

Nothing like a bowl of ice cream with a brownie to end a surf trip right.

Loc: Churches

Crew: Eight-Inch Al, Khang

Time: 0630-0930

Conditions: 3-4FT+, clean, glassy, fair shape.

     I wake up at 0445 and begin to boil some water. I get my Styrofoam cups and hot chocolate set up, so I can wake up the boys properly. It’s still dark out, so it’s hard to tell what the water’s doing. 

     Around 0515 is when the first cars start rolling up and parking. Surfers change in the dark hours of the morning, just mere silhouettes. The second wave is the campers who have woken up early. Khang and Al are still sound asleep.

     AT 0545 I tap on Khang’s window and hand him a hot chocolate. I rustle Al awake from the tent and do the same.

     We can finally see the waves. The tide is going lower, and the shape is fast and racy. I see the look on Al’s face. He’s not enthused. We had went to Oside yesterday, but we gotta stay here today because if we don’t we’ll be leaving Khang behind.

     I lead the charge to Middles, but the top of the wave at Churches has a little bit of shape. “We can’t just leave this behind,” says Al. Khang nods his head. We paddle out.

     I try to sell Al on the spot by going for an inside right, but it sections off and walls up. Next wave, same thing. Now we’re all out here. Fucking Churches. It’s still not classic. I’ve barely seen it classic in my last three camp trips here. It’s so disappointing, especially with a south swell that has more west in it. It’s proved my theory wrong. West or too much south, sometimes the swells just don’t hit here right.

     Yet, the crowd factor hints at something different. So many people here and all just to catch shit. But the top of the wave, the main peak, does have a little shape. You just have to battle the dozen longboarders on it.

     We work our way to north churches, almost going into Middles, where there’s an occasional left. Two guys are sitting in the spot where it breaks. One guy gets two turns. I take the next left. Wall.

     I’m bummed for my homies. Khang never scores this place when it’s working well, and Al hasn’t been here for over a year. In disgust, I paddle to Middles. A few people sit here, but the shape is even worse. I paddle all the way back to Churches. What else can I do?

     At about 0830, the tide fills in a little bit more, and the shape improves a bit. I get two long rights that swing wide, all the way by where the left breaks. The waves are three footers but soft. I still get at least three turns on both of them, trying hard to get some spray out the back, but I lack speed.

     Al sees this and paddles over. At 0845, he goes in.

     Now it’s just Khang and I. The light onshore texture disappears, and the water gets so glassy that it’s hard to read the waves.

     Khang gets his wave of the day, taking one of the long rights that swings wide. Two guys drop in on him. He’s deep, but he makes the section and everyone else backs out for him. He’s just cruising, enjoying the ride, and then he ends it with a bucket toss out the back.

     I get a couple of lefts, nothing spectacular, but it’s enough to make the morning session worth it. Khang and I just had to wait for it to get better.

     Back at camp, Al has the tents and chairs broken down, and he’s already started loading up the wagon. Khang takes off, and the rest of the pack job only takes twenty minutes.

     By 1300 we’re back in El Segundo. Al loads up his car and says goodbye. Not sure when he’ll be back, but we definitely need to start making trips to hang out more.

     Now I’m finally at home with myself. I’ve had Francis come down and then Al. My summer surf tan is in full swing, just as dark as I had gotten in Java last year.

     I turn on the PS3 and veg out to some Call of Duty, rendering myself useless for the rest of the day.