MY ENDLESS SUMMER, PT.10 TUE 05AUG2014

Gary’s Birthday Go Out

Loc: Rosecrans

Crew: Bri, Gary, Juan, Manny, Dave T.

Time: 0600-0800

Conditions: 2-3FT+, consistent, onshore, scattered peaks.

     Bri and I had originally planned to drive to HB this week for surf, but since there’s a light lull in the surf, which is supposed to pick up again tomorrow, I debated on whether we should stay local or not. Upon getting the WHC chain text that Tuesday the fifth will be Gary’s birthday and that they’d be paddling out local, the decision on where to surf was made.

Local Pass:

     Being from the South Bay with El Porto around the corner, it’s good to show your face, here and there, during the summer to ensure you don’t get your Porto Pass revoked.

     I wake up at 0515 to find that there isn’t one text from the WHC yet, but right after brushing my teeth, the phone starts to go off. With gnarly bed head, eating a bowl of frosted mini-wheats, my phone starts to go off in rapid fire. Gary’s already parked and checking the surf. “A little onshore,” he says. Then the rest of the boys chime in. They’re on the way.

     Bri and I are a little behind schedule but not by much. It’s 0545, and it’s already light out. Late by WHC standards. 

     Reaching the sand, the guys are the only ones out in front of the lifeguard station. The conditions are choppy and onshore. Looks small but then some peaks start standing up scattered all over the beach. Classic windswell conditions. Slightly disorganized but rippable.

     We paddle out. I say happy birthday to Gary but ask him for reassurance that it’s actually his birthday. I just had to make sure because it kind of snuck up under my radar.

     I had packed CC’s Zippi, Big Blue, because I thought the conditions would be crappy, but the bigger waves are breaking three feet plus; I could’ve been ripping on the Motorboat Too or Mini Driver.

     Sharing, I let some good peaks go to some of the guys. Surprisingly, the waves pop up out of nowhere, sprouting into wedgy peaks with fast and racy down-the-line shoulders. Despite the onshore wind and chop, the waves hold shape before closing out on the inside.

     The activity in the water is so busy. Everyone’s catching waves. Manny ejects out of a wave with an air. It’s a frenzy of a session with no other surfers invading the spot but us. From the shore, I can only imagine how much we’re selling the subpar conditions.

     I’m in position for one of those wedgy lefts—I picked out as many lefts as possible this session, only going right once. The Zippi has so much volume that it affords me more time even on late pop ups. Once I’m up, I walk to the nose of the board and hold a high line. Towards the inside, I walk it back towards the tail and straighten out to avoid the closeout. The wave is still merely a foot high, but the Zippi’s thick rails keep pushing me through the inside. Wouldn’t be possible on my other boards. Manny even gives me a thumbs up. I guess he can appreciate an attempt at a stylish lean on the nose.

     Another surprise is the consistency. The inside is so consistent that it’s a workout getting back out. On top of that, the waves outside are consistently breaking, so you have to make sure that you don’t get run over.

     Into 0700, the crowd starts to show up. The peak is still ours, but as the minutes pass more people show up. Why is everyone so late? All around Rosecrans, too, not spread out much. Longboarders, a black dude with dreads and a wetsuit hood. A guy in trunks thinks he’s Joel Tudor and loses his leashless longboard, nearly crashing into two guys standing on the inside. I watch as a wave causes his board to flop high into the air, almost hitting someone.

     My wave of the day is another left, but the face on this one is a little more rippable. Instead of walking to the nose, I pump and get a little check turn off of the lip, making the section. I try to get one more turn before the wave closes out, and then I see Manny heading straight towards me on a right. I lose balance on my turn, back flopping, taking a pounding on my kidneys. It reminds me of Gary earlier. He had wiped out on the inside and resurfaced, standing in the shallows clutching at his lower back.

     I didn’t get to see Gary’s 360 attempts that the boys kept hollering about, but he was going for it. On one of his last waves, he was attempting an end section maneuver, and the lip of the wave just crashed into his head as he was trying to complete it. It looked vicious.

     Gary leaves first followed by Dave T.

     “I haven’t caught shit,” says Manny. He looks frustrated, which is funny because I thought I saw him on a lot of waves.

     Manny leaves, so now it’s just Bri and I.

     The tide rises, making the surf more inconsistent and soft. The scattered fast peaks that were here earlier have left with the WHC. The WHC . . . they’re an elite bunch—first ones out, first ones done.

     With waves much softer now, I’m glad that I had taken out the fish. Bri and I let the current take us north towards 40^th Street Tower. In the short distance, Rosecrans is a zoo of surfers. It doesn’t matter. We got our fill. We’re back up the hill by 0815.

     If I’ve learned anything this summer, I’ve learned that despite the expectation of lackluster conditions for the South Bay in the summer, sometimes there are decent winds swells here that Surfline and Magicseaweed can’t always predict. But you have to know when to gamble. It’s easy to get skunked. All I know is that whenever the WHC paddles out together, there are usually waves. That’s the right time to gamble. And the waves today gave Gary a hell of a birthday session, despite how it was supposed to be the shittiest day of surf. 

MY ENDLESS SUMMER, PT.9 MON 04AUG2014

New Swells

Loc: Bolsa Chica

Crew: Bri

Time: 0730-1000

Conditions: 3-4FT, consistent, light crowd, light onshore.

Pre Blog:

     Even though KK, Bri, and I scored at Trestles on Saturday, my plan to surf this week is to stay closer to home, meaning dawn patrolling anywhere from Bolsa to Newport. As much as I love Trestles, some of the last swells haven’t had “classic” shape, so I figure it would be better to hit some HB sandbars. With new south swells on Monday and then Wednesday throughout the end of the week, I hope that staying closer to home pays off. After all, it doesn’t hurt to change it up.

Bolsa:

     Instead of taking the Huntington Beach exits, I prefer to exit the 405 S at Studebaker and take PCH to Huntington. My fellow surf blogger Pabs (R.I.P.) had recommended this route, saying that he enjoyed taking the scenic route to the surf.

     This way, I can stop at Bolsa first to see what the surf is doing. If it’s at least three feet with decent shape, I usually stay there. If not, then it’s southward I go, checking out The Cliffs, Goldenwest, the pier, and so on.

     When Bri and I reach Bolsa for a look, we see some small scattered peaks. Then the set comes in, four-foot sectiony peaks everywhere with some shoulders mixed in. Not all of the waves have shape, but there is definitely activity, definitely worth calling the search to an end and suiting up.

     The last few days have been overcast, but the sky eastward over PCH doesn’t have a cloud in it, and the sun’s rays uncomfortably heat my face as if it’s seeking revenge. I cake on extra Vertra.

     Bri’s transitioning down to one of my old big shortboards, a 6’10 Becker.

     Since I had so much fun on her 6’8 NSP, I bring it on the sand while starting my session with my Motorboat Too.

     When Bri paddles out on the Becker, I can tell that she’s not gliding over the water as fast as she usually does on the NSP. She makes it over a couple of waves, but the current carries her a little north. I walk down the beach a little before paddling out, which leaves me in perfect position in front of the lifeguard tower.

     With this odd high low-tide thing going on, it’s not varying much between two and three feet this morning, and I wonder how it will affect the waves.

     But right away, even without the big sets, consistent three footers roll through. Being picky, I chase down the lefts on every peak that’s in reach. Some of the waves are sectiony, but I snag a couple that have decent shape, either practicing some floaters or getting a couple of turns. On one I connect two turns, but they are snappy and not solid rail-to-rail carves. The waves are fun, but the faces aren’t really open and slow enough to pull those off. Instead, it’s mainly a morning of pumping to the end section for a final maneuver.

     I watch Bri, and she actually makes the transition to the Becker pretty well, catching a good handful of waves. When I ask her how it feels, she says that it’s looser and faster, but that there’s still enough volume for her to do whatever she wants on it. “Two of the hardest things,” she says, “is duckdiving and popping up, since this board is smaller.”

     I try to explain how to duckdive to her. She practices in between sets, struggling to submerge that weight under her. Maybe her body isn’t built for the upper body strength required to duckdive a big 6’10. She’ll figure it out eventually. . .

     I’m late popping up on one of the smaller waves, so I grab rail and force my nose down the line. Just then, a little bit of water throws out over my head. It’s a tube, but I hadn’t expected it, and my late popup has me eating shit. It was still nice seeing the potential of these waves. Bolsa is known for being smaller and weaker, but I like this spot because it’s mellower. I chat a little with the people around me and say good morning when I can, an old lady body boarding, an old guy longboarding, his wife. It reminds me of HB’s version of 26^th Street Manhattan Beach.

     With the lowering tide, the waves begin to stand up a little more, and then I start purling. Three waves in a row, my timing is off. I try my best to compensate for my late take offs, but upon popping up I feel like I’m sinking my board too hard and eating it on the drop. I’m thrown off so much that I sit at the bottom of the peak and let everyone sit up top while I sort things out. Am I too heavy? I have gained some weight, back to about 173. I need my Lost Mini Driver.

     Bri’s catching waves well, but she keeps getting worked on the inside. She keeps saying she can’t duckdive the board.

     The onshore wind picks up a little, which makes the peaks break a little faster. I switch to the 6’8 NSP and try to do a repeat of Saturday’s hot dogging session, but the waves I catch are closeouts. Since Bri looks defeated, I offer to swap boards with her.

     I haven’t used my Becker board in a while. It works well at Trestles, but I’m not sure how it will handle this peaky beach break. Right after switching, a peak forms on the outside. I’m in perfect position for this four-foot left. The volume creates so much stability that it slows down time on my pop up. Its full rail sends me down the line, making the first section and getting a little floater on the second. This board feels good.

     Bri gets out of the water. While I’m solo, I get another good left, and some fat asshole on a longboard drops in on me. I yell, “Ho!” and swerve towards the beach. He doesn’t even look back and just keeps going. What a dick. I try to give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he had been waiting for a while.

     When I’m back on the sand, I see him snake another guy who’s on a fish. Fish guy bottom turns underneath Fatty, pushes Fatty’s rail out of the way, and surfs past him. Fatty kicks up his longboard, and Fish Guy has to hold his hand out over his head to keep from getting hit. What a fucker. Fatty and Fish Guy exchange some words.

     What a delicate balance it is. Admit it, you’d like to punch someone who snakes you in the nose, but then again, we have to share the ocean. Snaking’s gonna happen. If you’re aggro, it’ll catch up to you one way or another. I don’t want to be known for being “that guy” in the lineup, but I did kind of want to see Fatty get his ass kicked.

     Back at the wagon, Bri tells me that she had a frustrating session, getting worked on the Becker and then having poor positioning with the NSP. I explain that she’s been spoiled surfing Trestles lately, and that it’s a big change to start surfing beach break again, plus she’s on a new board.

     After changing, we head back out to the tower to “drink some tea.” The effects start coming on. The overcast is completely burned off. The sun is hot on our backs and on the sand under our feet. The morning crowd is gone, leaving only four people out. Yet, sets keep coming in. The wind has even settled down, too. It’s that ten o’clock hour when traffic and social life just seems lighter, when you feel you should be with the masses elsewhere, but instead you’re here, on a beach while everyone else is at work.

     “You wanna paddle back out?” says Bri, on our way back to the car.

     I turn around and look back. The inside is a bluish green from the sand churning up. Very light triangles of texture form on the ocean’s surface as an incoming wave bends the water. The water looks cool. I could trunk it.

     “Do you?” I say. We continue walking. I look down at the sand, listening to the sound of our shoveling footsteps.

     “No, we’ll be back here tomorrow.”

     Starting the engine, I know Bri is right, but I still have a hard time leaving this place. 

MY ENDLESS SUMMER, (double sesh) PT.8 SAT 02AUG2014

Are you curious as to why Klaude's so hungry? Read and find out!

Next One

Loc: Churches to Middle Trestles

Time: 0730-1030

Conditions: 2-3FT, overcast, empty.

Pre Blog:

     Klaude had told me that he really wanted to surf Trestles. I pleaded with him on how the shape there hasn’t been “classic,” and that there isn’t much swell on tap for the weekend anyway. Bad call was what I was thinking. And then he said, “I’m going there no matter what, even if I gotta make the hike from Cristianitos.” And then I got to thinking, When’s the last time I surfed down south with Klaude? He’s missed a lot of camping trips because of work, traveling, and eye surgery. Going south would be a gamble, but maybe Klaude’s stoke and luck might bring forth some decent waves. And it’s not like we’d be camping. We’d only be going for the day.

With the Flow:

     It’s 0530, and my wagon is packed with me and Bri’s surf gear. I had told Klaude that I wanted to be on the road, wheels rolling, at exactly 0530. I text him. No response. I call him, and his voice is so creaky from the other side of the phone that I know that I had just woke his ass up. “I’ll see you when you get here,” I say.  

     I’m anal, and anal people don’t like being behind schedule. My normal impulse would have me pretty upset to start the morning, but I remember that the surf isn’t supposed to be that good today. What are we rushing for?

     Bri and I watch a surf flick until he arrives.

     Exiting Basilone Road, we see that Middles looks like a lake. There is a small crowd at Lowers, all sitting stagnant, waiting for waves. Churches looks dismal, too. It’s overcast, the tide is low, only a few heads are out, and the waves are barely two feet.

     “Small kine,” says Klaude.

     I’m not too disappointed. My expectations were low heading here. If anything, the purpose of the day is to hang with Klaude, finally get him down south, dead or alive. While watching the water, a right sprouts up and peels at the main point. A couple more follow. They are barely three feet, but the shape is there. It looks fun. Plus, Christina had loaned me her Zippifish yesterday before moving to Australia. I got the right equipment.

     Unfortunately, the screw to Klaude’s board’s center fin is stripped. He can’t get it out, can’t put in a fin, and he also doesn’t have his quad setup with him, which means that we’ll have to share the fish if any of us want some decent rides.

     At first we paddle out at North Churches. I get waves right away on the blue Zippi, Big Blue. I don’t know how thick it is, but it’s a 6’0” and extremely buoyant. Of course, Bri’s fine on her NSP, but Klaude’s not looking so hot on my Motorboat Too that he’s borrowing. It’s just not big enough for the surf, but we end up swapping boards.

     From here, I can only go straight on my board, but I’m stoked to see Bri and Klaude get so many waves. The surf isn’t that great. The waves aren’t all lining up, as there are some closeouts, but we have this place practically to ourselves.

     Halfway through the session, I suggest we paddle to Middles.

     “Looks like the same shit over there,” says Klaude. He’s not going. And then Bri heads over to him, says she’s gonna paddle to Middles, and then they both begin paddling.

     The paddle to Battle Positions, or the “Battle Paddle,” isn’t too bad. As we get closer, we see that some of the rights there are actually holding up. And if Churches had a minimum crowd, then this spot is damn near barren.

     We get mostly rights with occasional lefts for the rest of the session. The sun finally burns through the overcast, but half of the horizon leading out to sea is still covered with dark clouds. It’s summer time behind us and winter out in front. The wind dies, turning the reflection off of the ocean into a dull grey. We can barely see the waves until they are close.

     I can’t recall a memorable ride for this first session. All I can say is that we all got waves and surfed until exhaustion. Even with Klaude and me sharing a fish between us, we still got our fair share.

     “Last one,” I say to Klaude.

     “You mean ‘next one.’ There’s never a last one. Always a next one.”

     He catches his next one in on the fish, but then he comes back out, unstraps the leash, and slings the Zippi my way to make sure that I end it with a good ride, too.

#

Loc: Churches

Time: 1500-1830

Conditions: 2-3FT, overcast, empty.

Brunch:

     Denny’s. I order two different breakfast entrees off of the four-dollar value meal. Too easy. Too cheap. Too delicious. This is surf-budget dining at its finest. Klaude orders sandwiches with fries, oatmeal, and . . . a fricken milk shake. Why are we so hungry?

     The place is packed. We make friends with the older couple sitting next to us. The guy keeps spewing off about fascism. Not sure what the whole deal is.

     “Here, take a slice of my sandwich,” says Klaude. “And some fries.”

     I’m so happy. How’d he know that I was still hungry?

Magic Hour:

     We’re parked in front of Churches, waiting for the tide to top out before we go back for seconds. Luckily, I still have a deck of cards in the car from the last camp trip.

     N.W.A. plays on my stereo. Bri shuffles the cards. Pusoy Dos it is. Klaude whips us the first two guys, holding onto his most lethal five-car arrangements until the very end, when Bri and I are forced to pass on every hand. It’s not until the third and last game that I catch onto his evil ways, thus defeating him in the process. It’s time.

     Klaude decides to ride his Neckbeard with a quad setup but doing so with my normal-size Futures fins as the trailers. He’s even willing to ride it as a twin, but I suggest that he doesn’t.

     With more volume, we hope that his board does well in the sub-three-foot surf.

     It’s back to North Churches again, and this time there’s a little pack there, but I know how this crowd usually does it. Churches is famous for its long rights. Lately, more people have been sitting a little west, past the main peak, to get the rights that sometimes line up and peel down the whole break. What I like to do is sit much wider, even more west, to pick off the lefts, and sometimes a right will even come through.

     So we paddle out and sit. Bri takes off on a wave, thus starting her campaign of nonstop surfing. Literally, from here on out she only ceases her paddling when she’s on a wave.

     The wind’s a little more onshore. The clouds are darker and thicker, shutting out the sun for the remainder of the day. Rain drops ripple the water’s surface, not hard but visible enough.

     Klaude catches waves on his Neckbeard, but the waves are still a little too small for his board. It’s hard to get any turns and do anything else but go down the line. I trick him into making him think that I want to sample his board, when I really just want to make sure that he gets to ride the Zippi.

     The second session starts off a little more inconsistent than the morning, and even though Bri’s on a rampage, she paddles all the way out to Middles solo to see if it’s better.

     Now Klaude and I are on our own. I see him get one of his best waves of the day, a frontside right on the Zippi. He flies down the line, drawing a wide scraping arch on the face of the wave, throwing some mist out the back. As the tide lowers, the surf picks up in size a little bit more. I actually catch a left on the Neckbeard, getting two good pumps before bogging out on the turn. After a few more waves, I realize that this fin setup isn’t working too well for the board. I can’t explain it, but the turns just feel too loose and not tight enough for agile power.

     When Bri paddles back, she’s exhausted and elects to head back to the car to change, so I trade boards with her.

     Now I’m on the NSP and Klaude’s on the fish. We both have the right equipment. Out west over the horizon, the sky below the overcast is pink, as if the sky were wearing a baby T-shirt, exposing its pink belly. Also, the surf turns more consistent with the tide going even lower. The weather scares off any possibility of an evening surf invasion.

     Klaude looks at me and says, “It’s that magic hour.” From here, I get the best surf that I’ve gotten in a while. Back to back waves on the NSP. It’s only a 6’8 funboard, but you can ride it like a longboard. I walk the nose and throw in a little gangster lean. I can’t cross step for shit, and I probably look ugly how I use the length of the board, but it feels right. I’m having so much fun. I can’t quite hang 5, but I get so close several times, just inches away. Immediately off popping up, I just walk to the nose and hold a high line, each wave just as fun as the one before.

     We switch boards again, and the NSP looks like an awful lot for Klaude to lug around. It’s not that he can’t surf that board, but it’s probably been a while since he’s ridden something that big.

     It’s already 1800 by the time we switch boards again. Klaude’s eyes are bloodshot red. “Either I’m getting lazy or I’m getting tired,” he says. He has this glazed look over his face with his mouth hanging open. Both sessions we’ve surfed, never overheating or too cold, just perfect overcast conditions to make a surf marathon out of it.

     “I’m exhausted,” says Klaude. “Next one?”

     But it’s too early for next-one time. There are still waves. They are even getting better. No one’s out. “Next one” turns into three more waves. When we’re finally out of the water, I feel the tightness in my neck and shoulders for the first time. As much as we’d all love to surf until sun down, it’s time for us to go.

Post Surf:

     It’s a silent drive to HB, vibing out to some Pandora on the way. We get some 50% chicken pho for dinner. For Bri and me, I only pay $7.54 with a two-buck tip. God, I love Vietnamese food.

     From there, it’s Dough Boy’s Donuts in El Segundo for an ice cream dessert and a donut. Only $5.54 for all three of us.

     We can only talk about how perfect the whole day was. Klaude showing up late still worked out fine. The surf forecast was accurate, but it was probably more on the “fair” side than “poor.” The lack of crowd due to the funky weather ensured we got the best waves. And the overcast? I don’t think I’ve ever had an all day overcast surf trip that went so well. It was actually nice not having the burning sun on my face all day. No neck tan! The boards. Without the right boards, we wouldn’t have had such good sessions. Gotta thank Christina for that.

     It was only a poor-to-fair day, but from the way that we feel and the amount of waves that we had all caught, it might as well have been an epic one. Oh, and Klaude was right after all. If it wasn’t for his “do or die” attitude to go to Trestles, Bri and I never would have even gone. We would have had no idea. Instead, we would have pictured small, shitty, onshore surf in our minds. Clueless. No idea at all.