FISH FOOD, FRI 10OCT2014

Loc: Manhattan Beach

Time: 0745-0930

Conditions: 1-3 FT, overcast, light onshore, warm, inconsistent.

     In an effort to get back into the swing of my priorities, I had decided to call lay days when the surf is tiny, so yesterday, I didn’t paddle out, and I’ll have to say . . . I did get some things done. After some writing, I had to pull “uncle duty” down in HB. No workout, no surf. I didn’t care about the gym part, but I definitely felt like something was missing. Not starting the day with a surf, whether small or only for an hour, doesn’t start you off with that same pep that you would normally have. There’s just something about getting a couple waves under your belt before the errands and obligations start that puts you in a better mood, that feeling of accomplishment.

     I missed it. Today, dead or alive, I had to paddle out first.

#

     My nephew didn’t go to sleep until a quarter past midnight. I don’t spend much time with him. Being a kid in a single-parent household, I can tell that my nephew needs more interaction. I had been a kid raised by a single mom, too, but at least I had sisters. I had plenty of friends. I was a hoodlum in a neighborhood of hoodlums. Watching Jaya fish out toys to show me, games to play, it seemed like he was trying to cram as much in for the limited time that we had. I felt sad watching this. I need to spend more time with him.

     I didn’t get home and go to sleep until 0200, so I woke up late at 0702. With light creeping through my curtains, I still got up, loaded the whip with the fish and the 6’8 NSP, and headed to my local spot.  

     No street parking on Fridays. I tried. Some construction guy beat me to a rare spot near Marine. Had I been on it . . . oh well.

     I park in the lot. A high school grom walks past, dripping wet.

     “Is it small out there?” I ask.

     He turns around, board in tow. “Yeah. Occasional chest high. But there’s some barrels, though.”

     “Thank you very much,” I say.

     It’s funny. These kids, I swear I can’t stand them when they’re all out there in full force, but it’s these same kids who will eventually be sharing the lineup with you more often once they graduate. The same kids who might share a wave with you, if they’re good, meaning etiquette too. Years ago, in my full-fledged kookdom, there was a day when I was paddling on the shoulder on Roy’s waves. Whenever I pulled out, I knocked the wave down. I didn’t know this. After the third time, Roy went off on me. He was pissed. I had resented him for a while about it, but now . . . yeah, I see why. I wasn’t even a local yet, and I was ruining his rides. Yet, I share with him and hoot him on now, and he’ll call me into waves, too. Funny how that works out. I shouldn’t be such a dick, I guess.

     I grab the NSP and the fish, double fisted, as I head to the tower. The water’s still glassy, but the still bodies in the water reeks of long lulls. South of the tower usually has lefts, so I shoot for that spot, solo, but not before taking a shit.

#

     Yup. I had to go. It was that pizza that I had with Jaya. Standing in the shallow water, I paced as I dropped about five pounds in my shorts. I had hoped it would be runny, but it was thick like chili, even clung to my hamstring and held on stubbornly before it dropped in the ankle deep water. My first duckdive was like a natural toilet, flushing out the smeared shit around my ass, anus, and inner thighs. I did a finger check in the lineup. Clean as a whistle, baby.

#

     And surprisingly, a lot of waves are breaking in my spot. Good enough for the fish. They are a little walled but slow, good for pumps and distance. My wave of the morning is a floater that I stick on an end section. No power carves or nose riding but still fun.

     Ross paddles over, saying that he’s seen me getting waves over here. We trade off. Two guys show up and paddle out right where I’m sitting. I don’t recognize them, so I maneuver around them to keep claims on my left. When a chick, a longboarder, a Costco girl, and another longboarder invade my spot, I’m done.

     I switch to the NSP. Expecting that I’ll get even more waves, I actually don’t. I scratch out. Even though the NSP is longer than the fish, I feel the lack of volume—thinner nose, thinner board, not as thick.

     I swap back, ending the session with a couple more rides on the fish.

     The sun never comes out. Even though it’s overcast, the water was warm enough to trunk it. I rinse off good just in case there’s still shit in my shorts. I do a secondary hot-water rinse at the car. I laugh at how good my shorts smell, and I mean good as in they don’t smell like shit. Nature’s toilet. I hope the little fishies enjoyed my leftover pizza. Extra cheese and garlic. 

I STOOD . . ., WED 08OCT2014

Loc: Manhattan Beach

Time: 0715-0900

Conditions: 1-3 FT, sunny, glassy, warm, swampy, crowded.

     I stood on the sand, disheartened, at how crowded the lineup was. And yet, I shouldn’t have been surprised, for the high school groms take this spot over every morning. I had already learned the lesson of what happens when you paddle out in their midst. You won’t catch anything. They're greedy. You will become frustrated, on the verge of hurting a kid and becoming a bad guy, so now I know better.

     I wanted to paddle out away from the pack, but their surf orgy ended way north and south of the tower into a no man’s land of lully flat surf.

     Bri was out there, in the middle of all of them, doing battle, but that’s not me. I can’t surf like that. Instead, I walked north where the grom-line ended and a couple old farts like myself were sitting. Even Don K. paddled out a little further to my north.

     In boardshorts and a wetsuit jacket, I was warm. Feeling loose in my gear and armed with a thick Zippifish, I felt like I had the advantage over the potato-chip riders around me. The sets stood up three feet and walled, but some of them had corners. They doubled up as I paddled into them, and as the sections ran away, I managed to pump for distance, often practicing floaters to end the rides.

     I saw Klaude on the shore warming up, his orange Zippi by his side. He paddled out and hugged Bri. I wanted to join them but it was still too crowded there.

     Once Bri left, the kids left shortly after, so I paddled south to join Klaude. We manhugged in the water, which caused us to miss a perfect A-frame. Oh well.

     But after the kids left, the lineup was so empty. I expected the second shift of surfers to come out, but they never did. It was an even thinner lineup than yesterday.

     The surf got significantly softer around eight o’clock, but we had it to ourselves. I got some fun lefts, walking the nose and back to the tail, pumping down the line again all the way to shore. Even Klaude got a long left all the way in front of the brick house.

     It’s been fun, reverting back to riding bigger boards. I wouldn’t even mind riding something with a fatter and wider nose to practice hanging ten or five on. At this point in my surfing, I’m learning to appreciate whatever conditions are out there, and, instead of complaining, just busting our the right equipment for what the surf is doing. I’ve been catching more waves on the fish than I have on my shortboards. That may be the priority—wave count.

     I got a rare right that opened up for one backhand hack, but afterwards the tide mooshed out the surf.

     Klaude said he’d catch the next one in, and I told him that I’d join him. Looking at my watch, it was 0850. Most of my sessions had been going into the ten o’clock hour, so I thought it would be a good idea to get out early.

     Back at my car, two ladies kept driving by me, waiting for me to finish changing. Another local guy pulled up and waited in the red zone. I gave him a nod and rushed a little bit to make sure he got it before they came back. 

THE LOCAL, TUE 07OCT2014

Walls and a lineup packed with high school groms. What more can yo ask for?

Loc: Manhattan Beach

Time: 0715-0945

Conditions: 2-3 FT+, sunny, glassy, warm.

     I snooze too long. Stepping out of my apartment, the sky’s already bright, no hint of dawn. I’m a disgrace. That’s how my mind works. I should already be out there.

     Of course there’s no free parking, so I hit the lot. Bruce and some other guy are shooting the shit, Bruce reading the paper in his pickup and the other guy with a towel around his waist at the rear hatch of his Scion. The waves look walled but racy. Not ideal. The tide’s up, too. Wetsuit and Zippifish, I go.

     Paddling out, I realize that it’s way too warm for a wetsuit. Idiot. The high school groms start trickling out, so I follow suit, head back to the whip, and change into boardshorts.

     Back in the water, there’s a window where the crowd has thinned out without the kids. The second shift isn’t here yet, and it’s just the locals: Orlando, Davey, Ross, Roy, Kurt, Toru, and a bunch of other regulars. I know my place in the hierarchy, so I try not to open my mouth too much, and I damn sure don’t get greedy on waves.

     Roy tells me about a local spot that’s been working on the low tide. I’m grateful that he’s willing to share this with me. He paddles into a left, but it bogs out on the inside. He must’ve done something wrong on it because he gives a long frustrating moan and says, “Awwwwwww!” When he paddles back out, he motions for the next wave coming in. He sees that I’m going, too. Even though he has priority, he says, “Go, Matt!”

     I’m surprised at how many waves I’m getting on a day that didn’t look like much. You just have to be in the right spot. Plenty of walls, but if you get one with a little shoulder at the end, it’ll double up and be rippable.

     Orlando tells me how his parents are in town, so he has a week off. “We went to San Francisco and Santa Cruz. I went to that place with the big wave, mul-brook.”

     “Where?”

     “Mul-a-brook.” He looks down at his board, squints his eyebrows, and goes through calculations in his head.

     I say, “You mean Mavericks?”

     Toru introduces me to a kneeboarder named Jeff. Jeff’s in prime position for a left. I paddle for it, but I look over at him and say, “Go!” He does, but he gets churned up on the inside.

     Jeff has priority on the next wave, but he tells me to go for it, and all morning long, I’m getting pretty solid rides. Three footers all the way to shore. Plenty of pumping on the open face but so much distance. I sit south of the tower and end up way on the north side of it, almost in front of the brick house. The inside section stands up and goes hollow, but it’s so shallow. I have awkward kickouts, but I don’t want to ride my nose into the sand. That’s how I broke my fish that’s still in the shop.

     A get burned by a longboarder, an old school guy who has some good noseriding skill. When he paddles back, we both shoot for the same wave.

     “Go!” he says.

     “Thank you,” I say, before popping up and catching another long one.

     Shan makes it out. I tell him I’ll be back, as I run up the sand to move my car. Toru’s in the lot, changing and talking to Miles. When I walk past, he shoots out his arm out towards me for a fist bump.

     With the tide going down, the surf is going rounder. The long peaks are closing out more. Bottom turning, I feel the twin fins trying to slide out from under me. I’m unstable.

     Back on the inside, I debate on swapping boards and paddling back out, but it’s already a quarter to ten.

     I rinse off at the showers. A local guy runs down from the strand. I shoot him a nod. He’s wearing trunks and has a rashguard in hand.

     “Water still warm?” he says.

     “Yeah, I was fine. I trunked it just like this.”

     He nods back, faces the ocean, and makes a trot towards the water, where his friends are. 

CHANGE, MON 06OCT2014

A shot I took Sunday evening at El Porto on the way home from work. 

Loc: El Porto (42^nd Street)

Time: 1715-1845

Conditions: 1-3 FT, light onshore, crowded, inconsistent.

     After spending the whole weekend at work, even sleeping on base, I had looked forward to getting in the water again, but I stayed up way to late last night. I’m usually guilty of this whenever I get back home.

     So I hit snooze and figure that I owe it to myself to call it a bum day. After eating breakfast and catching up with John John’s win in Hossegor, I have the option of getting on the PS3 or handling some errands. Bri’s been bugging me about getting a mirror for the apartment, reasonably so.

     I go to Bed, Bath & Beyond, and buy that same mirror that I had passed up on buying when we came here months ago when the blinds broke. Whipping out my coupon, it comes out to seventeen bucks. Once I get home and set it up, I take a good long look at myself in it.

     She’s surprised to see it when she comes home. “You DO listen to me,” she says. Yeah, but I know the other things that she deserves that I haven’t done for her yet.

     The studio’s hot. We live in El Segundo, but I get shit for cross breeze because of the apartment building that looms over mine. Bri’s injured from catching the swell at Churches on Sunday, so she turns on some Netflix.

     I’m all caught up with my blogs and work. Other than revising a short story, which I plan to do tomorrow, I really don’t have shit to do. Usually this is a good thing, but this bothers me for the first time. I haven’t surfed yet today. That might be something that’s throwing me off. I check my Surfline App and watch the cams. Still gotta wait for the tide to come up a little. I surf the net and look at apartments for rent and writing gigs.

     I doze in and out of a nap until 1630 when I load the wagon. I’m happy to finally be back on the road to catch some waves.

     I score free parking on 45^th at the bottom of the hill. Some homeless lady in faded teal sweats and a pink sweater, equally faded, is staring at me. I think she thinks I’m watching her, but I’m watching the waves. She violently slaps her hands together and snatches her gaze away from me. As I wait for 1700 to roll around, Teal Lady talks to her imaginary homies, more like screams. When a car passes her, she faces it and bows and waves.

     Heading into the Porto lot, I figure I’ll say hi to her, but she beats me to the punch by saying, “That’s a beautiful board! I love the colors, the blue!”

     I thank her. She guesses at how long it is. She’s close.

     “Have fun!” she says.

     I’m hoping for anything with shape, just to be able to say that I’ve caught something today. There’s a peak in front of the sandwich shack. The peaks are long with shoulders all the way at the end of them. Only six guys are out. I should catch something.

     In my short-sleeve full, I feel how warm the water still is, and I’m freaking roasting. A guy on a shortboard’s ruling the peak, but after he goes, I get the one behind his. It stands up fast, so I nearly purl. I direct my nose down the line. The wave is racy, but it opens up. I get a speed check off the lip, walk the deck a little, and then shuffle back to the tail again before it closes out.

     “That was the sickest wave I’ve seen today,” says a guy on a foamie. I tell him that I’m cheating because I’ve got a big board. He says his is big, too, hops off, and shows it to me. It’s like a chopped tail Costco Foamie.

     I surf it until the sun goes down. The best I can do is pump down the line a little. My best wave was that first one.

     Going back up the hill, Teal Lady is gone.

     Bri and I go to Chili’s for dinner. I catch the Laker game. Preseason, but I’ve waited for NBA for so long. I’m stoked to see Byron Scott and the interaction between him and his players. Rookies Julius Randle and Jordan Clarkson look promising. It’s a good change.

     Dinner’s good. We grab ice cream and donuts afterwards. Back at home, I sit in front of the TV, debating what to watch again. On the news, looks like a lot of cars are crashing into businesses. In the valley, one driver drove into a donut shop, injured about a half dozen people and killed a homeless man who was well known in the area.

     Bri passes out. I’m full. I could stay up a little longer, play some PS3, and go to bed late again, but I don’t. I still feel restless. Unfulfilled. When my mom passed away, it started a chain reaction of events, but now those things have passed, and this the first week that I don’t have any commitments. It’s time to get my life back on track.