FRI 21NOV2014

Loc: Manhattan Beach

Time: 0700-0930

Conditions: 2-3 FT+, onshore, unorganized, consistent.

Board: 5’9 Motorboat Too

     I had to work yesterday, and I heard it was good, so I’m hoping to catch some waves today, especially since I’m leaving for Japan on Sunday.

     Street parking sucks on Fridays, so I pull into the lot before it’s packed. I notice a green van parked two cars over. It looks like Jimmy B’s. I walk over, and he’s here with Juan, Rick’s brother.

     “Wow. I’m actually gonna witness some WHC action today,” I say.

     They’re surprised to catch me here. We go through the morning greetings and paddle out in front of the brickhouse.

     If yesterday was clean and offshore, today sure isn’t. It’s onshore and consistent. There are scattered peaks everywhere, but they’re coming in a little jumbley and in disarray. But Don K. is out there, selling the surf. Double fisted as usual, his second board sits on the sand.

     Juan and Jimmy paddle out first. I follow suit, and they already catch a couple of waves before I can get one for myself.

     Juan shoots the shit with Don a little. It’s a trip how even though I surf here more consistently than Juan, he’s been surfing all over the South Bay for so many years that he’s still more of a local than I am.

     My first couple waves are pumpers to the inside, but I eventually catch a right and get a backhand snap right in front of Toru as he’s paddling out. Ahhh, feels good to get a little validation. It’s been a while.

     Gary and Juan leave, and after catching that one in front of Toru, I’m on a mission for more. Greedy, I paddle into another right even though I’m too deep. It races away from me. A chick on the outside could have gotten it. I’d like to think that as much as I share, I can get away with a little greed from time to time.

     The conditions seem to be getting better, but I have a lot to take care of before Japan, so I head home to get some stuff ready.

     For dinner, I take Bri out to the Yard House in Marina Del Rey. We sit at the bar right in front of the TV and watch the Lakers game. . . Too bad they fucking lose terribly to the Mavs. It’s a Massacre.

BAD STREAK, MON 17NOV2014

Loc: Brookhurst

Time: 0700-0830

Conditions: 1-3 FT, offshore, sunny, inconsistent.

Board: 5’9 Motorboat Too

     With an appointment set at the Hurley employee store in Costa Mesa, it only makes sense to surf down south. Since I have a state parking pass, I’m stubborn. As much as I like the HB Cliffs, I’d really like to use my two-hundred-plus dollar investment and surf with a minute crowd.

     HB Pier looks sectiony and walled when I pass it. Not that classic HB shape that I love yet barely witness nowadays.

     Pulling up to Brookhurst, the surf signs are bad. Only one truck is parked. A guy who’s done with his surf check is on his way back on the path. I take a gander myself. The high tide’s killing it. It’s hard to catch this place good on a high tide unless the surf is pumping.

     Yet, there are some occasional peaks that sprout up in front of tower 4 near River Jetties. With the tide going down, there is a chance for conditions to improve. Plus, no one’s out. I could score a good solo session.

     Aside from the store appointment, I’m also dropping off my Lost Mini Driver to AB Surfboard Repair in Long Beach, so I have my Motorboat Too today. Seems like a good choice since the surf is small.

     I get two waves right when I paddle out, but since they are swampy, it’s hard to get turns. With the surf inconsistent, I spend a lot of time waiting for those that stand up. Within the hour, a couple other guys paddle out.

     Every once in a while, peaks start to show. The lefts are better. I mistime one and purl. Then I notice, regardless of how small these waves are, the low rocker on this board is so easy to purl on. I really have to be conscious to be on the tail to keep the nose out.

     One left turns rampy on me. If I were an aerialist, this wave would be perfect. Instead, I get speed and get a turn on the open face. I rode that one wrong.

     After running the rest of my errands, I really reflect on how today’s session went. I’ve made some bad decisions in the past on using my boards in the wrong conditions. Turns out that the Motorboat Too isn’t an all-around board. Low rocker, ideal for Trestles and mooshy beach break. I don’t want to get rid of this board, but I need a good session in the right conditions to dial it in again. 

A SHITTY SALESMAN, SUN 16NOV2014

Loc: Manhattan Beach

Time: 0700-0930

Crew: Klaude

Conditions: 3-4 FT+, light onshore, sunny, high tide.

Board: 6’3 JS

     I’ve been trying to sell my brother’s Tokoro, Patterson, and my old JS shortboards on Craigslist, and guess what? NO ONE IS FUCKING INTERESTED IN THEM. Collin surfs at my local spot, and I had told him about these boards. Last night, he stopped by to have a look at them.

     “The 6’3 looks okay,” he said, “but . . . it’s kind of thin.” He feels the rails.

     “How much you weigh?”

     “153, 155,” he says.

     “That might be good for you.”

     He leaves but says that he’ll let me know if he’ll buy it later. I take a good look at the JS. With some size in this swell, it might be a good board for tomorrow. I’ve had shitty sessions the last couple times I’ve ridden it, but maybe it was just bad timing. I pick up the board myself, remembering the great sessions I’ve had on it. Balangan, Canggu, Uluwatu, Nusa Dua. I can still ride this thing. I wax it up.

     Bri and I had a long day. She’s starving, I’m starving. I ask her to just wait and let me strip the wax job off of my Motorboat Too and clean it up first. Figuring I’ve made her wait long enough, I leave a halfass strip job and go in for dinner.

     The following morning, I debate on taking the Motorboat Too and waxing it at the beach, but I’m lazy. A thorough wax job must be done thoroughly, and I don’t want to wake the neighbors. Armed with an old weapon, I pack the 6’3 JS.

     Parking on the hill, I already see that the tide is making the waves a little soft. There’s a size, but it’s just swampy. Perfect conditions for my Motorboat Too. I pray that I haven’t fucked myself, change, and walk down to shore.

     I avoid the main pack in front of the tower and paddle out in front of the brickhouse. It’s packed. Heads everywhere. There are waves. Consistent with size but mooshy. And . . . paddling into them is a BITCH. Fuckin’ JS. Man, that board just feels so thin. The extra three inches feel unnecessary. Why did I paddle out on this thing?

     Getting some lefts, I bog out on the inside. I fizzle out on my cutbacks and lose speed.

     Collin’s out. He’s on his 5’8 that he had just bought off consignment from a local shop.

     “Wanna try it out?” I say. “That way you know if you wanna buy it?”

     He agrees. We switch.

     “Damn,” he says. “Thing’s so long.”

     I catch a right and go backhand. His board is super loose and flimsy but feels better because it’s shorter. I crank out two loose snaps. Not my greatest turns but best yet for the morning.   

     Collin scratches out wave after wave. We switch back. He’s not buying it.

     “Here,” says Klaude. He unleashes his CI Neckbeard and pushes it towards me.

     “You sure?” I’ve already unvelcroed my leash.

     Short, thick, and buoyant, the Neckbeard works. I catch a mooshy ass right, pumping the whole way, waiting for the open face to turn on. I don’t get a good section, but I feel the board’s potential for how much distance I get. I catch one more wave but switch back with Klaude. It’s his board, a good one, and he shouldn’t be out here suffering on my equipment.

     “I don’t know how I did it on this board,” I say.

     My best wave is a left, and it’s not even on a turn. The JS is so light, that I glide up and into a foam climb with minimum effort. It’s the only time I feel that board give me an edge.

     At home later that day, Rick stops by to say hi. Says he scored with all the homies at Rosecrans. I tell him about the frustrating session I had.

     He looks at the JS and says, “Yeahhhh, that’s a good board . . . but you need to use it on a top-to-bottom day.”

     I take another look at the board. I have no idea what to do with it. 

CASSADY CALLED, SAT 15NOV2014

Loc: El Porto, 42^nd Street

Time: 1600-1730

Crew: Cassady

Conditions: 5 FT+, victory at sea.

     Cassady calls while I’m prepping my Lost Mini Driver for repairs. I’m bummed about this morning’s skunk and even more bummed about my board. I had just gotten it fixed, now this.

     “I’ve been here all day,” he says. “A couple guys are out. It was walled earlier, but it’s getting better with the higher tide.”

     I’m on the fence, telling him that I’m pretty much done for the day, but I also remind myself that he’s rarely in the South Bay to surf.

#

     Cassady’s sitting sideways along his closed tailgate, underneath the cover of his camper shell. Looks like he’s rowing a boat without a paddle. With shades on, he’s chillin’ like a true beach bum. Guy looks like he’s been there all day. As a matter of fact he has.

     He shows me his new Pyzel. It’s beefy. He’s rather hunky himself, with his stocky man chest. They match.

     Meanwhile, the surf looks fucking unruly. No doubt, there are waves. Shape? Nah. Not really. The inside is chaos. Roaring whitewash. The paddle out looks a little far, too. Yet, people are paddling out.

     “Some of the inside ones are fun,” says Cas.

     Doesn’t matter. We’re here. We’re going.

     We’re two deaf motherfuckers having a conversation, unable to hear each other talk about how well our earplugs work. Oh the irony.

     It’s a little work to get to the lineup, but we make it. First we sit outside, waiting for a wave that isn’t walled. Something with good shape. On my rockerless Motorboat Too, I turn and go on a right, purling upon take off. Woof . . . embarrassing. That was bad.

     Cassady take a right. Fuckin’ guy. It’s a good one. A bucket gets thrown out the back. The wave is marbled foam, but he’s going all the way to the inside.

     Some other guys, too. They’re doing well. There are a few gems here and there.

     Cas sits more inside, and now I see what he’s talking about. We get beaten up on the sets a little, but the inside ones are breaking better. I redeem myself on a small ass right, getting two sharp backhand snaps. Feels good. Been a while since I’ve gotten turns on this little board. But still, I need more volume. There’s so much water moving around on the bigger waves that my board feels unstable. Wrong equipment.

     Cas continues his campaign, getting long rides, ruling the evening, mastering my local break. 

I REMEMBER “SHIT”, SAT 15NOV2014

Loc: Bolsa Chica

Time: 0900-0930

Conditions: 2-4 FT, no shape.

     With me leaving to Japan in eight days, Bri and I plan to surf Orange County together. For one, she has a hair appointment in the afternoon, so I figure we could get our surf on, since it’s supposed to be good, then we can eat afterwards, and then we can go to her appointment while I take a boyfriend nap in the car.

     It’s a no fuss no muss kind of morning, so I don’t even trip on the text messages that I’m receiving. Dave T. sends a pic of Manhattan Beach of what looks like an overhead closeout barrel that’s barely makeable. And then there’s Manny’s text of another barrel at Zuma. Bottom line is, South Bay is firing. There’s swell.

     But this morning’s more about quality time, so we get up, eat breakfast, lethargically load up the wagon, and then head south on the 405.

     First we pull into Bolsa Chica. It’s overcast but offshore and glassy. Plenty of surf signs this morning, as the lots are littered with cars. Surfers are walking to and from the beach with boards in hand, and more people are lining up to enter the state beach.

     We park and take a look at our usual Bolsa Chica break. It’s consistent. There’s definitely activity in the water. Four-foot lines are rolling in all the way from the outside, but fuck . . . the sandbars are still pretty bad here. The quality isn’t there. The shape, the waves just aren’t peeling with open faces to crank some turns on. Maybe on a longboard, you can at least get some distance, but it’s not what we came here for.

     So we make the drive further south. The jetty at the end of Bolsa is packed. At Seapoint, we can see the HB Cliffs. The shape there is a little better but still not at its potential.

     We make it to Brookhurst, and the wind here is onshore. The shape is better, but it’s smaller and choppy. Fuckin’ A. After taking a couple days last week and getting skunked on Friday, this is a hard pill to swallow. Do we surf in choppy onshore shoulders or bigger offshore waves with shitty shape?

     Stubborn as hell, I drive us back to Bolsa. First I stop at the cliffs, but I remember that I didn’t pack water jugs this morning because I didn’t think we’d need them.

     The crowd at Bolsa Chica has thinned out. There’s barely a fraction of the amount of people that we had seen here about thirty minutes ago.

     Pulling out my Lost Mini Driver, I notice two rail dings that I never saw before. Fuck me. Bad luck with dings this year. Motorboat Too it is.

     And there’s nothing worse than sitting in the lineup knowing that the surf will not be improving. There is no window to wait for in hopes that it will get better. The waves don’t break until the inside. Popping up, the waves race away and closeout. It’s choppy. A few other mules are close by, waiting for the wave that never comes. It’s a thirty minute session. All that driving. The skunk. Once it gets a hold of you, there’s no escape.

     So of course, I was moody the rest of the day. Poor Briana. I love her. It wasn’t her fault. You don’t want to see me when I haven’t gotten a good session in a while. Despite me being a pouty bitch, the rest of the day was cool. Bri spotted for pho afterwards, and her hair stylist took her appointment early.

     Now that I’m writing this in Japan, I wish I would have appreciated her more that day. 

CAN’T REMEMBER SHIT, FRI 14NOV2014

Loc: Manhattan Beach

Time: 0700-0900

Conditions: 3-4 FT, walled, sectiony.

     Can’t remember shit from this session. . . All I remember is that I had surfed Veterans Day on the 11^th. Took a lay day on the 12^th because the surf looked onshore from the cams. On the 13^th, my pussy hurt because I had felt a cold coming on, and I wanted to save myself for Friday when the swell was going to pick up.

     The plan had been to surf HB with my buddy Cassady, but he, ironically, was going to surf the South Bay that morning because he got invited to a party. Because I had spent all day catching up with my blogs the day before, I didn’t feel like being a hermit on Friday. I wanted to surf with familiar faces and actually “socialize.” Plus, the drive didn’t feel too appealing either.

     Cas was supposed to meet me at Manhattan Beach. I texted him twice, but he didn’t reply. WHC Text thread showed those guys paddling out at Rosecrans where there was a little more size.

     From where I parked on the street, the surf looked walled with some occasional five-footers, so I opted for the SA-2 large quad-fin setup. Now this is where shit gets blurry.

     In researching my old Vox and texts messages, I was complaining about shape. The surf was sectiony and walled. I complained about using the wrong fin setup because the surf wasn’t big enough for the large fins, and my turning was straight crap.

     Anyway, on another note, it’s funny when you can’t remember those surf sessions from ten days back. I mean, even if the sesh wasn’t memorable, I did paddle out that morning, I’m sure I caught some waves, even though they may have been shitty ones, and still, I can’t remember even one.