“How’s John?”, WED 14JAN2015

I've taken pics from this very spot so many times, but it never gets old. I love the South Bay. I hope to live in El Segundo for a long, long time.

 

Loc: El Porto, 45^th Street
Time: 0730-0845
Conditions: 2-3 FT, cool, semi walled
Board: 6’0 Lost Mini Driver, quad

     When I wake up, I can already see the clear sky through the sliver of my curtains. Also, it means that I’m late. Driving to the beach, I realize that the sun is rising a bit earlier, and that I can be in the water by 0630. This isn’t a legit dawn patrol. Mental note: Don’t stay up so late playing Call of Duty on PS4.

     Late means that I don’t score parking at 26^th, but I had eyed a parking spot at one of my select spots, so I flip a bitch and head towards Porto.

     South of Porto had looked small, so maybe surfing Porto will be the right call. Klaude had told me that he’d be passing on surfing today because “It won’t be that good,” and looking out at the ocean, I think he was right. There aren’t as many people here compared to Monday, and when the crowd at 45^th is manageable, then that means it can’t be that great.

     Still, I’m here and I’m dressed. Why turn around now and what better way to start the morning, even if I only pull an hour.

     I usually don’t surf here, but with my older homies surfing the north and south end of the lot, I’d like to think that I spread my surfing sporadically between 26^th Street and 45^th, more so 26^th. The shape is similar to yesterday but just a little bit smaller.

     Even though the crowd is manageable, it’s a little too crowded for the inconsistency, so I sit wide south of everyone. I see Ray at the main peak, Chinese dude who’s been surfing here for years. After a couple of minutes, the current starts dragging the crowd north, so I end up closer to 45^th.

     The session’s frustrating, so I take a set-wave closeout left. The wave starts off hollow, so I pull in and just practice setting myself up. The initial slot feels nice, just to get that little perspective in the tube.    

     After an awkward wipeout, I resurface, and a fellow dark-brown islander gives me a nod.    

     It’s another picky morning, but for some reason I start scoring just south of 45^th. There’s this left that keeps coming in. I shouldn’t say “scoring,” but I’m getting decent rides for what’s on offer today. Unfortunately, I surf them like shit.

     On one wave, I mistime my floater too early and instead end up riding high on the shoulder when I should have done a carve instead. To finish the wave, I eat shit on an attempted layback. Second left, I get a sloppy top turn to start off and then eat shit on another layback. Fuck me. I do get one backhand snap, just one before the closeout, but it’s my cleanest wave of the morning.

     The islander paddles towards me. I’m thinking that he recognizes that my little spot is working. Brown man to brown man, he smells me as one of his own.

     He paddles up to me smiling and says, “How’s John?”

     I take a closer look at him. “What?”

     “How’s John?”

     “Which John?” I’ve never seen this guy before in my life.

     “Oh,” he says, shaking his head and dummying down his smile. “Sorry, I thought. . .”