ENCORE, MON 09FEB2015

 

Loc: Churches

Time: 0800-0930        

Crew: Bri

Conditions: 5-6 FT, consistent.

Board: Lost Mini Driver, quad setup

     If you thought we were tired yesterday evening, we’re sure as shit near a coma this morning. I snooze through the 0500 wake up. Like that was gonna happen. I finally get out of bed at 0700. My upper back is so sore from paddling. I fill up the water jugs and try to wake Bri up. She pulls me back into bed, and we don’t end up leaving until 0745.

     The surf is still going off, but we’re so drained. Really, I mean we’ve already scored. Do we have to paddle out again? Can’t we just get all snuggly in the cabin before our check out at 1100?

     The surf’s just a tad smaller than yesterday. No gnarly current and not as many cleanup sets, so guys are really able to hold their positions. Even though the Monday crowd is thinner, there are still enough people to cause a battle.

     I turn to Bri and say, “I’m pretty content. I don’t to need to fight over waves right now.” So we don’t. We actually approach the session with a mellow attitude. Still, I’m able to rob some rights. With the waves less critical, I can go a little harder on the turns. Paddling back out, I see Bri on a right. She’s behind a section, and she needs to find a way around it or lose the wave. She makes two fists, holds them up at shoulder level, and pumps with her whole body. But you know what? It works. She makes it past the section. I watch her awkwardly cutback on her forehand, flailing her arms from almost falling backwards. Hey, at least she understands the concept of turning. Until my dying day, I’ll always say that she’s progressed must faster than I did.

 

The straw that broke the donkey’s back:

 

     After Bri gets snaked by some old fucker in a blue hat, she paddles even further north to beat the crowd. And wouldn’t you know? She starts catching waves. All to herself. But not for long. She’s changed the firing order, and now everyone is paddling more north now to sit near her. It creates some disorganization. Some guys paddle all the way to Middles. Most people are now out of position for the main right at the top of the wave, but then there are these lefts.

     For the first time this trip, I’m surfing the other side of the main peak and going frontside. The lefts are a bit unruly and even racier than the rights, but they’re still holding shape.

     Now I’m really tested. It’s been a while since I’ve caught a critical rippable left with size. I got my frontside wraps down pretty decent right now, rebounding off the whitewash, riding out of it crouching, and pumping down the line for more. But the face is so vertical. I do some frontside arcs, holding the turn until the tail releases, but the rounded pin and quad setup has so much traction that it’s hard to get that crisp accentuation when I really want it. I mean, I really have to draw a wide arc. That’s why I need another good standard shortboard with a squash tail.

     I guess that’s kind of weird. I think on my forehand, at Trestles, I like the looseness that a thruster setup gives me, but on my backhand, I like the extra grip that I get from quads. The idea of asymmetrical fins makes more sense now.

     Of course I do not practice any layback attempts. The waves are just too performance oriented for me to even attempt one. What I mean is, I just don’t want an awkward wipeout.

     Then it happens. Fuck. I have so much speed on one left, that in an attempt to force a tail release on the carve, I blow the fins, slide out, and fall backwards. It happens with so much speed that my upper back and shoulders hit the water first, and I whiplash my fucking neck. To add insult to injury, I get scooped up and body slammed by the wave. Forgivable my ass. . .

     Afterwards, it hurts just to turn my head, but you know what? Eh, I’m still so fucking stoked. I surf through the pain. We’re done at 0930 anyway. Time to go back to the cabin, dust off the rest of them chili dogs, and head back to El Segundo.

     After checking out, we stop off and watch the surf for a little while. The wind’s picked up into a strong sideshore. Waves are still breaking, and the lineup’s even more crowded now with the third shift. This is where I’m supposed to tell you that we suit up again because we’re surfers, because we’re not here to bullshit and waste any time, but I can’t tell you that.

     We stare out at the ocean reflecting on the last two days and all the waves we caught, having the beach cottage, and just . . . how everything worked out.

     We hit the road early and get back to El Segundo at a decent time, still buzzed from the last three sessions of stoke. Sometimes you don’t have to paddle out for every session. If you know you’ve won, there’s nothing wrong with calling it.