Loc:
Manhattan Beach, 26th Street
Time:
0750-0920
Conditions:
4-6 FT, offshore, warm, consistent.
Board:
Lost Mini Driver, large quad setup
After good sessions down south, whether at
Churches or Trestles, it’s a little hard to get back into the South Bay groove.
I had skipped surfing yesterday. Looked like it would be walled local, and I
wasn’t gonna hit the road that soon again. Last night, I knew that I wouldn’t
forgive myself if I didn’t even give the surf a little look the next day, so I
packed my car and wondered if it would still be gnarly out there.
#
I’m late on the first shift. It’s 0730, and
I score VIP parking right in front of the surf. No surprise I guess. The usual
crew who patrols the parking lot is nowhere to be found. In the lineup, I see
about nine guys by Marine. Two guys are getting worked trying to paddle
straight out in front of the brickhouse. Though, there’s something different
about the conditions today. The water is perfect, I mean, between the sets the
water is pure glass. Not foggy like last week. The air is hot. Yet, even though
the waves are a little too lined up, there are lefts tapering off right in front
of the brickhouse, dropping like long laundry lines into the channel. Looks
doable. I’d say the waves are about five feet. And then again, it always looks
smaller from the car.
#
I go with the large Simon Anderson quad
setup that Klaude had let me borrow. If there’s any chance at getting tubed
today, I’m gonna need as much help as possible.
After warming up, I time the shorepound to
avoid getting worked. I have a bad case of anxiety on the way out. There’s
barely anyone surfing. Some of the sets are big. I wonder if I even belong out
here. Yeah, I had scored Trestles and surfed it well, to my standards at least,
but I did get that recent beat down at HB. I’d like to think that I’m not
stupid, but really, I just want to face the semi-challenging conditions up
front and try to catch something, just do the best I can do. That’s what
progression’s about anyway right? Why run away from a fight?
I have both fear and respect for this spot.
I try to go extra deep on the duckdives. Getting sucked back, I’m nearly out of
breath. All of a sudden, my shoulders start burning earlier than usual. I’m
still not 100% recovered from surfing Churches.
I make it out to the lineup without losing
my board. As Gary and my brother Randy would say, it’s always better to hold on
to it. Spotting myself, I’m just in front of 27th Street. The
current’s light, but I’ll have to paddle against it.
Three guys are sitting right by me. Looking
down the lineup, it appears that a lot of people are just making it out at the
same time. Monkey see monkey do.
I tell myself to be patient and only go on
the good ones. I haven’t seen any cleaners yet, but it’s better to play it
safe.
A five-foot peak rolls through. A guy on my
inside scratches for it, sees that I’m in better position, and gives me the
clearance nod. Dropping in, the face actually holds open. I open-face carve it
and get a decent wrap. Rebounding back down the line, I extend up off the
bottom turn and checkturn under the curtain. Feels textbook, except that I get
pinched. No drive on that attempt. Not even a true glimpse of the barrel.
However, I did at least get a solid turn.
Back at the lineup, the sets start coming
in. It’s six-feet tops. Any bigger would be a major issue. It’s one of those
mornings where you’re bound to get worked but shouldn’t be in fear of drowning.
After moving around the lineup, paddling to
and from, I get impatient and pull in on a closeout. “I gotta go,” I tell
myself. Just killing time. When I resurface, there’s an outside set. I feel
like Mother Ocean is telling me, “Wrong move, bro. You fucked up.”
Pants down to my ankles and bent over, I’m
just in the worst possible spot. Yeah, I duckdive but get my board yanked away
like it was never even mine. I get worked on the next two waves. I’m holding
onto my board, but things go awry on the duck, like my body gets twisted out of
alignment, my board shifts to the side, and I just get obliterated beneath the
surface. But I paddle back out. Holding onto my board keeps my closer to where
I was, and I don’t burn any time trying to remount.
I feel sketched on the rights. I go
backhand on one, and it has an open face, but the fins are so big that the
board just forces me over the shoulder out back.
Meanwhile, the top of 26th has
some waves. A little congregation has formed there. One of the peaks goes
unridden, the shoulder swirls open for a short barrel. Fuck, I’m thinking to
myself. If I could just get one of those little tubes like that, I could just
go in right after that, mission accomplished, done for the day. Oh, how badly
do I just want to “take the money and run.”
I sit there once everyone clears out, and
nothing breaks with shape. I paddle back over towards 27th. The
crowd has mysteriously begun to thin out now. With the tide going down, a lot
of the waves are sectioning off. Still, I try. That HB session with the WHC
still stings, so I have to redeem myself here. This is my local break.
The large quads have drive. I’m on the open
face pumping, trying to speed through that curtain as it chandeliers over me,
but I get pinched again. Resurfacing, I get worked by the sets. Again I try,
again I get worked. I’m so frustrated and mad at myself, and then another clean
tube, just like the one I had seen earlier, breaks just to my south at 26th.
At this point, I realize the humble-pie
situation, take a bite, and swallow it down hard. It’s not just the waves that
aren’t shaping up for me. It’s me. The Indian not the arrow, also not the
terrain. I’d like to think that I’m a decent surfer. Sometimes my ego gets out
of check, and I consider myself advanced. Nah, I’m still intermediate. There’s
a lot I’m not doing right.
Leaving the ocean, the water looks totally
different. It isn’t the well-groomed lines that I had seen earlier. The surf
has gone sectiony. The late first shifters have called it early.
Driving home, I’m at odds with myself. I
could have held on longer trying to get tubed. But I tried, didn’t I? I still
paddled into some decent bombs, although I paid for each one in the impact zone
afterwards. My brother once told me that “it will just happen.” So here I am
again, probably putting too much pressure on myself as always. At least it was
a morning that most surfers opted not to even get wet. I went out. Hopefully
that counts for something.
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