GOOD SUNDAY, SUN 26APR015

 

Loc: El Porto, 40^th Street

Time: 0630-0830

Crew: Br, Rick, Gary, Dave T., Manny                 

Conditions: 4-5 FT, offshore, consistent windswell. 

Board: 5’10 Mini Driver

     Dejavu. It’s 0530, and my phone’s going off with texts again. It’s Rick, no surprise, and he says the surf looks decent. At 0555, I finally succumb to my phone blowing up and check the surfcam. Consistent windswell peaks are marching into Porto. I get up and turn on some music in hopes for Bri to wake up, too—that’s how she likes being woken. After filling our water jugs, I have to tell her to get up. “There’s surf,” I say. Minutes later, she meets me in the car, and we drive off.

     Where to surf? I know 26^th Street is gonna be packed again with all the homies, but I didn’t surf with Rick yesterday. I have to catch him at least once this weekend. Instead of driving straight on Highland like I normally do, I hang a left on 45^th. Sure as shit, Rick’s van is parked at 40^th. Only five guys are out. I spot Dave T and Rick immediately. The peaks are a little soft because of the tide, but they have size. A set comes in at about five-feet, solid playful size. I’m amped.

     “Let’s go,” I say. Bri’s still changing.

     “Just go, you don’t have to wait for me.”

     “I’ll wait.”

     She rolls her eyes and halts zipping up her wetsuit. When we hit the sand, I’m already ten steps ahead of her.

     I see Rick get two turns on a right as I’m paddling out. On the third duckdive, I realize how consistent the surf is. It takes a little while to get to the lineup. I’ve already drifted close to Rosecrans. I say wassup to Dave first. Gary spots me.

     “It is on!” says Gary. “The heat is on.” Fuck, his face is serious, but I’m stoked. I love the friendly competition.

     On my first wave, a left, I force a carve on a soft section and get hung up on the lip. The wave leaves me behind. I need to back off on trying to approach the surf like a contest. Too much mustard and not enough hotdog. Just have fun, I tell myself.

     And so I go back to stoke mode, watching the WHC, old Venice Vets, go head to head with each other. All of them are ripping. Dave T. and Manny are the standouts, getting the most rides. Even though it’s not official, there seems to be a personal heat with Gary and Rick.

     Bri draws blood right away and catches a long right. I get a set-wave left. It’s racy, so I have to pump to get down the line. I chance float a crumbling section in front of me and actually clear it. With the wave about to closeout, I get a frontside carve and ride out of it. It ends up being my wave of the day.

     Bri catches a left and disappears for at least fifteen minutes. Out back, everyone is hooting and hollering for a rogue wave out the back. Gary’s darting for it from deep in the lineup. He turns and goes with the lip already spilling. As he’s popping up, we can all tell that he’s late, and it just steamrolls him. Gary gets churned up on the inside.

     “Where’s Bri?!” says Rick. His tone is serious and less fatherly than usual. It brings me flashbacks to when Rick and I had served in the same unit together in The Guard. He’s worries. So am I. I catch my next wave in and start walking towards 45^th because that’s where Bri should be after her last left, but when I turn around, I see her getting pounded on the paddle out at Rosecrans.

     On another bomb left, I back out for Gary who’s on my outside. I want him to go, but he backs out, too. A second later, SPLASH!, a bucket gets thrown out the back. It’s Rick.

     Next wave, Rick paddles out and takes another wave under Gary’s priority. When Rick gets back, an altercation ensues. All I hear is, “Come on, Ricky. You just got one, and you paddle right out and get another one again? C’mon!”

     Gary looks upset. Rick has his clenched smile. He looks at me and raises his eyebrows.

     Bri rejoins us eventually. Yes. That consistent. I even get worked with Dave and Gary right next to me on the inside.

     At the two hour mark, we’re done. Plenty of paddling and plenty of waves. I didn’t catch many good rides, but that was mostly my fault. Bad selection, and surfing with a motley crew of salty surf vets, frothing at the mouth for a chance at showmanship. I can only hope to be ripping like that when I’m older.

     Afterwards, Bri and I treat Rick out for breakfast at Mandy’s. Klaude stops by the house and tells us how 26^th Street was. “It was empty,” he says. “Only Ross, Roy, Paul, and Steve. Most of the guys were just watching from the lot.”

     Sounds like it was the same up and down the beach. Even though I didn’t surf at my favorite spot, Bri and I still made the right call. We got to surf with Rick and the rest of his crew, even Manny who I haven’t surfed with in a while. Porto wasn’t even that crowded.

     I spend the rest of the day with Bri watching NBA Playoffs. It’s a good Sunday.