IT’S EITHER TOO HIGH OR TOO LOW, WED 22APR015

Loc: El Porto, 45^th Street

Time: 0900-1015                                      

Conditions: 1-3 FT, light onshore, inconsistent.    

Board: 5’10 Lost Mini Driver

     I swear, the recent tide windows have not been jiving with the surf. Last week, the tide was too high in the morning. This week, it’s too low. Despite Surfline’s fair rating of 2-3 FT+ surfing for the South Bay, the swells just haven’t been hitting right. Checking the cams in the morning have been disappointing. Weak, crumbly, disorganized low-tide drainers. And then there’s the HB cams. Fuck. Looks good. Everything, the report is much better there, too. I can only imagine what Trestles is doing. A couple weeks ago, I would’ve made the drive, taken a daycation, or at least have went to HB, but I’m so over driving. I’ve been travelling a lot the last couple of months, whether it’s down south or Camp Roberts up north. Also travelling solo is getting old, too. I miss the old days. Francis used to be my main roll dog. Before Khang took the manager job at Quik, he’d be an easy backup. Ha, even Shan used to be down to travel even though I barely hit him up. Solo . . . it gets old after a while, and I miss being able to share the surf with someone. So all week, I’ve been waiting for local to turn on.

     On Wednesday morning, I waited for the tide to swing. At 0900, I looked at the El Porto cam. It still looked dismal, but I just needed to get fucking wet.

#

     A longboarder in a neon orange hat is getting back-to-back-to-back rides on his longboard. Could be the Swellmagnet.com guy, but I don’t know him personally. I just heard he wears an orange hat. Other than him, there aren’t too many takers. The surf still looks drained. Long peaks, small shoulders. Plus, the wind is starting to swing onshore.

     Against my better judgement, I leave the Zippi in the car and opt for my new stick. New Stick Syndrome, as Gary would call it.

     Sitting in the 45^th St. lineup, I’m not expecting much. I catch a couple small lefts, all chaser waves, pump-pump-floater waves, but it’s still more than I had expected.

     A long-haired guy in a blue wetsuit, could be a Brazo, is sitting on a CI board with a spanking new gleaming white deck.

     “What board is that?” I ask.

     He dismounts and flips it upside down for me. “It’s the Zeus,” he says. “First time I’ve taken it out.”

     “How do you like it?”

     Zeus grimaces. “Fuck, I can’t tell. The surf sucks. Plus, too many beginners . . . longboarders.”

     He seems like a nice guy, a frustrated one. I keep track of where he is to make sure I don’t drop in on him.

     Just as a Costco foamer is making his way to the lineup, a peak sprouts up out of nowhere, a right. I paddle out to meet it and find myself just a little deep behind the shoulder. Foamer’s eyeing me as I drop in. He’s ready to take it. As I make the drop, he pulls out, and just like that, there’s an open face right before me. On my backhand, I unleash the first snap, hearing the splash over the back. Redirecting, I maneuver past a Japanese noob chick on a polka-dot board. With the shoulder diminishing, I crank out one more snap before the wave fizzles out.

     Fuckin’ A. It’s the only rippable wave I’ve seen the whole time I’ve been out. Paddling back out, Zeus and I converge in the lineup once more.

     “That was a good wave,” he says.

     “I got lucky. It came out of nowhere.”

     He looks out at the ocean, unsmiling. “You were in the perfect spot.”