MR. CLEAN, THU 02APR015

Loc: Manhattan Beach, 28^th Street                     

Time: 0700-0830

Conditions: 3-4 FT+, offshore, crowded.

Board: Motorboat Too

     After having been gone for nearly two weeks for work, I show up to Manhattan Beach, expecting a mooshy 2-3 foot session. Motorboat Too it is, my shortboard with the low rocker, suitable for chest-high point break and beach break moosh.

     I’m hoping to run into some familiar faces I haven’t seen in a while, but the main peak is already dominated by groms. Must be spring break.

     Instead of the smaller surf that’s forecasted, the surf’s easily a foot bigger. The peaks aren’t coming in in clean A-frames but more sectiony with once-in-a-while corners.

     My paddling muscles are forced to reactivate when I paddle out. My body resists as if to say “this is new.” It takes a while to make it to the lineup. Regression is the reality.

     The main peak is firing, but it’s inconsistent where I’m at. My first wave is a closeout right. My next wave is a left. I cutback but it mooshes out afterwards. When the sets come in, they stand up into fast sectiony wedges. I pass on these since they don’t look rideable. Plus, I’m on the wrong board. I should’ve busted out the Lost Mini Driver.

     The best I do is catch a couple of long lefts all the way to shore, but I’m just cutting back the whole time. I’m thinking that I’m doing pretty well for myself and for what the surf is offering, and that’s when I hear a hoot. To my north at the next peak over, a recent local transplant is paddling for one of those fast wedges. The wave should be too fast, but he pops up, slides down the face, and pumps himself right underneath the lip as the lip curls over him. He’s in there, forehand and crouching, rear hand in the face of the wave like he’s pulling it along, forcing it to run with him. I lose sight as he pulls out into the flats before the closeout.

     I wonder if I’ve been surfing these waves wrong this whole morning. That guy got out clean. I catch the next wave and pull in. Its shoulder is soft, but I stall in the pocket and get a little swirl over my head before I’m pinched. Although, this is nothing new. I’ve been getting pinched like this for a while, unsure whether I’m progressing any more or not.

     Jealous of Mr. Clean’s barrel, and having seen him pull into a wave that would have otherwise looked too fast or passable, I get another swift reality check that barrels will always be the pinnacle of surfing.