CLIMBER (double sesh), WED 29APR015

 

Loc: Manhattan Beach

Time: 0900-1030                                      

Conditions: 2-3 FT, sectiony, sunny.  

Board: 6’0 Zippifish

     I forget why, but I had slept in a little on Wednesday and took my time before hitting the surf. It could have been because of the morning high tide. At first I cruised through El Porto and then thought that I’d check 27^th Street and see how the surf looked there. When I arrived, Viet Vet Mike’s VIP spot, which is right in front of The Strand, was vacant. The decision on where to surf was too easy after that.

     Parked in front of the million-dollar-plus home, a man walked out and was talking to his wife behind him. “Ask him what time he’s going to leave,” he said. As he pulled out of his garage, his wife asked if I could let her know when I was leaving because she needed to park there.

     “I should be done in an hour and a half,” I said.

     “I don’t care if you surf an hour and a half or three hours. Just let me know.”

     She had short white hair and a powdery complexion to match. I was glad that she was cool.

     I had spotted Toru on the sand earlier while changing. When I got to the lineup, I paddled up to him and asked if he was doing his standard thirty-minute heat. Of course he was.

     The water was glassy and the air was hot. Conditions were perfect, except the waves were coming in sectiony. Even on my Zippifish, I couldn’t milk the waves like the longboarders were. Costco Kim was even clowning me on that blue monstrosity that she rides.

     Yet, I still had fun. I pumped and raced the sections the whole time, setting myself up for huge foam climbs to the best of my ability.

     Making a pimp decision, I decided to leave early, only surfing an hour and a half. I had better things to do than hope for conditions to improve. I think that’s part of the whole balance scheme of surfing, maturing enough to know when to call your sessions. The old me would have just went for my mandatory two hours.

     Back at the car, life on The Strand was mellow. A guy was chilling with his dog on the grass near the lifeguard parking lot. Manhattan milfs were running on the beach. Middle-aged guys were working out on the outdoor gym setup, showing off their wrinkled pecs and bis.

     Just as I was done changing, the lady of the house called down at me from her second-floor balcony. “I don’t need the parking spot anymore,” she said.

#

CONTRAST (double sesh), WED 29APR015

Loc: El Porto, 40^th Street

Time: 1730-1900

Crew: Dais & Bri                                     

Conditions: 2-3 FT, light onshore.    

Board: 6’0 Zippifish

     I had gotten a text from Dais saying that Porto looked fun on the cams. An hour later, he texted me that he was paddling out in front of 40^th.

     I didn’t expect much for surf, but if Bri and I did catch him, we’d have an opportunity to let him borrow Khang’s 6’8 NSP, the one that Bri had been using for a while now.

     Pulling into the Porto lot, the scene was typical. It was a sunny, light onshore, warm beach day with a lot of people already showing up after work. The parking lot opened up when we passed the lot exit near 40^th Street. We spotted Dais’s car and parked next to him.

     There was a small pack in front of 40^th. Within a minute on the sand, I spotted Dais in the lineup.

     The surf hadn’t looked that great from the lot, but these occasional windswell peaks would sprout up with wedgy shoulders. This one kid on a shortboard was ripping the whole time. Right then, I wished I had my Motorboat Too and not the Zippi.

     I wanted to perform and get some turns on these tiny wedges, but I was off of my game. I blew a really good left, popping up and stepping too far forward, causing me to purl. That shortboarder grom had even backed out for me.

     I did get some rides though, but not shredding. Just going down the line with lackluster excitement. Bri was doing better than I was. Dais struggled a bit on his Average Joe.

     I told him that I had heard a rumor about Khang moving back to L.A. from New York.

     “Maybe 2016,” said Dais.    

     “Yeah? Not working out for him?”

     “Well,” Dais held out his arms and looked around him, “instead of being there he could be doing this.”

     The sun was really low. Everything around us just had this glowing hyper-beige to it. It was in the sand and in the houses all along the Strand. Meanwhile, the blue sky stood in sharp contrast overhead. The wind even died.