THE ONE PT.III, TUE 02JUN2015

 

Loc: Huntington Beach, Goldenwest

Time: 0815-0930

Conditions: 2 FT+, weak

     So there’s a south swell coming in. I wake up late and look at my Surfline App and take a look at the northside of the HB Pier. Fair to Good, 3-4 FT+.

     It’s a coffee, and I’m out the door, no bullshitting. I can already picture clean peaks at the HB Cliffs, my “Easy Barrel” session that I had there, many moons ago, still fresh in my mind. And of course, what happens? As soon as I pass Bolsa Chica and hit Seapoint, right where PCH opens up and you can see the surf, there are weak crumbly lines coming in.

     I park at the HB Cliffs. The fact that I can get a parking spot is a bad sign. A crew of six old vets sit atop the railing, watching the surf with coffees in hand. Barely anyone’s out. It’s like the tide’s already too high, but it shouldn’t be. The waves are breaking and rolling so softly that they’re not rideable until they almost break. Up and down the beach looks the same.

     As Klaude would say, “I didn’t come here not to surf,” so I head to Goldenwest and park in the neighborhood. I imagine how surf in the South Bay is probably better than this right now.

     A few groms park on PCH and walk out for a surf check as I’m making my way down the stairs. When I turn around, they’re leaving. Yet, more people are out over here, but everyone’s just sitting.

     I paddle out. The water’s warm and glassy. It’s still overcast. Waves come in and look like they’re going to break. I scratch out on everything.

     On a rogue peak, I turn and go while the lip is already spilling. The flat whitewash pushes me, but the wave drains out as I’m popping up. I force one check snap on the lip before the wave closes, hardly a legit turn.

     It took about forty-five minutes to get that wave. It could be “The One.” I could end it now, turn around, head back up the sand, cross PCH, and call it a morning. Against my better judgement, I paddle back out and hope that I can get more waves by paddling into them late. I don’t. Again, I’m wondering what Manhattan Beach is doing.

     Mad and frustrated, I turn towards the shore and do the Paddle of Shame. I should have left earlier.