CLICKING, THU 10SEPT2015

Loc: Manhattan Beach

Time: 0615-0815

Crew: Collin         

Conditions: 2-4 FT+, clean, warm, racy

Board: 5’10 Lost Mini Driver, quads with nubster

     It was one of those did-everything-right mornings. I had gone to bed at a decent time, slept well, woke up at 0515, and even ate a bowl of cereal.

     Young Mike was the only guy changing in the lot when I arrived. There was free parking everywhere. I wanted to say hi to him, but he surfs pretty well, so I didn’t want to be all up on his jock. Someone in a van called him over. I didn’t know who the van guy was, but it looked like he had spent the night in it. I wouldn’t say that there are cliques where I surf, but there are groups of surfers who I don’t interact with much. I wondered where I fit in the bigger picture at my local break.

     Minding my own business, I continued to change, and then I heard a whistle. I looked up. Young Mike was saying hi.

     Is it possible to be at the beach too early? Young Mike was the only guy in the water as far as I could see in both directions. He was just south of 26^th. The waves were racy over the mid tide. He’d paddle into a wave and kickout before it closed. On one, he pulled in and drove in the tube and then punched out.

     There were clouds over the horizon shaped like fluffy diarrhea, so the sky was darker than yesterday. Stalling, I stretched and warmed up. When guys started filtering down to the sand, that’s when I paddled out.

     Despite how warm the air temp is, it’s still hard to get that first submersion in the morning. The water felt cold, but after my first duckdive I was fine.

     Young Mike had his spot, so I didn’t want to crowd him. The current was pulling north. Before long I was in front of the tower, and then the high school armada showed up, so I drifted further north to the brick house where I’d have a peak to myself.

     When I had first seen the surf, I didn’t expect much. Definitely no shape for turns. If anything, the waves were racy, hollow, and fast, and I only saw myself pulling into pinchers.

     My first couple of waves were actually worthy attempts. I tried to pick the best ones that had a hint of shoulder to them. Finally, I’m feeling so much more comfortable pulling in. Everything up to getting slotted is slowing down, like I’m getting better at setting myself up, even throwing in a pump or two in the tube. Now, granted, it was a small tube day, just super playful and non consequential, so I’m not being cocky like I’m fuckin’ the second coming of Shane Dorian or something. I know my place.

     My barrel attempts were worthy because I was driving. They were good selections, clear caverns of liquid with light pouring in, and things only went dark when the wave shut down. If I could freeze the moment it would look like clear marble or ice. I’d imagine that it’s how the inside of a shell looks like.

     Some of the peaks had legit shoulders. One of them was rampy. As I popped up, I could tell that the lip was gonna throw out over the pocket, so I pulled in, tried to stall, and head dipped, securing a partial coverup. When I straightened out, I almost lost my balance when the wave closed, but I legit rode out of it.

     There were a few more where I came really close. One was racy, and I just kept pumping, waiting for that moment to pull in if I could just make the shoulder. When I did, the chandelier was over me. I tried to escape but got clobbered by the lip.

     Collin paddled out, and we surfed together for about twenty minutes. The current kept taking him away. I fought it the whole time and maintained position. My shoulder still hurt, but I paddled through it. I hope my decision to surf through the pain won’t be one I’ll regret.

     Wave of the day, the old tall dude with white hair who coaches the surf team scratched out on the first wave of a set. “Awww, come on!” he yelled. The next wave came right to me. It was a nice four footer with a tapered shoulder. I almost paddled in too late but recovered well on the drop and bottom turn. The wave was standing up faster than expected, and for a moment I was getting another partial cover up but this time with room. I didn’t realize that the wave was about to section off into an oncoming right, so I pulled out into the flats with the wave exploding behind me. Best part . . . I had perfect balance in the flats. I just had this . . . stoked feeling, like everything in my surfing was just beginning to click.

     The barrel attempts weren’t free. I took some beatings, holding my line too long. My board hit my head. On another wipeout, it shot up and my rail whacked my ribs on my way down. I’m not as good as wiping out in the tube as I had hoped. Also, I only went forehand the whole time, so I know my backhand tube skills are suffering.

     Yet, after surfing Trestles last weekend, I couldn’t help but be grateful. These dumpy waves were so easy to manage compared to wearing ten setwaves on the head. Even in SoCal where the lineups can get jam packed, there I was on a Thursday morning, a solid two hours in with only a small handful of people to my left and right. It was a gem of a morning that is hard to explain, but as a surfer, you must appreciate it.