Loc: Manhattan Beach, 26th
Street
Time: 0620-0800
Conditions: 1-3 FT, glassy, warm, dumpy
Board: 5’10” Lost Mini Driver
Can
you imagine? I just returned from the Trestles area yesterday, and now I’m
sitting in this. Sure, the water’s so fucking clear I can see sand dollars and
stingrays. Yes, the water’s so fucking warm and inviting that “I can’t believe
it’s like this in September” over and over again. But the wave is dumpy.
Two-foot lines just stand up, stretch out, and dump. I miss North Churches.
There
is the occasional corner. I pass up on a solid right because I don’t want to
backpaddle Stocky John. He takes it and goes far.
Bri,
holy shit, that Spyder Hopper that Rick had leant her is just too easy for her.
She’s riding that thing like the NSP, and she’s hungry, getting way more waves
than me. Even the other locals are rubber necking, wondering how she’s getting
into so many.
Second
solid wave that I pass on is a left, and the shoulder looks hollow, my kind of
small-barrel puss wave that I love so much, but yet, I must back out for Bri.
I
pull in on a few and get some quick glances but no real drive. Just a delayed
pinch when I’m engulfed by a liquid bounce house.
As
warm as it is, I’m actually cold. Wagon Week has taken its toll. I’m just plain
tired.
When
we go in, we run into Klaude on the sand. Afterwards, Bri and I have breakfast
at Mandy’s. Small surf or not, I’m just happy to be home. Wagon Week was fun,
but after camping that long it’s just nice to have luxuries again.
More
coffee.
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