Loc: Manhattan Beach, 26th
Street
Time: 0800-0910
Crew: Bri
Conditions: 1-3 FT, variable wind, high
tide, backwashy
Board: Motorboat Too
What
the fuck? I know that the primary swell is from the south, but how about a
little wrap-around energy? I should have known it was a bad sign when barely
any of the regulars were out. I spotted Oscar south of the tower, and so was
the guy who had run over Bri one time. He was on his Costco foamie. I didn’t
want to surf by him, so I moved us in front of the brick house.
That
one short stocky dude who helps coach the surf team was doing well on his
funboard. Foam, maybe that’s what I needed. Even Bri struggled on her Hopper, which
is blessed with volume.
After
a wave, she came back and said, “I just noticed this now.” She pointed to her deck.
A line was going across the nose. The deck had a slight crack in it. It was flexed.
“I think I nosedived it inside.”
“You
mean purled,” I said.
One
of the set waves was worthy for a pull in. It closed out from the backwash, but
it was fun just to get gobbled by a wave that size.
A
squad of grom bodyboarders paddled out. I caught a left, a good one, and one of
the kids was standing right in my line, filming me with his GoPro, so I had to kick
out.
“My
bad!” he said.
Last
wave to go in, I wasn’t expecting much, but I paddled into a right that actually
had a shoulder, at least a single hitter, but I didn’t even get a chance to wind
up for the snap because my fiancé snaked me. Fuckin’ A. I guess that’s what marriage
is about, letting someone snake you on your wave.
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