FIRST LOCAL SESSION OF THE YEAR, FRI 09JAN2015

Loc: Manhattan Beach, 28^th Street

Time: 0700-0900

Conditions: 2-3 FT+, light onshore, consistent, swampy

Board: 6’0 Lost Mini Driver, Thruster

     Since parking sucks on Friday, I hit the 26^th Street upper lot early. Gary’s already here, half changed. He reaches in his SUV and pulls out a Styrofoam cooler that’s filled to the brim with cartons of ZICO drinks.

     “Here you go,” he says. “I also hope you don’t mind if I give you some of these.” He has a stack of old beach towels. As they say, A favor for a favor, this dick is what I gave her.

     It means a lot to surf here, especially since it’s the first green rating of the year (from Surfline) and because I have to be at work this weekend. Rick’s at Porto right now, but I figured it’d be too crowded there, and I’m not in the mood for a stress sesh. I’d rather be around familiar faces who won’t burn me.

     Bri’s already on the sand warming up in front of the tower, and she follows me and Gary a couple breaks north when she sees us. Usually it’s not that crowded here, but everyone is sitting on this spot today. Anal Donny wants to tell everyone to shift a little more south towards Marine where it’s less crowded, but I check my control-freak tendencies and just go with the flow.

     The wind’s a little onshore, creating some minute texture. The peaks are scattered, some A-framing and some turning into long walls with tapered shoulders at the end of them.

     So we all paddle into the thick of it, watching the First Shift tear it up. Guys are getting good waves, spraying buckets out the back, but things slow down unexpectedly. It’s that fucking tide. The surf is so tide sensitive with this swell that there’s already some backwash.

     The current’s dragging everyone north, creating some space in the lineup. After some struggling, Bri gets a racy left. Gary gets a closeout, and I pull into one as well.

     There are waves with shoulders, and I take some lefts that at least allow me to pump down the line. Two in a row, the quality starts to improve a bit.

     Gary paddles south to beat the current. Bri and I follow. She takes the next wave and heads to work.

     I expect for Gary to say he’ll catch the next one in, but all of a sudden, bigger sets start to appear. It’s the new swell, and it’s producing its early-morning forerunners. At 0800, the surf changes. The waves are more consistent, the shape better, but it causes everyone to mass at the best take-off spots.

     After pulling a floater on a closeout left, I turn around and witness Gary getting a wrap-around cutback on the wave after mine, but his board seems stuck. Later he says that his trailers were too big.

     Stocky Jon, Don K., Tom Yomo, Collin, Ross, Roy, all the locals are out. It’s fun surfing with these guys, and I only get snaked once buy a Japanese kid with a GoPro, a present he had probably got for Christmas. He has no idea what he’s doing, pumping awkwardly. When he snakes me he apologizes . . . twice. It diffuses the situation immediately.

     My wave of the day is a right. It just pops up out of nowhere, even Gary is out of position because it jacks up late. With the local crew paddling over the shoulder, I set myself up with a deep bottom turn and unleash a backhand power hack. Just feels so damn good. I wind up for a second one, but the wave gets steep on the inside, and I blow the reentry. Nonetheless, I get some props back in the lineup. Again, it’s great surfing with familiar faces, a spot where I have a local card.

     Afterwards, Gary takes off to the office. I wish him well, envious that he’ll be scoring some good surf this weekend while I’ll be on duty. I reach in the Styrofoam cooler and drink some pineapple-mango-coconut juice. Refreshing.

FIRST SESSION OF THE YEAR, THU 08JAN2015

Loc: Huntington Beach, Brookhurst

Time: 0700-0845

Conditions: 2-3 FT+, light overcast, glassy, inconsistent

Board: 6’0 Lost Mini Driver, Quad /  6’0 Kainalu Fish

     Finally, there’s a pulse in the forecast. Rumor has it that there were some HB nugs yesterday evening. While most of the locals here would rather take a chance on El Porto, I prepack my car the night before and plan a surgical strike on Huntington.

#

     I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. Dawn patrols, my how I’ve missed them. I get an early start, waking up at 0500, and I’m on the road before 0600. When I reach the Huntington Cliffs at 0630, it’s still fucking dark out. Maybe I could’ve slept in a little longer.

     The sky is overcast . . . slightly. In the distance, the oil rigs float over the horizon. Waves are rolling in, but they look soft and swamped out. Still rideable, but I have the urge to push it further south to see if it’s a little bigger.

     Meanwhile, other dawn patrollers have already suited up. TheY crawl through the guard rails and take these unseen trails down the cliff. Almost looks like a sheer drop down, but they know. They’re local.

     Brookhurst has signs of life. Other DPs are doing their surf checks. Haven’t surfed here in a while. Clear streaks of orange tear through the gray sky. River Jetties is working, already a crowd there. Surprisingly, the surf here is walled and racy with minimum opportunity for shoulders. Still though, it’s doable.

     I change and paddle out. The water’s freezing. Even my 4/3 isn’t doing much to keep me warm. Again, it’s been a while.

     I had slapped on the Jeremy Flores fins that Klaude got me for my birthday (thanks, buddy). I’m riding them as a quad setup with small Rusty trail fins.

     My first wave attempt is a wall. I know it is. I tell myself to pull out but my arms keep paddling and my feet keep kicking, so I drop down and pig dog for shit glory. For a perfect little beach tube, it would have been a good technique, but I instead get chomped down in an awkward wipeout.

     Next wave is a lefthand closeout barrel, but let’s call it quality because I set myself up pretty well and get a little green-room vantage.

     Afterwards, my next couple rides are a little awkward. I blow a topturn on a left after setting myself up with some good pumps. Too much weight too forward? I don’t know, but I did one of those turns where my body torqued but the board didn’t follow. On another turn, my fins have so much grip that I don’t hook out of it until I’m damn near at the base of the wave, but I still appreciate the sensation you get coming out of a full wrap. My round pintail might be gripping too much as well. Squash would do the trick. Might have been better off with a thruster setup as well.

     The sun burns off the marine layer, and the conditions turn perfect. No wind, glassy, and potential for peaky waves, but the tide creeps in. By 0800, the surf is already turning inconsistent and swampy. Slowly, the lineup shifts closer to shore. I even swap boards and whip out the Kainalu twin-fin fish, and it’s still hard to get waves.    

     Changing back at my car, I’m still glad about having made the decision to drive here. There was only a fraction of a crowd, I had a peak to myself, and the waves were decent, at least for a solid one-hour window.

     I drive home on the 405 North, hitting patches of traffic, I don’t mind the constant stop-and-go. It was my first dawn patrol of the year, first HB recon, and first drive of the year cruising and listening to music as I reflect on my morning waves.

WINTER CAMPOUT PT.3, SAT 27DEC2014

Yeah. That cold.

Loc: Lower Trestles

Time: 0730-1030

Conditions: 1-2 FT, offshore, empty.

Board: 6’0 Zippifish

     Friday night got fucking cold. No bullshit on record-breaking lows. Even with the space heater on full blast, my arms were freezing whenever they drifted out of my fart sack. I got a chill every time my skin touched the walls in my tent. I wondered how everyone else was doing, Hideki in his SUV, Hayana and J in their tent, Orlando and Jen in their van.

     The next morning, everyone except Hideki said they froze their asses off.

#

     I’m up at 0630. Old Man’s is barely breaking. Churches, in the distance, looks like one-foot crumbs. There goes the rest of the trip. I boil some water, make cocoa and accidentally mix it with oatmeal. When Bri and I eat it, it’s actually not bad. Cocomeal is born.

     With the sun illuminating the sky, random vagabond surfers make their trek from the state parking lot towards Trestles, much lower in numbers compared to yesterday. With everyone still knocked out, Bri and I do a recon to look at the surf. Already, guys are heading back to their cars, dry, ready to go home.

     Churches is small but kind of working. My favorite spot on the northern tip is pathetic. So inconsistent. Middles isn’t resembling what it was doing yesterday morning at all. But still, there are some little lines. We have to stay positive. The conditions could improve, but that’s just the surf syndrome talking.

     Everyone starts waking up while Bri and I are suiting up. We tell them where we’ll be, and we head out ahead of everyone.

     Bri catches waves right away when we paddle out. It takes forever for a good set wave to show up, and even that ride is lackluster. Orlando, our neighbor, and Hideki paddle out, and as if shying away from the new company, the surf just goes flat as a fucking lake. Nothing. Nothing at all. On top of that, more people show up just to sit here in stagnation. Orlando throws me a shaka, his smile hiding a feint twinge of disappointment. Even on his ten-foot board, he paddles, humps, and scrapes, but can’t get shit.

     Forty-five minutes go by. I keep eyeing Middles. It looks just as bad, but it could be better over there.

     “It’s probably the same over there,” says Orlando. “I haven’t seen anybody catch anything.”

     I tell him that I had seen somebody on something. As dismal as the attempt seems, Bri and I say we’ll be back if it sucks and make our way towards Middles.

     Hayana and J show up just as we start paddling away. They halt their move and follow us on foot, and then everyone starts paddling with us.

     Once at Middles, Orlando gets his first long right. He smiles on his return. I’m thinking that my work is done. He’s got a wave. And then he gets a second one. After that, the ocean goes dead again.

     A small A-frame breaks at Lowers, but it’s small, the shoulder dissolving right after it breaks. It’s crowded with seagulls, no surfers. I’ve only seen Lowers empty a couple of times, and those were on stormy conditions. Right now, it’s just empty because it’s tiny.

     It’s the last hope. Bri and I head over there. A small peak stands up, but right when I get it, I see that I’m over barely a foot of water. It’s breaking too close to the inside.

     J and Hayana finally join us. All of us are at Lowers. At this famed world-class SoCal spot, for the first time in my life, it is just my friends and I sitting on this wave. Of course, it has to be in the tiniest of conditions. The offshore is strong, making the chill factor unbearable. I’m freezing in my 4/3. But within minutes of us securing the spot, the wind just dies. An outside Lowers-quality peak stands up. Camp neighbor goes right, Orlando purls on the peak, and J goes left. The surf turns consistent. Little Lowers peaks all to ourselves. Now we all have that look on our faces, the purpose in our eyes to get back out there where the next wave might break. The feeling of stoke returns.

     As small as Lowers is, it’s breaking the best out of the peaks that we had passed to get over here. Everyone’s getting waves. Bri’s milking the inside. Hayana snakes Hideki a couple of times. He’s pissed, but really, on a small day like this, he should just party-wave it and be glad that there’s something to catch.

     The speed of the wave catches me offguard. I blow a couple sections, nearly wiping out on a late take off, but most of my rides are nose-walking down-the-line waves.

     We sell it. Three guys paddle out next to us. I already don’t like them. Sorry, but the locals who surf Lowers are greedy. Etiquette doesn’t exist here. But they’re on shortboards, and with our small-wave equipment, we’re still getting the best waves possible. For the first time, I get to be a greedy asshole, butt fucking the guys who usually surf here.

     Now we’ve all got our fill. Even I didn’t expect the session to be this much of a success. With the right boards, we’ve scored empty Lowers, a first, and without being here for first light or waiting until it’s nearly dark.

     It’s lunch time back at the campsite. The surf is just about gone, so we all shower up and prepare for a day of relaxing on the beach. Bri and I are here for another night, but everyone else decides to pack up.

     “No way,” says Jen. “It was freezing last night.”

     I don’t blame them. With the flat spell in full effect, I’m grateful that everyone had shown up and at least stayed the first night. Even more grateful that we scored Lowers. For the rest of our lives, we’ll always share this day, and we’ll always be able to say, “Remember that day when we all surfed Lowers together?”

Who goes beach camping in the winter?

 

WINTER CAMPOUT PT.1 (double), FRI 26DEC2014

Small and gorgeous



 

Loc: Middle Trestles

Time: 0730-1030

Conditions: 2-3 FT+, offshore, cold, semi consistent.

Board: 6’0 Zippifish

     Bri had wanted to get a cottage at San Onofre, but all of them were booked for the post-Christmas weekend. With my birthday coming up, I thought it would be fitting to check for beachside tent camping as well. Sure as shit, there was availability.

     With the surf forecast looking small, yet “fair,” I thought it would be a good idea to pull the trigger, especially with an oncoming flat spell on the horizon. I reserve the site and extend an open invite to the homies without expectations for waves or company.

#

     The forecast downgraded to a foot less in size. Sunday got downgraded from “fair” to “poor to fair.” Yet, I’m still positive about the whole trip. Out of the most important things on the checklist is our space heater, since SoCal has been hitting record-breaking lows.

     Upon reaching Churches, we see that the surf is small. I haven’t surfed here in a while, and sometimes three-to-four feet Trestles can still mean longboard conditions.

     Regardless, there are still lines coming in. Small peaks peel with nice right-hand shoulders. A large pack of longboarders are in the water, an indication that this place must’ve been going off the past week with the swell that’s now outgoing. A set rolls in at a solid three feet, shortboardable.

     With a pristine winter morning before us and not one cloud in the sky, Bri and I don’t hesitate to change and bask in the early morning sun with the rest of the sniveling jackals.

     The Zippifish should be more than enough board. Even though the surf is more consistent at South Churches, we opt for our favorite spot at the northern edge. Apparently, it’s a lot of surfers’ favorite spot because there’s a pack here as well.

     We sit wider than everyone else, on the fringes of Middle Trestles, and wait for waves to swing our way.

     It’s smaller here and more inconsistent. Two shortboarders share the peak with us. Within fifteen minutes they call it and leave. Now that we’re in prime position and faced with a dropping tide, better peaks start sprouting up. The rights are a little racy, but as usual, I pick off the lefts and wait for each one with motherly patience. My wave/left of the day stands up at four feet. I can already tell that it’s a classic cobble-stone wave with the way the shoulder lines up. Upon popping up, the volume and drive from the fish and its twin fins send me flying down the line. I top turn into a tight wrap, rebounding off the spilling lip. It feels good to get a performance turn on such a big board. I pump down the line and finish with a second turn, well eclipsed by the first one.

     Though as the session progresses, the surf here remains inconsistent. Meanwhile, another pack of surfers are selling Middles. Unridden peaks break and peel in the distance. Bri and I debate and finally begin our paddle towards Middles.

     Usually Middles is empty, but like South Churches, there is a pack sitting at the main peak here. Once again, it must have been good here lately. I haven’t seen Middles work in a while, but bigger and more consistent waves are coming. The waves are lining up so well that guys at the top are getting long ass rides all the way past Bri and I, who are sitting well wide to the south. A guy on a fish keeps taking wave after wave. Luckily, some peaks line up a little too walled and outrace most of the surfers on our inside, so Bri and I paddle in and still get some long quality rides. On my backhand, I crank out three backhand snaps, surfing the wave from top to bottom. Feels good to get some spray on this thing, especially since I usually end up going left on it.

     We could stay a little longer, but we’ve been out for a while. We’d like to see if we can do an early check in and grab something to eat.

#

WINTER CAMPOUT PT.2

Loc: Churches

Time: 1545-1645

Conditions: 2 FT+, light onshore, cold, consistent, low tide.

Board: 6’0 Zippifish

     The office doesn’t let us check in until 1300, so we go to Duke’s in San Clemente for brunch. Afterwards, we do some light shopping for camping supplies and check in. After setting up camp, Hideki’s the first of our guests to arrive. After him, Orlando and his Wife Jenny show up in the Volkswagen surf van. Lastly, J and Hayana arrive, my friends who I haven’t seen since we had camped together here over two years ago.

"I didn't come here not to surf."--Hideki

Orlando with his new van accessory.

     With the sun getting low and the air temp dropping, Bri, Hideki, and I suit up for the last session of the day. The tide’s so low that all the cobblestones are exposed. Barely anyone’s out, and the swell has already dropped a foot from this morning.

     I have a hard time getting into waves. Hideki, on his Channel Islands Average Joe, does too. However, Bri’s NSP surf craft is working perfectly, getting all the little waves and taking them all the way in to the rocks. Given the solid epoxy material that she’s riding, hitting the rocks isn’t a problem. I manage a few decent rides, but no turns like this morning. All I can do is draw a line, maybe pump, and get some distance before being forced to dismount from the shallowness.

     I’m pretty bummed that the surf has dropped this fast. With my party having missed the morning session, I worry that there won’t be any waves for tomorrow.

     Back at camp, Orlando’s already hitting it off with the neighbors in the next site over, drinking with them in his van and blasting some Bob Marley. The bonfire’s already started, and Jenny says that she’ll have some turkey burgers for everyone. I guess this is gonna be one of those trips where the company that you’re in outweighs the surfing conditions. So few were able to make it out, but I’m stoked to be here with the ones who did.