BRI’S SESSION, SUN 01FEB2015

The best way to cap off a three-hour surf sesh. AYCE sushi.

 

Loc: Bolsa Chica
Time: 0930-1230        
Crew: Bri, Cassady, Kami
Conditions: 2-3 FT, mid tide, uncrowded, consistent
Board: Pill & Zippifish

     Since Bri works two jobs now, it’s rare for her to get a full day off, but today she does. We had planned a surf day for her, and the call was to surf HB.

     We do it right this morning, sleeping in and planning to catch the surf when the tide’s on its way down. Also, with the Super Bowl on deck, we hope to catch an uncrowded session.

     I take the Studebaker exit and work my way towards HB on PCH. I like stopping at the HB Cliffs / Dog Beach to see how the surf is there before heading towards Brookhurst, but when we reach Warner we see that PCH is closed.

     Would have been nice to know this intel earlier, but there’s a marathon or a race going on. Hundreds, maybe thousands of runners are on PCH. Since I have a state parking pass, we enter Bolsa Chica. It’s either bypass PCH to get further south or surf here. We do a surf check at Tower 20. The waves are still fat from the tide, but there is shape. Bolsa Chica it is.

     I call my friend Cassady and tell him where we’ll be. It’s too mooshy and small for the Motorboat Too, so I whip out the Pill that Gary had let us sample, and Bri paddles out on the blue Zippifish. We’re not expecting much surf, just a fun small session.

     Within minutes of reaching the lineup, we’re in prime position for some long open shoulders. Signature HB style waves, even on the high tide, they are standing up a little more than Porto.

     Even though I’m using a composite set of FCS GMBs, the Pill is turning so smoothly. On punchy three-foot faces, I’m wrapping this board around doing solid cutbacks. Since it has such a full shape, I’m getting back to the open face so easily. The thruster setup is so responsive. I even walk the nose to get past some sections in front of me, longboard style, and then shift back to the tail to crank out more turns. Although, I can’t really get snappy turns because of the full round tail, but it’s still such a fun board. I’ve never ridden a board that can ride both like a long and shortboard, just such good balance for all around fun surfing.

     Cassady and his girlfriend Kami show up on longboards. Cas is a purist, so no leashes for them. He’s my former MFA classmate, so we have a good time catching up. They surf with us for an hour before leaving for a Super Bowl party.

     “Your guys’ stoke is so infectious,” he says. “We need to paddle out with you guys more often.”

     We make a tentative plan to hit Trestles next weekend before they part.

     Bri and I switch boards, and she does pretty well on the Pill. She catches a right, and I watch her pump to the open face from behind and cutback a little.

     The Zippi is another story. Being back on this beast is like catching a second wind. I can catch anything on this. With the lowering tide, the waves get a little racier, but the twin fins are so fast that I can pump so far down the line before cutting back. The turns on the fish aren’t as smooth as the thruster setup on the Pill though.

     At 1230, three hours later, we’re done. It’s on the way to Maru Sushi in Westminister. My buddy J had turned me onto this place. It might be a nice replacement for Zenko Sushi in Mission Viejo. There’s only one way to find out. I worry about a Super Bowl crowd, but the place is empty. Immediately when we get our first order, I can tell that the quality here is subpar from what I’m used to. The muscles are drenched in sauce and have a strong after taste. The mackerel is hard and looks like it’s been out for a while. Little subtleties like laps in presentation turn me off. Sloppiness. I hate to be a sushi snob, but I can’t help it. Yet, for eighteen bucks per person, it’s a good deal for a quick AYCE fix.

     We pick up some coffee at Lee’s Sandwiches, grab some Aloe Gator sunscreen at REI, some wax at Surf Concepts, and then stop off at El Porto before heading home. It was such a good day, cruising to Cali surf tunes (Tame Impala channel on Pandora) on the way home. Bri had said that she didn’t want the drive to end. Sitting on the sand, we watch the drained out surf at 45^th. Guys are milking it, even getting three hits, but we’re not paddling out again. Tomorrow the surf is supposed to be poor-to-fair before picking up again into Tuesday. Perfect excuse for a lay day. I have to let my body rest some time.

     Also, the surf session itself and the equipment we used, I feel lucky to be able to use different surf craft and feel the difference between twin fins and thrusters. Back then I wouldn’t have been able to appreciate the difference in responsiveness through the turns or the speed I can get on each setup.

     When I get home, I look in the mirror and see that my face is still smeared with white Vertra. The tan line on my neck is horrific; I’m two different people. With eyes bloodshot red, I can’t help but smile at myself. They are all the signs of a good day of surfing.

 

 

THE RICARDO SESSIONS, SAT 31JAN2015

Loc: Manhattan Beach, 42^nd Street
Time: 0645-0900        
Crew: Rick, Garr, Klaude
Conditions: 2-3 FT, high tide, swampy, crowded
Board: Motorboat Too

     I love surfing at my other local beach break, but I have to spread to the love and surf with my other homies, too. So I’ve figured out a schedule that allows me to surf with all my people each week. Monday through Thursday is pretty open for me. I can either surf local or travel to HB or as far south as Trestles. Garr likes to surf the Rosecrans area on Fridays, so I can catch him there. With Rick only able to surf the weekends, I have to put in a Porto sesh at least one day out of the weekend. This morning, I’m meeting them at 45^th.

#

     This morning I’m a good dawn patroller, catching Gary and Rick parked by the bathrooms before the sun’s up. Juan pulls up a minute later. Even though it’s dark, I can tell that it’s swamp city out there, but the peak at 45^th is trying to break through the tide. A couple longboarders get on the left. Tony, local thug life surfer, rips a small inside wave.

     Juan says he’s gonna wait for the tide to drop, but I just head out first. Why wait? Some of those waves look rideable. I send a Vox to Klaude and walk towards the steps that lead towards 45^th.

     It’s been a while since I’ve made this walk. I used to know a lot of people here. I look to my right and Whiffle Boy is there. He waves. I shoot him a peace sign and walk down the steps.

     The paddle out feels long. My muscles are aching. I’ve been surfing since Monday, and it’s catching up. I catch a mooshy right and then give up on 45^th. I sit wide south a little more towards 42^nd. Soon, I see Rick on 45^th. More people paddle out there to join him.

     Gary paddles up behind me. “Look,” he says pointing behind him. Klaude’s here.

     Finally, I get an opportunity to catch up with Fort Klauderdale. Being an accountant, he’s really busy this time of year, pulling late nights at the office while trying to be a social gerbil at the same time. Throw dawn patrols on top of that? I don’t think so.

     Lucky as I’ve been lately, I get some decent waves. I’m just in tune for some reason, and most noticeable, I’ve really been getting my front side wraparound cutbacks down. Maybe it’s because the surf has been soft lately, so it’s not like I’m getting snappy forehand hacks, just being fluid, rebounding off the lip, being low on my board as I redirect back down the line, and eyeing the section in front of me, preparing to pump towards that open face again. And I’m talking only three-footers tops. Easy surfing.

     Gary and I are paddling back out when a set wave breaks. Klaude pulls out. Gary tells Klaude that it was about to go round and barrel.

     “I’ll pull in next time,” says Klaude.

     Either way, the wave looked fast to me.

     We hold down the spot for almost an hour, but the place just gets packed. What had been the no-man’s land that no one else wanted to surf is now a prime surf zone.

     There’s a Japanese chick floating around on her fun board. Klaude chats it up with her a bit, even hooting her onto some waves. She paddles and doesn’t catch anything.

     Some longboarders paddle into our zone. One guy goes left. I’m on the shoulder, but I pull out for him, and he eats shit. Afterwards, the same guy paddles back out and takes the next wave again. Lame. It’s poor etiquette. If you had blown a wave and someone pulled out for you, let the next wave go. And then again, this is Porto.

     Once Tattoo Face enters the zone, I’ve had enough.

     “He loves it over there,” says Gary. He motions towards Rick. Rick’s right in the thick of things at 45^th. Leader of the pack, he’s catching back to back lefts. Paddling back through the lineup, he talks to everyone around him. It truly is Rick’s spot. He’s at home.

     Gary shoots south towards the bathrooms. I leave Klaude (sorry, bro) and paddle for 45^th, but it’s much too crowded. I sit wide north, watching Juan get on the frontside action.

     For old time sake, I paddle further north in front of the Chevron tanks, but the surf is dead here. I’m forced to push it further, and I find myself in the next pack. Whiffle Boy is here. I can see why. To escape the crowd, this is where one must surf.

     But the surf here is wonky. I paddle into a wave as the backwash hits, and I chuck my board just before I fly into the air. I have a good laugh with another surfer when I resurface.

     I also get caught inside in a weird wonky rip. It’s when a long set rolls through, too. When I finally make it back to the lineup, I see that it’s not even a long paddle out to shore. Not sure how I got worked so hard.

     My last wave, finally, I have an open-face right. I draw a deep bottom turn and prep to hit the lip when a fucking Costco Foam Fucker drops in on me. Not only is he dropping in on me, but he’s going left into me . . . the wrong fucking way. It’s one thing to snake someone but to slide down into him/her going the wrong direction? C’mon, man!

     Foam Fucker raises his hands in apology. I’m so over it. I straighten out and eat shit on the whitewash. I’m shaking my head in disappointment when I resurface. I turn around. Foam Fuck is still apologizing. I put up my hand, gesturing, Sure, sure, it’s cool. Not much I can do now.

     Walking back onto shore, I catch Whiffle Boy. “Looks like you had a visitor on that wave,” he says. “It is Porto.”

 

 

A FEELING, FRI 30JAN2015

Loc: Manhattan Beach, Rosecrans
Time: 0700-0900        
Crew: Bri, Garr
Conditions: 2-3 FT, drizzling, high tide, swampy
Board: Motorboat Too

     Gary’s already parked when I pull into the Rosecrans lot. He has his hoodie on with his hands in his pockets. With a light drizzle, slightly overcast conditions, and a swampy high tide, the surf doesn’t look too appetizing. I know Garr good enough to know that if the surf was decent, he would’ve been suited up by now. Bri pulls up a minute later. There are scattered peaks. The right is breaking through the high tide in front of the sandwich shack. Further south, the left is breaking at 34^th. Decent but crowded at those peaks. Out in front, waves are breaking but they are mostly insiders. Garr has work. When I tell him I’m paddling out, he kind of hesitates a little and says, “Yeah, I think I’ll suit up, too.”

     Garr goes straight for the peak at the sandwich shack while Bri and I paddle out in the dead zone in front of Rosecrans. Surprisingly, it’s not as inconsistent as it had looked. The waves are breaking fat, but there are some shoulders at the end of them. I get both lefts and rights, snapping on my backhand and getting some wraps on my frontside. After about twenty minutes Gary paddles over to us and says that he had gotten snaked by a couple of guys.

     Bri catches a couple waves and leaves a little later than usual; she still has to make it to work. Despite the tide, I’m doing pretty well for myself.

     Garr catches one in and waves back at me before marching off to his car.

     Sitting out there by myself, I think about my mom. She had passed away in August. Bri had been having dreams about her, says she had a dream about my mom carrying her own ashes. That made me pretty sad. Last night, I had a dream that I saw my mom and she had faked her own death. I remember hugging her in my dream, but the conversation was hazy. Then SWV’s hit from the nineties “Right Here” just starts playing in my mind. I remember the duplex my family had lived in on Glasgow Place on the East Side of Westchester, the way the evening sunlight would pour in through our kitchen window and shine on our dining table. I could see my mom standing in the threshold that led to the living room, still in her office clothes, full length hair, and makeup looking beautiful. That’s back in the day when she was really strong, wouldn’t hesitate to scold me if I was acting up. She was so independent then.

     Then I think about myself back in those days. I was such a selfish teenager who was only concerned with hanging out with my friends.

     Now I feel like shit. Depressed. But that song keeps on playing in my head, and for some reason I just feel like my mom is with me at this very moment. Suddenly, I want to leave. It’s 0830. The surf has gone inconsistent and sectiony. Regardless, being the cheap ass that I am, I push the session to 0900 since I had fed the meter up to that time.

     Driving up the hill to exit the El Porto lot, I’m at the red light. Usually I just hit the accelerator when the light turns green to make the left, but for some reason I hesitate a little bit and ease into the pedal. Just before pulling out to make the left turn, a black SUV runs the red light and speeds through the intersection. If I had pulled out just a second earlier, that would have been my ass. I mean literally, that SUV would have careened straight into my driver’s side door and I would have been fucked.

     The whole drive home I think about what would’ve happened had I been hit, especially my girlfriend Briana. I shake the thoughts away. I’m here. I’m fine.

     I had a feeling though that my mom was trying to tell me to just get out of the water early. I’m not much of a spiritual or religious person, but I just can’t help but feel like she was there.