OUTGOING SWELLS, WED 06MAY2015

Loc: El Porto, 45th

Time: 0910-1010                  

Conditions: 4-5 FT, onshore, choppy, racy

Board: 5’10 Mini Driver, Quad Setup

     I had come here yesterday evening to check out the surf. It was small and onshore with a few sandbars offering some all right shoulders, so this morning I expected the surf to be decent with good wind and a little less energy. Too bad I sleep in and miss that window of glassy conditions.

     Walking down 45^th Street, I feel the onshore wind on my face. It’s not strong enough to blow shit out, but it won’t take much for that to happen.

     The Porto lot’s only half full, and the lack of life in the lineup reflects it, but despite the light chop on the water, there are some fast shoulders out there.

     It takes a while for me to make it out. Just that weekend of not surfing really brought down my conditioning. I pass on a couple long sectiony walls and then say fuck it and paddle into a rogue left. When I pull in, I get gobbled up and obliterated.

     The current’s pulling hard north. Before I know it, I’m in front of the rocks. It’s a paddle party, and everyone’s invited.

     Even though the shape’s not great, it still is a little playful out here. I get to the open face on a couple of lefts but fail to capitalize with a solid finishing carve.

     The rights look a little too dredgy, like I’ll get chucked off the lip. After watching a few go, I finally turn and go on a beefy one. Down the line, I can see that it’s already going to section out. However, I have a beautiful open face to work with before it does. Dropping down with speed, I bottom turn and crank off a solid bucket thrower and ride out into the flats. Fuckin’ A. Wave of the day right there.

     With the onshore wind picking up and more people leaving the lineup, I turn my board around and paddle back out, knowing that I’ll end up catching a closeout and cashing in my session after having caught that one good right.

WHEN TOO MUCH SWELL DOESN’T WORK, MON 04MAY2015

 

Loc: San Clemente / San Onofre, Churches

Time: 0900-1100                  

Conditions: 6 FT+, onshore, walled

Board: 5’10 Mini Driver, Quad Setup

     I had been closely watching the surf forecast for a while, waiting for this swell. I had to work all weekend, but today I had preset plans to go to Churches. On the late train, I arrive a little before 0900. Plenty of swell to go around was my mode of thinking. I don’t need to be early.

     The overnight surf must have pushed up over the shoreline and made its way to the road because there’s seaweed everywhere. The main parking strip in front of Churches is packed, so I park further south by the trailer sites, and what I see before me is. . . It’s not what I was hoping for.

     It’s walled. Too big for this place to hold shape. Guys are sitting way at the bottom of the wave. The lines are surfable but they aren’t tapered. No clean peaks, just sections that end in closeouts. I walk all the way to Middles, which is just a long closeout all the way to Lowers. Fuck me. Plus it’s overcast and fucking cold.

 

Top of Churches

North Churches going into Middles

Middle Trestles

Churches right

 

     I drive to Old Mans, and the shape sucks. It’s big, there’s a lot of water moving around, but the peaks are long and soft, so I drive back to Churches and suit up.

     The 6’0 Mini Driver is in today’s travel quiver, in case I need the extra volume, but the 5’10 should be fine.

     The paddle out’s not too bad, but the inside whitewash is a little strong. First I sit at the bottom of the wave. Nothing. I start inching my way towards the main pack and stop just short of them. That being said, the top of the wave is actually breaking. The waves aren’t peeling super long all the way towards the inside like how Churches can be on a good day, but it’s still rip worthy. The main problem is that everyone is sitting at the top of the wave. Longboarders, rippers, an SUP guy are all on it. Fuck. On crowded days I just pick a different spot to sit, but for today’s conditions, that tactic won’t work.

     I watch huge peaks roll in but have to pass because someone’s already on them. The sets are coming in head-high plus. Fucking A. I scratch out on a few. I feel it . . . not enough board. It’s too big for the 5’10.

     Now if I said that I’m not nervewracked, I’d be lying, but it doesn’t mean that I’m scared either. The feeling I have is more of a respect thing. Yes, Churches isn’t a round wave, but there is size, and being sucked down by one of these monsters could be taxing.

     I turn and go on my first right. The shoulder starts to race and section, so I kick out early. A guy on the shoulder who had backed out gives me an extended glace. Should I have held on to that one?

     It takes a while to catch another wave. Suddenly, I regret kicking out early on my last. I survive the drop on the next right, bottom turn, and cutback, but when I redirect, the wave mooshes out. Next wave, I get two lethargic soft backhand turns. Fuckin’ A.

     Impatient, I paddle towards the top and sit with the pack. I hate surfing like this. You have no idea how much I fucking hate crowds. I have to pass on waves because guys are so aggressive on them, I swear they’d fuck their own mothers just to catch a wave. As a wave rolls through and dips down, a massive line is way outside behind it. Someone lets out a hoot. Everyone scrambles. An old longboarder with a dickbroom mustache looks at me and starts laughing. What was that I said about respect? The wave stands up and breaks, and now I’m faced with a mountain of white wash. I duckdive for subterranean obliteration. No, not as gnarly as a big Porto wipeout, but it’s strong enough to keep dragging and dragging me backwards. I resurface a few feet away from Dickbroom. Close one.

     And . . . I want to tell you that the surf turned on, that I got that one wave that made it all worth it, and that I got a solid four-turn wave all the way to the inside. Instead. . .

     Fuck I’m cold. The air and water temperature have dropped dramatically this month. My 3/2 isn’t retaining much heat. A lull ensues, leaving every surfer just sitting in the lineup with their thoughts, and then . . . a nice set comes, but everyone is already on it. I struggle. Top of the wave, middle of the wave, bottom of the wave.

     My last wave’s a closeout. On the inside, I see a rogue set approaching, and everyone darting out to beat it. It’s been two hours. Two hours and I haven’t caught shit. I turn around and catch the whitewash in, stung at how I’ve just gotten skunk at Churches for the first time in a long time.

ENTER THE SWAMP, FRI 01MAY2015

 

Loc: El Porto, Rosecrans

Time: 0700-0830

Crew: Bri                        

Conditions: 3 FT+, foggy, swampy

Board: 5’10 Mini Driver, Quad Setup

     After yesterday evening, I expected for there to be fun thumping windswell peaks, but looking out at the ocean, I can already tell that the tide’s too high. Gary’s out here somewhere with Dave T. I spot someone in front of 40^th with Gary’s similar Grape Ape style on a left.

     When we paddle out at 40^th, I don’t see Gary anywhere. Must be more towards 42^nd, I’m thinking. Damn. I had wanted to surf 26^th Street, but I wanted to see if I could get some face time with Garr. It was my fault for waking up late. All around me, I don’t see one familiar face.

     I go really late on a left. It’s already spilling, and when the lip crashes onto my back, I’m sent flying down the line on my belly, finally recovering my popup on the inside. Lame. The takeoffs look promising, but the waves just moosh on the inside. I blow my next cutback from lack of speed (and skill).

     Meanwhile, it’s day number two for Bri and her new partner, the 6’0 Lost Mini Driver, and even though she has to struggle with the same conditions that I’m working against, she gets more waves than I do. I remind her to kick her legs to assist her paddling.

     It’s funny how that used to be my go-to board, which was suspect upon its initial purchase. Too big, had been my first thought, and then later I thought it fit like a glove. And now my girlfriend is riding it. Wow, it really must’ve been too big for me. A lot of credit goes for Bri’s progression, too.

     After Bri leaves, I hang out for a little while longer. The surf doesn’t improve much. I struggle to meet my one-turn quota and then finally quit and go in.

     At the car, there’s already a text from Garr from about an hour ago. “Not too worthy,” was what he had written. Yeah. I can see that.

QUAD AND THRUSTER (double sesh), THU 30APR015

Loc: Manhattan Beach

Time: 0645-0830               

Crew: Bri & Tom                                      

Conditions: 3 FT+, light onshore, overcast, choppy  

Board: 5’10 Mini Driver, Thruster Setup

     Bri leaves the house just before I do. On the way to the beach, she sends me a Vox, saying that the surf is small and that no one is out. Looking at the Hammerland Jetty, I see that she’s right. Dejavu. I’ve had so many mornings like this.

     When I reach 26^th Street, I drive by the lifeguard station to take a look. Yeah, it’s small, but there are some lines with potential out there. It would be worth it just to try. Bri had scored VIP parking, so she walks up to my window. She’s not even in her wetsuit yet. In the cool morning breeze, she stands with her hands in her pockets, ready to make the call to stand-down.

     I park up the hill and meet Bri on The Strand. Today’s a big day for her. No more NSP and no more 6’10 Becker. Today she’ll be experimenting with my old 6’0 Mini Driver.

     When we get to the sand, she says, “I’m nervous.”

     Looking out, the surf has already picked up from just fifteen minutes ago. It’s onshore and a little choppy with some occasional windswell shoulders. I tell her she’ll be all right, that she has much less board work against, and that she’ll be able to duckdive easier.

     The conditions are exactly like how they were last Saturday. Even Young Mike is out here, too, sitting on the left just south of the tower. I watch him blow a right, digging rail on the bottom turn for a backhand snap setup. He lets out a little yelp before falling.

     “Bogged out on you, huh?” I say.

     “No. I just forgot how to surf, apparently.” He’s shaking his head, frustrated at himself.

     A right comes in. Bri’s in position. As if she were surfing another typical session on her Becker, she turns around and catches the wave. Watching from behind, I see her spring up from a late takeoff, her head zigzagging down the line faster than I have ever seen before. She comes back smiling. “That was really fun!” she says.

     I give her some small pointers, suggesting that she start using her legs more to kick into waves now. On her next wave, her legs do a frog kick. Not what I had intended, but I try not to be a dick about it.

     Meanwhile, I’m off surfing a thruster setup. I feel the difference right on the popup. Quads would have me gripped on the highline right away and pumping with speed. Instead, my board slides down slower at a more downward angle. I’m used to driving off the bottom turn hard with quads for good torque off the top. Not the same with thrusters. I still get good waves, but I just don’t surf them the way that I want to. Not to knock thrusters, I just think that I’m so used to surfing a certain way now.

     Back at my car, I check my phone and see that Bri had left me two messages since leaving the water. It’s all about how stoked she is on the 6’0 Mini Driver. I message her back. To think, she was complaining this morning about the conditions and almost didn’t even paddle out.

#

TWO (double sesh), THU 30APR015

Loc: Manhattan Beach

Time: 1500-1630                  

Conditions: 4-5 FT, light onshore, sunny, walled

Board: 5’10 Mini Driver, Quad Setup

     I had to get a haircut for work today, and as if I don’t need more excuses to paddle out, I figure it will be a good way to wash the hair off.

     After decent evening conditions yesterday, I figure today might be a decent gamble, too. The wind is just light onshore. The mid-afternoon sun is glistening off of the ocean with little sectiony lines coming in. I don’t even care what kind of waves I catch. I just want to be out there.

     I paddle out in front of 45^th. It’s not until my second duckdive that I realize that the waves are juicer than they were this morning. A chick is in the lineup with a foamie and two other shortboarders. It had looked like there were lefts coming in at 45^th when I was walking down the hill, but I wasn’t able to tell how big they were.

     I pass on a walled wave. Everyone does. They aren’t in the six-foot range but just under and sucking out fast, too. To show I mean business (don’t judge), I take the next left and pull in. Instantly I’m pinched. No view, nothing. Just a closeout. It’s hard finding a shoulder. On shore, more post-work surfers are dotting the sand and driving down into the parking lot. Within minutes, six more guys crowd 45^th.

     Trying to paddle south and away from everyone, a peak sprouts up and offers a right exactly where I am. It looks a little walled, and I suck in critical waves on my backhand, but I put my head down and paddle for it. All I want to do is draw a good line towards the shoulder to make sure I don’t get clobbered, but the wave doesn’t throw out. Instead, I’m on a dredgy five footer that actually has an open shoulder. I get two cranking back hand snaps on it.

     The onshore wind picks up a little bit. What had looked like a pristine afternoon is now turning windblown. The left in front of the sandwich shack looks decent, while the waves at 42^nd just stretch out and close.

     Towards the end of the session, another right comes my way. Same thing. Two big hacks, and I kick out over the shoulder cleanly.

     I decide to get out at 1630. An hour and a half is a nice hit-and-run session, and for the two waves that I caught, it was worth it. Usually I sit out there for at least two hours, waves or not. Glad I called it at the right time.

CLIMBER (double sesh), WED 29APR015

 

Loc: Manhattan Beach

Time: 0900-1030                                      

Conditions: 2-3 FT, sectiony, sunny.  

Board: 6’0 Zippifish

     I forget why, but I had slept in a little on Wednesday and took my time before hitting the surf. It could have been because of the morning high tide. At first I cruised through El Porto and then thought that I’d check 27^th Street and see how the surf looked there. When I arrived, Viet Vet Mike’s VIP spot, which is right in front of The Strand, was vacant. The decision on where to surf was too easy after that.

     Parked in front of the million-dollar-plus home, a man walked out and was talking to his wife behind him. “Ask him what time he’s going to leave,” he said. As he pulled out of his garage, his wife asked if I could let her know when I was leaving because she needed to park there.

     “I should be done in an hour and a half,” I said.

     “I don’t care if you surf an hour and a half or three hours. Just let me know.”

     She had short white hair and a powdery complexion to match. I was glad that she was cool.

     I had spotted Toru on the sand earlier while changing. When I got to the lineup, I paddled up to him and asked if he was doing his standard thirty-minute heat. Of course he was.

     The water was glassy and the air was hot. Conditions were perfect, except the waves were coming in sectiony. Even on my Zippifish, I couldn’t milk the waves like the longboarders were. Costco Kim was even clowning me on that blue monstrosity that she rides.

     Yet, I still had fun. I pumped and raced the sections the whole time, setting myself up for huge foam climbs to the best of my ability.

     Making a pimp decision, I decided to leave early, only surfing an hour and a half. I had better things to do than hope for conditions to improve. I think that’s part of the whole balance scheme of surfing, maturing enough to know when to call your sessions. The old me would have just went for my mandatory two hours.

     Back at the car, life on The Strand was mellow. A guy was chilling with his dog on the grass near the lifeguard parking lot. Manhattan milfs were running on the beach. Middle-aged guys were working out on the outdoor gym setup, showing off their wrinkled pecs and bis.

     Just as I was done changing, the lady of the house called down at me from her second-floor balcony. “I don’t need the parking spot anymore,” she said.

#

CONTRAST (double sesh), WED 29APR015

Loc: El Porto, 40^th Street

Time: 1730-1900

Crew: Dais & Bri                                     

Conditions: 2-3 FT, light onshore.    

Board: 6’0 Zippifish

     I had gotten a text from Dais saying that Porto looked fun on the cams. An hour later, he texted me that he was paddling out in front of 40^th.

     I didn’t expect much for surf, but if Bri and I did catch him, we’d have an opportunity to let him borrow Khang’s 6’8 NSP, the one that Bri had been using for a while now.

     Pulling into the Porto lot, the scene was typical. It was a sunny, light onshore, warm beach day with a lot of people already showing up after work. The parking lot opened up when we passed the lot exit near 40^th Street. We spotted Dais’s car and parked next to him.

     There was a small pack in front of 40^th. Within a minute on the sand, I spotted Dais in the lineup.

     The surf hadn’t looked that great from the lot, but these occasional windswell peaks would sprout up with wedgy shoulders. This one kid on a shortboard was ripping the whole time. Right then, I wished I had my Motorboat Too and not the Zippi.

     I wanted to perform and get some turns on these tiny wedges, but I was off of my game. I blew a really good left, popping up and stepping too far forward, causing me to purl. That shortboarder grom had even backed out for me.

     I did get some rides though, but not shredding. Just going down the line with lackluster excitement. Bri was doing better than I was. Dais struggled a bit on his Average Joe.

     I told him that I had heard a rumor about Khang moving back to L.A. from New York.

     “Maybe 2016,” said Dais.    

     “Yeah? Not working out for him?”

     “Well,” Dais held out his arms and looked around him, “instead of being there he could be doing this.”

     The sun was really low. Everything around us just had this glowing hyper-beige to it. It was in the sand and in the houses all along the Strand. Meanwhile, the blue sky stood in sharp contrast overhead. The wind even died.