CLASSIC TRESTLES, WHERE ART THOU?, MON 25MAY2015

Loc: Churches

Crew: Bri

Time: 0700-1000                  

Conditions: 3-4 FT+, low tide, overcast, glassy, walled

Board: Lost Mini Driver, 5’10

     Klaude’s advice would be not to set your expectations too high, but it’s hard not to give my favorite Cali spot “high expectations.” North Churches, the left. For a goofy footer, I can’t tell you how much value a Trestles-quality left has. So when Surfline forecasts 3-4 Occasional 5 Feet for Memorial Day, you can bet that I’m gonna be stoked. Having been skunked before, I know there are two factors I have to be weary of. One, will it actually be smaller than predicted? Two, will there be too much south in the swell that will produce walled shape?

     The drive south is already looking glum. Gray skies and overcast, not an ideal beachbum kind of day. Exiting Basilone road, we see that Middles looks like one long closeout.

     Parking near Churches, we can see that there is definitely swell activity in the water. Size is not an issue today. It’s definitely big enough, but waves are a bit walled and sectiony. Despite the marine layer, at least it’s clean and offshore.

     Bri and I change and follow three other longboarders ahead of us. At the top of Churches, longboarders are sitting on top of one another, stagnant. That’s a bad sign. When we get to the northern tip of Churches, where the lefts are, the other guys in front of us paddle out right there. Just then, a peak rolls in, offering some sectiony but surfable shoulders. “Right there!” I say to Bri.

     So we paddle out and sit wide from the crowd as usual, hoping to sneak some waves under everyone else’s radar. Another weird thing about this morning is how soft it’s breaking. Even though the tide’s low, the waves are coming in soft and breaking late.

     Bri and I scratch around for about fifteen minutes not catching shit. Top of the wave is working, but the peaks stretch and section out. Fuck, I already know . . . skunked big time.

     I’m not one to abandon my favorite spot so easily, but we move the party on over to Middles where it appears to be working a little bit better. We try to sit wide towards the inside of Middles, but nothing breaks by us. It’s just as bad here. People piled on top of each other, ready for anal rapeage.

     There’s nothing like the loathing that rises within me upon being skunked. I hate everything right now. Drove for a fucking hour, and for what? Just about everyone around me is wearing the same scowl on his face. Bri’s the only chick here, and she’s scowling, too.

     I ditch the sitting-wide technique and sit at the top of Middles, and, holy shit, I actually get a few waves. Well, the quality still sucks, still sectiony and racy, but a few stay open long enough for a good handful of single-shot rides.

     On a setwave right, I bust out a closeout hack on a pretty critical section. Bri works the inside, catching a right after two guys before her had scratched out. So now we’re doing okay, but it’s still just “okay.” Man, it’s just not what we drive down here for.

     Bri goes back to the car after two hours. I’m stubborn, so I wait it out a little longer for vain hopes of a miracle, the miracle that shit will just change.

     Even though I’m getting waves, I hate competing, and I’m robbing other people of rides, and I don’t like that feeling either, so I work my way back to north Churches where I’m immediately reminded of why I had ditched this spot earlier. It’s still inconsistent with twice as many people now.

     I paddle through the lineup until I’m at the bottom of Churches, all the way by the military campsites. Wagner, local 45^th Street Kingpin, is actually out here with two groms. Poor guy. He’s scratching for waves and kicking out as soon as he pops up. There’s this bewildered look on his face that says, “I thought that it was supposed to be good today?”

     Welcome to the party.

AFTER FOOD POISONING, SAT 23MAY2015

Loc: El Porto, 40^th Street

Crew: Bri, Rick, Gary, Dave T.

Time: 0615-0745                  

Conditions: 2-3 FT, low tide, offshore, windswell

Board: Motorboat Too

     After being gone for a week, I had been looking forward to surfing again. Unfortunately, I got food poisoning my last day on duty. At first I thought it was a hangover, but when I started pissing out of my asshole into the second day, I realized it was a bit more serious than I had thought.

     On Friday night, after having a chance to recover since Tuesday, I get the text from Gary: “Where you surfing at, Duckbutter?” Initially I wanted to go to 26^th Street to get my local card stamped, but since the Gare Bear actually reached out to me, I figured it would be nice to catch up with him and the other guys as well.

#

     I wake up at 0530, which is late. Late because I know the WHC is already in the water at this very moment. “We’re late,” I say to Bri, but I don’t push too hard. I take my time getting up, eat a snack, fill our water jugs, and then I start to nudge her out of bed.

     The surf looks small on the way to Porto. I can’t tell if it’s actually decent enough to surf, but it doesn’t matter because I had already made the commitment to paddle out.

     Pulling into the parking lot, I already see everyone’s cars lined up and abandoned. Yup, they’re definitely out there.

     There’s some patchy overcast in the sky. If anything, it’s definitely not sunny. As soon as we reach the sand, we see three black wetsuits in front of 40^th Street, only two other guys are further north in front of the sandwich shack.

     One by one, Rick, Garr, and Dave each get waves, but the surf is a little lackluster. Consistent lines are rolling in on the low tide, but they just look too small to crank good carves on. It looked like more of a trimming and distance day than anything.

     With my new 4/3, I enter the water. It’s sealed water tight, save for the trickle that gets in through the backzip; I haven’t used one of these in a while.

     Gary spots us first. We wave. Pretty soon the five of us are holding down the spot.

     I can’t remember the last really good session that I’ve had. Even Churches a couple of weeks ago was a bit average on the stokometer, and I’m not expecting too much this morning. However, for what the small surf has to offer, these guys are attacking the waves indiscriminately, the same way they’d attack the surf on a rippable day. Rick goes backhand and throws out a bucket. As the morning goes on, despite a growing crowd, Gary finds himself in perfect position on two setwaves. On his pill, he just pumps down the line, making the sections, to set up for one finishing carve all the way on the inside, nearly halfway to the next tower north.

     I do all right. For a day like today, I get one backhand hack on a good open-face section. I put as much mustard as I can on it, letting out a week’s worth of pent up surf aggression and another four days of food poisoning on top of it.

     Paddling back to the lineup, I get thumbs up from the guys. One wave. Honorable mention. It’s a decent start to being back home.

CHURCHES HIT AND RUN, SUN 10MAY2015

Loc: Churches

Crew: Bri

Time: 0800-1100                  

Conditions: 2-3 FT+, low tide, sectiony, clean, sunny

Board: Motorboat Too

     Today . . . I’ve been saving so much stoke for today. After not having scored on that last big swell, there’s at least a small pulse on tap. Surfline has it at 3-4 FT, no plus sign at the end of that, though. Doesn’t matter. How many times have Bri and I scored small rippable surf here? Even me on my solo lonesome. Plenty of times. That occasional four footer could be fun. I know this wave. Fun three-foot lefts are all I need for a good time.

     There’s no rush this morning because of the drained tide. Exiting Basilone Road, we look out at Middles and see clean lines rolling in. We get our stoke on and cheer at the site.

     Parking at Churches, only a few longboarders are out. It’s Mother’s Day. I imagine how many people are grumbling and groaning about having to dedicate today to their mothers, but my mom’s gone. I had gone to the cemetery yesterday to lay some flowers down at my mom’s grave. I can’t tell you how much I regret being one of those kids who “grumbled.” I can go on and on, but this isn’t a pity party. I’m hard on myself. Plenty of regrets to think about for a while. I shed a few and then some yesterday.

     Churches has some consistent peaks coming in. The tide is making the surf sectiony, but Churches can hold shape, and the longboarders are milking it.

     Bri and I walk past the top of Churches where the lefts are. Walking out is a bitch, but we manage the trek unscathed. I’m on my Motorboat Too, the right board for this spot. I just need the right wave. My first wave’s a left, and I fall on the top of my cutback from leaning back too hard without momentum. I do the same on another one. For some reason, I’m just not jiving well on my lefts lately.

     Bri somehow manages to catch everything breaking on the inside despite the low tide and lulls.

     A big right comes but it sections out, so I stall on the snap and go over the lip. I can’t say it’s one of those mornings when the surf isn’t providing because it’s giving plenty, but instead of playing it safe, I’m practicing. For the rest of the session, I blow all my layback snap attempts. On one, I feel the tension release on my ankle, and it’s bye-bye board. Broken leash. Luckily, Bri is on the inside and saves my board.

      Burning some time, I powerwalk back to the wagon and return with my backup. The wind’s a little choppier now. The tide’s in a weird shift from bottoming out, and the size drops about a foot. No more sets. Swell gone.

     Bri’s cold, so she goes in. Stubbornly, I stay out with some other Japanese dude named Tim. Ironically, he surfs the South Bay and lives in Gardena on Redondo and Normandie, where I had once rented a room from my buddy Dan.

     After the next small closeout, I ride into the shallows and wave goodbye.

     Back at the wagon, I give Bri the option. She has work tomorrow. I have to prepare for another week long mission up north for work as well. We can either wait out the tide and paddle out again later or get a headstart home. She selects the latter.

     It’s hard leaving this place with only one session in, but it was probably the best call we could have made this morning. The South Bay wasn’t doing much. There were waves. I didn’t do so well, but that was my fault, not the ocean’s.

     If my mom were still alive, today would have been a day for her. I used to take her out to Cheesecake Factory. Her favorite dessert was the tiramisu. She also liked Marie Callender’s, and it was where I had taken her a year ago today. From what I remember, it was a good breakfast together.

IT’S OVER, SAT 09MAY2015

Loc: Manhattan Beach, 26^th Street

Crew: Bri, Jimmy B., Manny, Juan

Time: 0645-0800                  

Conditions: 2-3 FT, dumpy, low tide

     What the fuck happened to yesterday’s fun low-tide sesh? A lot of people are already parked around 26^th Street. It makes sense. The word’s out, yesterday was good, but today. . . that swell’s over.

     Surfers sit stagnant atop a low-tide lake, looking at each other. More surfers paddle out to look at each other again.

     The WHC paddles out more south in front of Marine, where a left was working yesterday according to Jimmy. I believe him, too. Today the sets are just breaking on shore. We paddle out anyway.

     Bri and I start off at 26^th and shoot the shit with the locals to get our Ohana points. The waves with size just suck out and dump. Surfers aren’t even paddling out, they’re walking.

     Out of cold and boredom, Bri and I paddle south to Marine to join the rest of the guys. They’re pulling in on the closeouts. If they weren’t, they’d just be sitting there. I look at my watch. Not time yet.

     Bri and I paddle back north to 26^th. Conditions have not improved. In fact the tide is now lower. I look at my watch once more. One hour officially. Time to go in. We lose.

 

SURPRISE ATTACK (double), FRI 08MAY2015

Loc: El Porto, 45^th

Crew: Manny A.

Time: 0945-1115                  

Conditions: 2-4 FT, consistent, glassy, fast, overcast

Board: 5’10 Mini Driver, Quad Setup

     Yesterday the cams looked like shit. With low-tide mornings, the surf hasn’t fared much lately, and it also rained hard last night, so who the hell would be paddling out today? Of course, I get the text from Mr. First Light himself, Gary C. AKA Balls Deep AKA Grape Ape, that the surf looks fun. He sends a pic of a right breaking just in front of the rocks at 45^th Street. I’m still groggy, lying on my futon, stuck in bed from last night’s residue. He might be right. Pulling up the cam on my Surfline app, I see that consistent groomed waves are rolling into Porto, but the tide still looks too low, too fast. I put my head down and go back to sleep.

     About an hour and a half later I get another text from Gary. “Off the hook,” he says. “Not big but fun, glassy, and barely anyone out.”

     Well fuck me. I hop on the late train and get to the Porto lot. Not shit. It’s overcast and glassy. The ocean has that gray metallic glint over it, matching the sky, pure post-rain conditions. I throw in my earplugs just in case.

     Running on the sand, I recognize no one in the lineup. I look to my left and spot another surfer running at my same speed heading for the surf, too. The Hurley dual band over his thigh looks like racing stripes on his wetsuit. We look at each other closer. He gives me a thumbs up. It’s none other than WHC standout Manny A. AKA Manolo Fresh.

     We talk but can barely hear each other because we both have earplugs on, and we’re also stoked on the surf, so yeah, we’re poor listeners.

     The sections are fast but there are shoulders. The tide’s low, so the waves are slottish for some mini tubes.

     My first wave is a left, and I blow it with improper weight distribution and poor balance and timing on my cutback. Lame. I don’t fare much better for a while. On another left, I pull in on the shoulder, and the lip chandeliers over me. It’s one of my cleanest tube glimpses in a while, but some guys are standing on the inside in my line (because of the low tide), so I penetrate out the back to avoid a collision. Eh. . . I doubt I would have made it out cleanly anyway, but at that moment I could tell that it was one of those mornings, where if you had the right wave you could get barreled.

     The wind starts to shift and turns the water slightly choppy, but the shape’s still good. Manny catches a left, and I take the right after his wave. Manny’s on my inside as I’m setting up my bottom turn. I hear a hoot, climb the face, and uncoil a nice snap off the top.

     Back in the lineup Manny says, “Dude, did you see my wave?”

     “No?” I say, still smiling.

     “I just came out of a little tube! I was giggling like a girl just now.”

     “I would be, too!” I said. “You see my right?”

     So the dick sucking session began, the two of us complementing each other, spreading ass cheeks and anuses. Isn’t that what a stoked session with a friend is all about?!?!

     For some reason I haven’t been good on my lefts lately, as I score one more backhand snapperooskie on a right before going in.

     Back at my car, the wind’s picked up a bit more, the ocean choppier. Manny’s still out there, though, still going for it. Usually that would be me, but I got some things to do today. Gotta write. Gotta have balance. Gotta pay attention to local intel from Mr. First Light. When he says it’s good, believe it.

#

WHEN YOU DON’T WANT THE GYM, FRI 08MAY2015

Loc: El Porto, 45^th

Crew: Bri

Time: 1500-1630                  

Conditions: 2-4 FT, consistent, overcast, onshore

Board: 5’9 Motorboat Too, Thruster

     So when Bri comes home from work and says she really doesn’t want to go to the gym today, what else does a surfbum boyfriend do but recommend a surf session as an alternative? I take a look outside and look at the trees in the driveway. The leaves are barely moving. The cams look like the surf’s onshore but with shape. SOLD.

     Pulling into the Porto lot, my expectations are well met with surfable onshore conditions. This time, the sun’s out. The sun’s making the peaks sparkle as they roll in. We can’t wait.

     Since my surfing’s felt a little stale lately, especially on my lefts, I whip out the Motorboat Too. With the tide on the higher side and not much swell on tap, I figure I can open up on this little thing.

     Upon paddling out, Bri gets held back on the inside and dragged north towards the rocks. It’s a little more consistent than it had looked from the lot. Duckdiving a set, I also realize that it’s a little bigger.

     Only a few guys are out, but they’re ripping. Guys are going down the line, pumping, dumping their momentum on powerful finishing carves. I try to respond on a left but can only pump and kick out before it closes. Bri makes it out towards me. I turn and go on a wedgey little left. I feel late. One of the rippers is on my inside. I pop up, but my front foot’s a little too far forward, so I purl. Blown left again. When I resurface, the guy’s looking at me. I say sorry, smile, and paddle back out.

     Damnit. I’m back on kook mode. Hmmm. Probably should have used the Mini Driver. I know that I do my best on my Motorboat Too at Trestles or when Porto is super soft, but I just can’t help taking this thing out every once in a while.

     Bri’s getting more waves than me. Maybe she’s not doing solid turns on the 6’0 Mini Driver quite yet, but she looks comfortable on it. A couple more waves, and she puts me in comboland.

     During my struggle, the clouds move in, and the sky’s overcast once more. The wind also picks up, and the surf gets blown out.

     Back at the lot, a guy who had paddled out when we did is changing right by us. “It just switched, didn’t it?” I say.

     “Yeah,” he says. “It got really bad, but it was good earlier.”

     No solid waves for me this evening, but I’m glad we did this instead of the gym. Dang. What happened to balance?