BRI’S HOOKIE AND KK BDAY TRIP (double), TUE 09JUN2015

 

Loc: San Onofre/San Clemente, Church Beach

Crew: KK & Bri

Time: 0700-0945

Conditions:  4-5 FT+, overcast, strong onshore, choppy, walled

     Skunk. It’s something that has to end eventually. Within the last month, this will be at least my third trip to Trestles, the last two being unclassic and mediocre at best. With KK’s birthday, today is a well calculated trip. I’ve been watching the forecast. It’s supposed to be “Fair to Good” today, 3-5 with occasional 6 footers. The size will be there, but will it be too much? Will the swell be coming in walled? Will this small storm system mess up the surf? Will it be classic with scattered peaks at North Churches? Only one way to find out.

     0515 is the start time, and Klaude shows up early. Excellent. Bri and I have already been up, been had our coffee prepared as well as gear packed.

     The weather is reminiscent to last week Thursday when I had made the drive. It’s overcast with small pockets of drizzle.

     “It doesn’t matter if it’s good,” says Klaude. “I’m just glad to spend the day with both of you.”

     It’s his birthday. He could be spending his birthday doing a hundred other things, but he chose to spend it with me and Bri to gamble for waves. Worst case, no good surf, but plenty of chummy vibes.

     Making the exit onto Basilone, we see long lines rolling into Middles, which causes a hooting frenzy in the car, or maybe it’s just me. Pulling up to Churches, we see that the wind is blowing side shore from the east, causing some light but manageable texture on the ocean’s surface. The peaks are long and sectiony mixed in with some corners at the top of the wave. The main thing is that the conditions are still fairly clean. The rides look fast and picky, but it’s working and there’s size. I can already tell that it’s gonna be a workout of a session. Oddly enough, as overcast as it is, the air is warm. It’s so humid.

     Full of stoke, we change, and head towards west (formerly north) Churches. Only problem is, the further we get away from the top of the wave, the more everything looks closed out. Mons Pubis, the border between Middles and Churches, isn’t holding shape. “Well, we could always work our way back to the top of the wave,” I say. I like starting off at the west end of Churches anyway.

     Conditions are still fairly clean when we paddle out. The surf looks a bit more manageable from the lineup. I duckdive a few rideable shoulders. My first wave is a small three-foot left from a flattened and outstretched peak. I pump, get a check turn, and manage a little baby floater at the end. Not a bad start. Plenty more of these, and I’ll be fine. I get a second wave just like it, and then . . . that’s when everything changes. Wind. It’s variable now howling from the northwest, more sideshore than offshore. Goodbye clean conditions. On top of that, the swell is coming in too lined up. The peaks, as has been the issue lately, are just too walled, fast, and sectiony. Yet, there are a few corners here and there, just really not enough. It’s a trying session.

     Klaude gets a long milker of a right. Bri gets a legit shoulder but gets snaked. For a while there, we’re just bobbing in the water, unfulfilled.

     “You guys wanna paddle to the top of the wave?” I say.

     Klaude looks east. “Nah. Do you really wanna sit around like fifteen people?”

     Damn. And so the session goes. Skunk 3, Classic Trestles 0. When will it end?

#

     We really tried and even forced, but you can only manufacture waves so much. Klaude gets out first. I follow. Bri comes in last. We change and hit San Clemente for brunch, The Bagel Shack I believe. Klaude’s birthday karma gets us a free small mocha, and then it’s back to Churches.

     The conditions don’t lighten up. We do a walk to Lowers and hang there for a while, watching the eternal crowd. As junky as the surf is, Lowers, no surprise, is holding despite the wind and chop. Afterwards, we head back to Churches and chill there until the next sesh.

#

Loc: San Onofre/San Clemente, Church Beach

Crew: KK

Time: 1500-1645

Conditions:  4-5 FT+, overcast, strong onshore, choppy, walled

     “It’s bigger. And the wind’s even stronger,” says Klaude. “It’s worse.” He’s right, but we’re not gonna call this birthday session without a fight. Top of the wave has a few rights, so Klaude and I suit up for the best.

     Not much to compare this to. I imagine the last battle at Thermopylae before the Spartan stronghold got overrun by the Persians. Not sure how much hope those guys had at their last stand, but KK and I paddle out prepared for defeat.

     Surprisingly, there are some decent rights. Occasionally among the cleaner sets, there are good waves. The only problem is how the crowd is congregated at the main take off spot, so Klaude and I have to watch guys go on wave after wave, particularly a guy on a blue longboard is just killing it.

     We play the inside outside game on where to sit. KK gambles on the inside a lot without much better luck than I. I catch two random lefts, both short, but they offer at least one carve and a floater.

     My wave of the day is a right that I’m just luckily in position for. Klaude and I are both on the inside. The peak’s about to break right in front of me, so I paddle out to position myself. Klaude’s on the shoulder on my outside. When I turn around, I’m surprised to see he’s not scraping for it. I would’ve given it to the birthday boy. The wave starts off fast, but I catch up to the section. It’s my first legit right of the day, so the ride turns into one of those moments where I’m so close to blowing it because it means that much. My turns are forced. First snap is ugly, but the wave has enough umph to send me back down the line. Second turn, the same. Even with the wave dissolving to three feet on the inside, I still crank out a third turn with speed, there’s that much energy.

     In the distance, I see Klaude give me the nod of approval. I turn and go on two more residual inside rights that don’t amount to much.

     Back at the top of the wave with Klaude, we’re losing the battle. Giving up waves, caught by sets, and passing up on more closeouts. It should be a joyous day. It’s not that it isn’t, but it just sucks that the surf hasn’t cooperated. Klaude, just as bad I, need a really good session. It’s been a while.

     Klaude calls it. I catch a final closeout five minutes later. Bri had napped through the second session, not missing much.

     At 1800, we catch tip off at TGI Fridays in Westminister with Tim, Seba, Martin, Malcolm, and his chick Layla. We order the endless appetizers. Klaude, Bri, Martin, and I are rooting for Golden State. They lose. Klaude gets sick from the food. “Not clean,” he says. He’s right. The food is shit, but we’re here, we’re together.

     Only if it could’ve been one of those Trestles days, I’m talking clean peaky three footers with light wind. Has it been that long? Once upon a time, Klaude and I had thrived off of Trestles surf, “Duuuuuuude, duuuuuuuuude,” all around after every good ride. Me on the inside while Klaude’s on a good one and vice versa. Today was not the case. Not sure when we’ll have another session like that. Birthday or not, hookie or not, gambling for the third time in a row or not, there is no formula. No recipe. No guidelines. The waves will be good when Mother Ocean feels like making them so.

BETTER THAN IT LOOKS, THU 04JUN2015

 

Loc: San Onofre/San Clemente, Church Beach

Time: 0700-0900

Conditions: 3-4 FT+, overcast, light onshore, choppy, uncrowded.

     Having to work this weekend, I’m feening for some good surf. One or two-turn beachbreak closeouts won’t be enough. I had been monitoring the forecast for over a week, and today there’s supposed to be some decent swell activity down south. In particular, Trestles is supposed to be 3-4 FT Occasional 5.

     Dawn patrolling’s so hard this close to the summer solstice, so I leave the house at about 0545, thinking that I’m still nice and early. However, the 405 and 22 JCT is bumper to bumper. Now I’m really cursing myself for not leaving earlier.

     It’s been overcast lately, and today is the worst that it’s been with the addition of rain. I hit a few pockets in Orange County where I need my wipers. This day’s already not looking good, but upon hitting San Clemente the rain stops. Suddenly, the idea of catching clean and peaky Mons Pubis seems possible. I just have a good feeling that this will be a good trip. Exiting Basilone Road, I see that Lowers is choppy.

     Bad. It looks really bad. Only about five guys are out. There’s still a sting of sprinkle in the air. The flags are blowing onshore. “Better than it looks?” I ask a guy coming in.

     “Eh. It’s a little bumpy because of the wind,” he says. It is onshore. There is texture. The tide is low. It’s not ideal at all, but . . . for an onshore day, Churches is somewhat doing what you would want it to do in these conditions. As onshore as it is, there is some shape. Already, I know it’s gonna be better than the last time I was here.

     I take my time changing. The wind’s not going anywhere, and I got all day anyway.

     “I wouldn’t do it,” says the guy as he’s pulling out past me.

     As gloomy as the skies are, the water’s warm. I’m scorching in my 4/3. Bad move. I start off at the bottom of the wave and catching a running closeout. No turns. Slowly, I end up working my way towards the top of the wave. A few more guys have paddled out, mostly longboarders.

     I start off with some long sectiony rights. The faces stay open long enough for single cracks. Next thing you know, going into 0900, the wind really lightens up. It’s not perfectly glassy, but the water’s surface goes from chopped to light ripples. It’s smooth enough that it’s hard to see the waves coming with the gray sky reflecting on them.

     Some of the waves lineup better, offering two hits. I’m the only shortboarder who’s doing well in this thin crowd.

     I chat it up with a couple guys. “Better than it looks from the shore,” “It’s warm,” “Should have worn my 3/2,” “I almost ran over and killed my friend.” Everyone’s mellow.

     With the cleaner conditions, the ocean goes into longer lulls, but when the waves come, there’s size. With the tide push, the waves are getting bigger. Nothing of consequence, just a duckdive workout. I even count eight duckdives on a long set.

     The onshore wind picks up again, making the waves a little faster. I get a few triple hitters as well. Wave of the day is on a rare left, where I pull of a little tail slide coming off of the carve.

     By 1030 I’m friggin’ done. My triceps are on fire. I’ve never appreciate all the other smaller muscles that support my paddling.

     I paddle back towards the bottom of the wave and actually get one backhand hack to end it. On the cobblestone shore, I turn around and look at the ocean, seeing how it looks like complete crap, but it’s a mirage. The shape actually held up. My best Trestles trip in a long time.

#

Loc: San Onofre/San Clemente, Church Beach

Time: 1545-1715

Conditions: 3-4 FT+, sunny, onshore, choppy, uncrowded.

     I grabbed a burger combo meal from Sonics and a medium strawberry cheesecake shake. I thought their mediums were small, but I was wrong. After killing some time in the library and doing a conference call for work, I headed back to Churches. Surprisingly, the marine layer burned off, and the blue sky made everything ideal for a summer surf day, but the wind was much stronger.

 

     “Better than it looks?” I say to a longboarder coming out of the water.

     “Nope,” he says, shaking his head. “Had to wait a long time for like . . . two waves? Even those weren’t that great.”

     It looks inconsistent, but there are some waves coming in. I can only hope that the wind will switch. I got a sushi date for Game 1 of the NBA Finals at 1800, so I must work up an appetite.

     Just like this morning, I start off at the bottom of the wave. Optimistic, I’m thinking that I could milk this session somehow, but nothing comes but a long lull.

     Surprisingly, when the first real set breaks, it breaks pretty far out. Everyone’s caught off guard. The surf had looked small, but it’s like five feet on the sets.

     Waves start breaking in between the sets towards the inside, lefts. The funny thing is that no one really wants or sees them. My first one isn’t rippable. It’s just a chaser, where I just pump to make the section and pull off a couple of floaters, but just getting that distance feels good. Some of the lefts just stay open long enough for one solid carve.

     I do manage a few rights, but nothing of particular significance. It’s a short session since I have to make my way to Mission Viejo. Leaving Churches, I feel I got what I came for. Not as ideal as clean peaks at Mons Pubis or teepees at Middles, but there were waves. Even with the onshore wind, Churches delivered. No cuts either.

     At Zenko Sushi, Sebastian, Tim, and I eat and watch the whole game. Like three hours straight, eating sushi. Trip complete.

SETTING UP, WED 03JUN2015

Loc: Manhattan Beach, 27^th Street

Time: 0700-0900

Conditions: 3-4 FT+, overcast, clean, racy

     You can imagine how pissed I was after getting skunked at HB. Pulling up to 27^th Street, I see clean lines coming in, but they’re a little sectiony and breaking close to shore. It’s an average beachbreak day with slightly challenging conditions. I can already tell that. I can also tell that it’s one of those mornings when a good corner can make a difference.

     I score free parking and head towards the water. All the high schoolers have taken over the best two peaks, the two lefts that break just south of the tower close to Marine Ave. Instead of paddling out there, I meander towards Brick House that’s just north of the tower. A funboarder paddles out next to me. When I make it out, I turn around and see that the funboarder’s back on the sand.

     The current’s up a little today. Stretches of black dots are being pulled towards 30^th Street. Guys are doing the carousel, getting out and walking south again. Bricks is a little inconsistent, too. Most guys in the lineup are just watching the groms kill it. A few groms choose to sit nearby where it’s less packed, too.

     But there still are waves. I catch a heaving right. I try to hit the lip before it closes, and as I’m winding up for the snap, the lip is already in a follow-through pitch. So fast! I kick away my board and land in the flats. Ugly. I resurface, and another wave’s behind it. Sucked beneath, I’m awkwardly holding onto my board upside down, waiting for the fucking thing to rise up.

     When I get back to the lineup, I suffer from bad wipeout syndrome. For me, it’s a parched back throat. It doesn’t make sense, it’s like the back of my throat feels painfully dry, and then the mucous buildup starts.

     I’m hacking and spitting, pulling webs of mucous away from my lips. It’s my first bad wipeout in a while.

     The next left has a good shoulder on it. I pop up and get down the line, causing a kid to pull out for me. I get a frontside snap and see that the wave’s standing up. I can tell it’s going to close, but instinctually, I pull in, set my rail, and go about a yard before getting pinched. Resurfacing from that, I feel pretty damn good. I mean, not just on the opening turn but my timing on pulling in felt natural. The first turn was well timed, too. The wave wasn’t standing up yet, so I knew to carve instead.

     Afterwards, I just want more waves like that. Poor grom who’s next to me. I get the next one, too. He’s on the shoulder watching as I pop up, crouch, and set myself up for a shallow coverup. Unfortunately, my timing isn’t well on this one. I sense that the shoulder is slotting behind me, but I’m too far in front. I could have done a number of things better. Could have faded out and pulled in tighter behind the shoulder, could have force stalled with my rear hand. I ditch the barrel attempt, stand up, and pump my way to the open face. I sneak a carve and pull into the inside closeout.

     When 0745 hits, the groms leave, and they take the pristine conditions with them. Collin’s out. We surf the rest of the session together. More guys are coming out to sit south of the tower, but the wind’s starting to shift, and the shape’s not so good anymore.

     Leaving the beach, I have a sense of satisfaction. Nope, didn’t have to drive for waves, didn’t have to get skunked, and I actually had one of the best local sessions that I’ve had in a while.

THE ONE PT.III, TUE 02JUN2015

 

Loc: Huntington Beach, Goldenwest

Time: 0815-0930

Conditions: 2 FT+, weak

     So there’s a south swell coming in. I wake up late and look at my Surfline App and take a look at the northside of the HB Pier. Fair to Good, 3-4 FT+.

     It’s a coffee, and I’m out the door, no bullshitting. I can already picture clean peaks at the HB Cliffs, my “Easy Barrel” session that I had there, many moons ago, still fresh in my mind. And of course, what happens? As soon as I pass Bolsa Chica and hit Seapoint, right where PCH opens up and you can see the surf, there are weak crumbly lines coming in.

     I park at the HB Cliffs. The fact that I can get a parking spot is a bad sign. A crew of six old vets sit atop the railing, watching the surf with coffees in hand. Barely anyone’s out. It’s like the tide’s already too high, but it shouldn’t be. The waves are breaking and rolling so softly that they’re not rideable until they almost break. Up and down the beach looks the same.

     As Klaude would say, “I didn’t come here not to surf,” so I head to Goldenwest and park in the neighborhood. I imagine how surf in the South Bay is probably better than this right now.

     A few groms park on PCH and walk out for a surf check as I’m making my way down the stairs. When I turn around, they’re leaving. Yet, more people are out over here, but everyone’s just sitting.

     I paddle out. The water’s warm and glassy. It’s still overcast. Waves come in and look like they’re going to break. I scratch out on everything.

     On a rogue peak, I turn and go while the lip is already spilling. The flat whitewash pushes me, but the wave drains out as I’m popping up. I force one check snap on the lip before the wave closes, hardly a legit turn.

     It took about forty-five minutes to get that wave. It could be “The One.” I could end it now, turn around, head back up the sand, cross PCH, and call it a morning. Against my better judgement, I paddle back out and hope that I can get more waves by paddling into them late. I don’t. Again, I’m wondering what Manhattan Beach is doing.

     Mad and frustrated, I turn towards the shore and do the Paddle of Shame. I should have left earlier.

THE ONE PT.II, SUN 31MAY2015

Loc: El Porto, 45^th Street

Conditions: 2-3 FT, inconsistent, overcast

     Again, I’m at 26^th Street, and the surf looks even smaller than yesterday. Down by the lifeguard tower, I see Stocky John and Robert with two other local guys. They’re standing in front of their cars by the meters, chopping it up over the surf as usual. Mitch is at ground level, half-changed into a wetsuit. “Park here,” he says, pointing to a VIP spot right next to him.

     So I park, look up to the guys and say a few words. The other two who I don’t know are just looking at me with hard faces. I wonder if I’ve burned them before, or if I’m not as nice as a surfer as I imagine. I don’t think I’m an asshole surfer. . . Despite the VIP parking, after my recon check, I’m out.

     Now I’m at 45^th Street, and, as always, there’s a hair more size here. A few weak sets roll by, but it’s when I see someone get a few turns on a left that I’m sold.

     I VOX Klaude, change, and hit the water. Whiffle Boy is out. He says he hasn’t surfed in weeks. I tell him about Bri and me going to Indo soon. “Same place. Only three weeks,” I say.

     “Only?”

     So I move a little south to find a gap in the sparse lineup. Compared to yesterday, I’m catching a lot of waves, but the quality is still an issue. I get a weak floater, pull in on some closeouts, and that’s about it.

     Almost at the hour and a half mark, a right comes in. I can’t believe it’s opening up as I’m pumping. Since the wave is fast, I force a bottom turn and snap. It’s ugly, but it works. I get another hit and a kickout snap to end it.

     Once more, I’m walking out of the water after having caught a wave. It’s such a good way to end a session. I could get used to this.

     Back home, Klaude calls. He had paddled out by the 34^th Street area. He comes over for coffee, and then Bri and I head to the movies. $6.00 matinee prices for first movie. Mad Max and Avengers for free. Mad Max was better.

THE ONE, SAT 30MAY2015

 

Loc: 26^th Street

Crew: Klaude

Conditions: 2-3 FT, inconsistent, overcast

     I distinctly remember this morning as overcast and gloomy. I had just gotten over being combo’d by food poisoning and flu-like symptoms that followed. However, I didn’t miss out on too much surf because of the oil pods that were contaminating the South Bay. Either way, I was due up for some surf. Dead or alive, flat or not, I was going to take a looks.

     Even though the surf looked dismal at 26^th Street, I didn’t hesitate changing into my wetsuit and grabbing my board, a simple routine that I had missed so much.    

     I didn’t see the usual local crew hanging out in the lot, so I just made my way to the water. Upon paddling out into the lineup, I realized that I didn’t recognize most of the people here. It’s like the company had gone through some kind of massive change and I didn’t get the memo.

     Klaude was there. It was such a bummer surf day that we showed it on our faces, scrounging for waves in different directions without keeping track of each other. I went south, he went north, and with empty bags of candy we met up again in front of the tower.

     The conditions were clean and glassy but without shape, just racy and too fast.

     Roy was out, talking to some grom about where they’d been surfing lately and how they’d been scoring. I couldn’t help to think that I used to be that guy who had a “score story,” too.

     “Matt,” said Roy. I looked up. I already knew he was calling me into a wave. Even though the wave closed out, it’s still nice to know I get that local courtesy, especially from a vet like Roy.

     When Klaude left, Toru showed up. We bullshitted for a little while. I was ready to leave, too. On the sand, Klaude was making his way over the strand. Out back, a wave was coming in, deceiving and racy, but I was in the perfect spot where the wave tapered off to merely nothing.

     I paddled out to meet it, and that’s when the corner doubled up. I turned and went, barely keeping my nose out from purling.

     The rest was ugly. I pumped to keep pace with the shoulder. I bottom turned, top turned, and felt like I was on the verge of falling behind. The ride ended with two more sloppy hits, but they were still hits nonetheless, and when my feet hit the sand on the inside, I knew that there was no better way I could end the session on a better note.