FOGGY GAMBLE, FRI 19JUN2015

Loc: El Porto, Rosecrans - 30^th Street

Crew: Gary, Dave T., Juan

Time: 0550-0755

Conditions: 2-3 FT, overcast, foggy, uncrowded, drained tide

Board: Lost Mini Driver

     When Gary put out the bat signal that he’d be surfing this morning, I was concerned about the low tide. The last two days, I’ve pulled later-morning sessions to make sure I caught the surf with a little more water on the surface, but we’d be paddling out during negative tide. This is when you have to make an O.G. call. You could be selfish and wait for the tide push, or you can make an effort to get some quality time with the homies.

#

     My alarm wakes me at 0500. As tired as I should be from under four hours of sleep, I get up easily. Bri and I had prepacked our gear last night, but she says, “I’m not getting up.” We went to sleep late. It’s not her fault.

     I have my Zippi and Lost Mini Driver just in case there’s a decent bump in the swell. The plan is to look at the surf first and then make a pimp decision, but the fog is the thickest it’s been all week. I know that the WHC won’t be on funboards, so I’ll be taking the Mini Driver.

     When I reach the parking lot at 0530, I see Dave T. and Garr’s cars, but they’re gone. Fuckin’ A. Those guys must have been here really early. How dedicated.

     Walking down to the sand from Rosecrans, I can’t see the lineup until I’m about to paddle out, and that’s when I see Garr on a closeout left. I paddle up and say wassup to the homies.

     Surprisingly, there is a new pulse in swell. Nothing too crazy, maybe three feet tops, but the drained tide is inhibiting its potential. When the set waves pop up, they race away really fast in the shin-deep water. Now I’m thinking how I wish I had the Zippi. At least I’d be able to milk a little more out of each ride.

     Fifteen minutes into the session, Juan emerges through the fog. The current’s pulling us north, so Gary leads the way in paddling us back to Rosecrans. In doing so, we lose Dave T. So now it’s Juan, Gary, and me trading off on closeouts.

     After the tide bottoms out, the quality increases a little with the push. Peaks start standing up with more manageable shoulders. I get up on a left and see a fast open face before me. My first instinct is to pump and set up for a turn, but then the wave starts to curl, and I fall behind the section outside of the curtain. It’s a missed barrel. I should’ve pulled in.

     Gary takes a long left to shore and walks out without giving a last-wave call. He looks at the tower and tries to yell at me. Unfortunately, I can’t hear him over the water, but I think he’s telling me that we’re at tower 42.

     Rick has the gift of being a wave magnet. In Juan’s case, the fruit doesn’t fall far from the tree. So far, my best ride this morning is a frontside floater. Juan gets a peaky left. As he stands up, he says, “Oh my God,” and pulls in, seconds later he penetrates out the back. “Oh, man! That wave was perfect! I was in there.”

     My next wave is a closeout.

     Juan catches another wave similar to that partial barrel he had just gotten. Same thing, he yells, “Oh my god!” This time, I watch him through the wave and track his black cap driving through the barrel. He pulls out and rides into the flats before the wave closes out. He’s beyond stoked.

     No, I don’t get a wave like Juan’s. I try. Closeout pinchers at best.

     When we get out, we find that we’ve drifted all the way to tower 30. That’s damn near close to 26^th Street where I had surfed the last three days. My GPS is off. I swear the current was sucking us north, but we’ve drifted way south of Rosecrans.

     Juan asks if I can join him for coffee, but I have to pass because of some errands I gotta do. It’s 0815 when I leave the lot. Prime time is now. It’s still glassy, and the tide is filling in. Even though I’d usually be hitting the surf now, I’m still glad I got to change it up and get some face time with the fellas.

PHENOM FINALE, THU 18JUN2015

Loc: Manhattan Beach

Time: 0815-0930

Conditions: 1-2 FT, overcast, light onshore, uncrowded

Board: Zippifish

     Since the tide’s drained out, I decide to hit the surf a little later this morning. The consequence to this decision will be the wind. Leaving El Segundo, I already see the some flags blowing onshore, but at least it’s sunny, that is until I reach Vista Del Mar, and then it’s Seattle all over again.

     Driving past Dockweiler, the conditions look bearable. Some textured lines are rolling in consistently. If it’s good here, it must be all right everywhere else.

     When I reach my surf spot, I see that there’s barely anyone out. It’s smaller here. Tide’s still drained. Ankle and knee slappers stand up and race away from the lack of water. Well, I got the Zippifish. What’s an hour of my morning just to fut around and get wet? With zero expectations, I make my trek down the hill. A couple local heroes are watching the surf from the lot, but their body language says that they’re going home. Don’s parked there, already in his wetsuit and pulling out his board. There’s one.

     I take my time warming up. Could be some little trimmers out there once the tide picks up. I walk three quarters of the way out to the lineup before I hop on my board to paddle the rest of the distance, and then I turn back around because nothing’s breaking outside. The forecast is finally true. Two days ago it wasn’t. Consistent three feet it was. Even yesterday was double the size as today. 1-2 FT. It was an anomaly that wasn’t supposed to happen, but now it’s gone.

     Despite how small the waves are, my Zippi’s catching every little bump that swings my way. Some occasional two-footers actually have a little umph in them. I go left on one, pump, and actually get to the open shoulder. Since the waves are slower this morning, my frontside feels much better, so I cram in a little bottom turn and a smack off the lip.

     I hear a hoot when the ride’s over. It’s Don. He gives the nod of approval.

     To give respect to the local vets, I actually paddle away. I want to give these guys room. This morning, it’s Don. Also, I like wearing earplugs, and it’s a bitch having a conversation with them, and I’d hate to ask The King of 26^th Street to repeat himself.

     In the process of paddling away and securing my own little spot, I catch so many little waves that no one paddles by me. Everyone else is north of the tower towards the Brick House.

     Halfway through the session, Miles comes out. A couple other old timers, too. Cool dudes.

     I get another long left. Miles shoots me a smile on the inside.

     Checking my Vivofit2, I see that I’ve moved covered about a mile of distance. I’ve been out for an hour and fifteen minutes. That’s good enough for an ankle-slapper session.

     I’ll say it again. I had discounted this big blue Zippi, but it’s so nice to have a board that works well in meager conditions. I’d like to be a dedicated shortboarder, but I think being dedicated to the ocean is more important. Even Don, a guy who rips in dredging surf, is out here on suitable equipment for small waves. It’s about the stoke, nothing else.

Short session with lots of small waves, but covered more distance than yesterday in less time.

Wave activity.

                                              

SMALL AND GOOD, WED 17JUN2015

Today's stats via Vivofit2.

 

Loc: Manhattan Beach

Homies: Bri, Collin, Toru

Time: 0650-0830

Conditions: 2-3 FT, overcast, glassy, uncrowded

Board: Zippifish

     So I go to the same surf spot, hoping for similar conditions to yesterday. Upon showing up, I see that the tide’s still too low. People can almost walk out to the lineup, while peaks that look pretty good are just racing away over shallow water. It’s fast, but I’m glad to see that there’s still activity.

     I paddle up to Bri, who paddled out earlier because she works today. “It was worse earlier,” she says.

     In the distance, Roy’s walking out to the lineup. Collin paddles out right by us. Other than them, it’s a whole new crew today. I think the local vets may be waiting for more tide.

     I do my best on the racy low tide. I go right, and some guy drops in on me. The wave’s closing out, but it’s still bad etiquette. I yell, “Hey!” before nearly colliding. The near miss causes me to purl. I resurface.

     “Sorry, dude!” says the guy, but I just glare at him. This is where I must own up to the asshole within. I don’t give him a courteous nod, wave, or “It’s cool.” Nope. I don’t know you, and you dropped in on me, so fuck you. Again, very assholish, but I’m human, and if you’ve been surfing long enough, I’m sure you’ve felt this way many times. Not here. Not at my spot.

     Bri leaves. One the sand, she looks back towards me. I wave. She doesn’t wave back. Oh well.

     Meanwhile, Collin and I are chumming it up. “You need a fish in your quiver,” I say. He’s on his shortboard, and even though the waves are standing up similar to yesterday, it’s borderline for low volume. As far as a high wave count goes, the more board the better this morning.

     It’s not as consistent as yesterday, but it’s not necessarily smaller. The big ones just aren’t coming in consistently.    

     There are plenty of two footers, and I’m getting these with ease. Though, they’re not good for turns, just trimming and finishing floaters, but getting so many of these makes up for that lack of performance. Like instead of the whole Snickers, I’m given a handful of the individually wrapped fun-sized ones.

     When the set waves come, they are good. With the tide push, the peaks don’t race away as fast. A perfect three-foot peak rolls in. I paddle out to meet it, only one in position for it since it’s uncrowded. Popping up, I see the shoulder’s actually holding, and I get two solid backhand snaps. Two-hitter quitter. I’ll take it.

     Collin leaves. I notice it’s harder to get frontside turns on small and fast beach break waves on the Zippifish. Something about backhand that allows you to setup better.

     Toru paddles out as the wind starts to turn, so now we got this chop to deal with. Along with Toru, come the other second shifters. A lot of singlefinners, local longboarder with the dickbroom mustache paddles out, too. I don’t see Roy anymore, and that’s it for the regulars.

     Leaving the water, I turn around for a last glimpse. The onshore’s killing the conditions. The smaller waves, which looked fun when they were clean and unblemished, now look crumbly and weak. Toru’s waving goodbye. I wave back.

Looks like it was a pretty active morning with plenty of short rides. I must have got a decent one about 45 minutes into the sesh.

STILL LOVE LOCAL, TUE 16JUN2015

Loc: Manhattan Beach

Crew: Dais

Time: 0745-0945

Conditions: 2-3 FT, overcast, consistent, uncrowded

Board: Zippifish

     Klaude’s not a big guy on “expectations,” and he’s right. The more you expect, most of the time, the more let down you’ll be. So after weeks of being bummed on mediocre conditions, with a current forecast of tiny surf, I stripped and waxed the Zippifish yesterday. No expectations. I just want to paddle out and catch waves, even if they’re only one foot high. I sent a courtesy text to Dais to let him know.

#

     After snoozing, I wake up at 0705. Fuck. I told Dais I’d be in the water by now. I pick up my phone. He had texted me five minutes ago, his message reads: Is it tiny?

     I tell him I’m on the way, change, fill up a hot water jug, and I’m out the door.

     Driving down Grand Avenue, people are jogging up and down the hill. A construction guy in an orange vest holds a stop sign to guide traffic. I’m thinking, I missed that guy. However, it’s not really him I had missed, I’ve been missing this routine of just driving down this avenue, passing by familiar sights on the way to surf.

     Driving past Porto, I sneak a couple peeks at the surf in front of the smoke stacks. A longboarder’s on a small left. Looks a little promising for the Zippi, nothing too crazy.

     Parking’s packed near 26^th, so I score free parking on the hill. Looking down from my spot, the waves look consistent and bigger than expected. On the way down, I verify that what I’m seeing is not a mirage.

     Don K., The King of 26^th, is parked on the corner changing.

     “I thought it was gonna be smaller,” I say, holding up my board. “I brought this big thing!”

     “I brought my big old board, too!” he says.

     At the tower, a grom on a longboard trims down the line on a racy left. I see Roy’s out and a few other familiar faces.

     The sets are coming in at three-feet and closing out, but some in-betweener waves offer some racy shoulders. I’m stoked. Paddling out, I just have this shit-eating grin. I already know it’s gonna be a good day.

     I post up north of the tower away from Roy to get some room. A minute later he calls my name and waves. Gotta love local. It’s good to belong somewhere, a home in the water. For me it’s here. Roy says he had surfed Porto yesterday with Don, and that it was actually fun. Once again, I missed out.

     I paddle south of the tower and chill with the homie Collin for a bit. We bullshit about the Fiji Pro final yesterday, Owen Wright and his two perfect heats. I was so stoked watching that yesterday that I had told Klaude I was gonna surf 26^th Street this morning as if I were surfing Fiji . . . on the fish!

     Then waves just start coming in. Collin’s struggling on his shortboard, but the Zippi is just too easy. I catch a dredging left that I know is going to closeout, so I pop up, grab rail, and just put my ass on the deck. I get the swirling perspective of a perfect shoulder before it rolls me over. Not bad for the Zippi.

     I almost purl a few times, and that’s when I wonder if I should’ve brought the shortboard instead. It would’ve been doable.

     Collin leaves and Dais paddles out. Haven’t seen my longhaired Japanese homie in a minute. We catch up on everything, relationships, future job prospects, the rest of our homies, life. We also trade off on solid waves. I end a left with a stylish floater. Dais catches a left all the way to shore, which puts me in combo land. I get a right, throwing out a small bucket out the back. The surf’s so consistent and unexpectedly fun that we go a good while without talking because he wave to be ready for the sets.

     Dais leaves at 0935. I stick it out another ten minutes to make the sesh a legit two hours. The wind’s slightly onshore now, but the peaks are still clean. I could stay, wanna stay, but I also need some balance. Two hours isn’t bad for a morning sesh to start the day.

     Leaving the water, I see that Roy is still out. Costco Kim is just paddling out. Miles and Bruce are on their longboards. With a light texture on the ocean’s surface, clean peaks are still rolling in.

“DON’T BE GREEDY!”, SUN 14JUN2015

Loc: El Porto, 40^th Street

Crew: Rick, Juan, Gary, Bri

Time: 0615-0800

Conditions: 1-2 FT+, overcast, glassy, crowded

Board: Zippifish

     Rick shoots me a text at 0455. The fuckin’ guy’s already at the upper lot. He says it’s small with light onshore, but he’s suiting up. Gary also texts that he’s on the way.

     I snooze for another half hour then finally get up. Bri’s dead to the world. I ask if she wants to sleep in, but then she rolls out of bed, too.

     “He texted me at 0455,” I say to Bri while warming up the car.

     “Oh my gawd,” she says. “What’s wrong with that guy?”

     We have a good laugh, and we’re not clowning on Rick or the WHC in a negative way, it’s just funny how surf stoked those guys are. Meanwhile here Bri and I are, younger and less consistent as of late. The question should be, What’s wrong with us?

     I score free parking, and then Bri and I take the walk from 45^th to 40^th. As usual, we’re looking for the bald guy. It’s when I spot the goofy footer with the hat on, who’s riding a shortboard, when I realize it’s Rick.

     Fuck. It’s a hair smaller than it was the other day. Pure longboard conditions.

     Rick’s friend Geri is out on a longboard. He says yesterday was at least a foot bigger. Man. I fucked up again. Should’ve been here yesterday, as they say. But on the blue Zippi, I’m actually able to catch these small waves. Been so long since I’ve ridden this board. To think I’ve been disregarding this board because it’s “too easy,” it’s a damn cheater board, but on this small and sluggish morning, this board is saving me. I’m not getting any turns, but I’m popping up early enough to get some nice pumps in and finish with some floaters.

     Juan and Gary show up once more, and Gary gets a long left all the way to the inside. Show up and blow up.

     Yesterday must’ve been good, because once the lot opens up, more and more people come out.

     There’s a singlefin longboarder who’s riding without a leash. I try to go for a left but see he’s on my outside, so I back out for him. Later, he calls Bri off on a right even though he’s on her outside, but he goes left, the completely wrong direction. When I come back after my next wave, Bri tells the guy he’s a dick. He’s greedy. I hate greedy motherfuckers.

     He takes the next left. I don’t even bother looking at it. A minute later, another solid left comes. Singlefin’s way on the shoulder, but I’m paddling out towards the peak to meet it. As I’m turning to catch it, I see that Singlefin’s paddling for it, too. I say, “Don’t be greedy,” over and over again, louder with each paddle. As I pop up and get my first pump, I yell, “Don’t be greedy!” and Singlefin finally looks at me and pulls out. It ends up being my wave of the day.

MENTOR MORNINGS, THU 11JUN2015

Loc: El Porto, 40^th Street

Crew: Rick, Juan, Gary

Time: 0630-0830

Conditions: 2-3 FT, overcast, drizzle, glassy, uncrowded

     Tuesday’s session really stung. Klaude and I didn’t even speak to each other on Wednesday, and we’re madly gay for each other, so a day without talking says a lot. Yesterday I vented to Rick about how Tuesday went.

     He said, “You know, Matt, this hasn’t really been a good year for that area.” He tells me about his upcoming camp trip at the end of the month. Maybe that’s what it will take. Some mentor Karma. He also said that he’s taking Thursday off from work and that he’ll be checking Porto at first light.

     “Maybe I’ll join you,” I said. Later that night, I checked my phone before going to bed. I had missed a text from Rick that read: I’ll pick you up.

#

     My alarm goes off at 0445. I’m under five hours of sleep. As much as I’d like to curl into a man-fetus and go back to sleep, I rustle myself off of the futon. When I’m in the bathroom, I hear it raining outside. I text Rick about it. “Yeah, raining a little over here, too,” he says.

     Rick shows up at 0530. It’s dark out and sprinkling. By the time we score free parking near the strand at 40^th Street, it’s already light out. It’s an ugly and wet morning, overcast as far as the eye can see. The waves look small and weak but still surfable. My expectations were low anyway, so it doesn’t matter.

     Out in the lineup, I struggle with my shortboard. I got that Zippifish in the garage, but if the surf is so small that I have to surf that thing, I’d rather not paddle out.

     Rick’s on his Neckbeard, and he’s doing his best. It’s hard to get a turn, but he pumps hard, makes sections, and finishes off his waves with a hit.

     The best I can do is pump and pull a few floaters.

     A local guy paddles into a left. As he’s going down the line, he yells, “Get the fuck outta the way!” I learn later that there’s a bodyboarder surfing the inside.

     I make a mental note to stay out of his way. Rick paddles up to him. They talk. Next wave, Rick snakes him. The guy’s trying to catch up to Rick, but the wake is too much. He dismounts his board and starts shaking his head in annoyance. Fuckin’ Rick.

     Then Gary and Juan show up. Haven’t surfed with these guys in a minute.

     “The 33^rd, 34^th area was bigger yesterday,” says Gary. I’ve been so out of the loop. I’m ashamed when he tells me he’s been paddling out every day.

     It’s a far from epic session, but we have fun. I catch a couple slow rollers, but just being with those guys, staying local, and not having high hopes really made it the funnest sesh that I’ve had in a while.

     Afterwards, Rick and I head to Blue Butterfly for coffee. It’s packed. With nowhere to sit, we hop back in the van, and he drops me back off at the house. It was a mentor morning, and now I feel better than ever to start the rest of my day.