OIL GLASS, WED 08JULY2015

Loc: El Porto, Rosecrans

Time: 0610-0740

Crew: Bri & Garr

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

     Bri and I see Gary making it out to the lineup just south of Rosecrans, so we walk over and begin our warm up. “Look!” I say, as I see a wedgey left pop up. Gary’s on it, the only guy in the water between 30^th and 42^nd Street. He turns and goes. For Manhattan Beach, it’s as good as a small tube as you can ask for. Perfectly shouldered and round, no opportunity for turns, just pull in. He does, drives in the tube, and gets to the exit, but something goes wrong. The door shuts on him.

     When we paddle out to meet him, he says, “I saw it. I was almost out, and then my front foot slipped off the board.” Says his Lost Mini Driver was in the rafters too long, so the basecoat got oily. When he was waxing his board earlier, it was rubbing off the base. It happens.

     Meanwhile, the surf is consistent. Maybe a little bit more water, and it would be more rippable. Not ideal for longboards. There are fast sectiony lines, some hollow but closing out. A few corners are makeable if you’re good enough. The waves jack up and double as the bottom sucks out on the inside, a little treacherous, a lot of steep steps. Bri’s Becker isn’t ideal for today.

     The first half of the session is all glory. Gary and I go for the sets. Again, I would normally pass on the closers, but with Garr here, I push myself. It really does help your surfing to surf with those better than you.

     Some of my attempts are worthy. My Mini Driver covers so much distance when I pump. On one, I pump down a vertical line that’s jacking up, and then I pull in as the lip curls over. I get a glimpse in the tube, and then it runs away from me.

     Resurfacing, I second-guess myself. Did the wave really run away from me or did I bail too early? I had so much momentum. Maybe I should’ve just kept pumping and trusted my speed. I’ve also outran barrel sections before, too. Ahhhh, just shows how novice I am when it comes to round conditions.

     It’s a hard morning for Bri, but she’s trying. The surf is short, fast, and round, so it’s really hard for her to milk it like she usually does.

     The three of us fight the current. More surfers paddle out but get swept towards 42^nd. We’re in between Rosecrans and 34^th Street.

     Gary calls me into a left. Even though the lines are broken up today, there are a few gems. I see it has a shoulder on it. It’s fast. Popping up, I nearly purl. I expect the section to go hollow, another pull-in pincher, but the face opens up, spills, and holds. In a split second, I decide to bottom turn and rush a forehand snap. I pull it off. Redirecting down the line, I pump for more distance and then kickout. Bri and Garr smile back at me.

     After that, the session changes. The water gets even smoother. “Oil Glass,” says Gary. A small window opens despite the low tide, and the surf turns shouldery.

     A peak comes straight to Bri. She’s frozen, so I paddle over and take the right. Legit backhand snap. Towards the end of the session, I get another one just like it. Three single-shot waves, the initial left the best one.

     Back at the parking lot, we’re all stoked. The session ended up being better than expected, easily my best session since Rick’s camp trip. I needed this. If these conditions keep up, tomorrow should be even better with more swell and more water at first light. I’m on it.

Compared to all my sessions since June 16th, this morning's session covered the second most amount of distance, also tying my fastest wave at 9.6 mph. 

ANYTHING, TUE 07JULY2015

Loc: El Porto, Rosecrans

Time: 0600-0700

Crew: Bri & Garr

Conditions: 2-3 FT+, light onshore, overcast, drained tide

     Indo’s coming up in about a week, and I’m currently surf starved. Haven’t had a solid rippable sesh since Rick’s campout. After looking at the funky surf on the local surfcams, I’m ready to just surf anything. ANYTHING. I need to be in the water.

“Out of the water, I am nothing.”—The Duke

     I send the bat signal out to the WHC. Gary’s paddling out tomorrow at first light. Hell yeah I’m going.

#

     I’m such a bum that if I don’t surf, I’m not tired enough to go to bed early at night. Last night, I finally fell asleep just before one, and now I’m up at 0510. When Bri and I reach the Rendezvous spot, Gary’s not here yet. He shows up after we’re done changing, says he had to take a crap down the street. It happens. “Go ahead,” he says. “I’ll meet you guys down there.”

     Walking down the hill, I expect nothing. I know the surf’s not supposed to be good today. How can it? Low tide, a small pulse in swell if we’re lucky. Also, what the fuck is up with the weather? June gloom in July?

     Three guys are already in front of the 40^th Street Tower. Yeah, fast drainer corners with whitewashed shoulders, but at least there’s energy. Peaks are rolling in, just not enough water on the sand to sustain rippable faces.

     It’s an easy paddle out, practically a walk out. A longboarder on the sand practices his popup on his board. He catches a wave with a power stance, but gets clobbered trying to make it back out. Take the ticket, enjoy the ride, but pay again.

     I scratch and kick into a wave, but it’s racing away and closing out when I get up. Better off pulling in.

     Gary makes it out and paddles towards Rosecrans. We follow. While I’m looking out at the horizon, Bri’s doing her thing, clowning on the smaller waves. Her best wave, I see a longboarder going for a right. Bri has position. She turns and goes on him. The guy watches her. I’ve been there. If she falls, he’s going to be pissed, but she trims top to bottom and glances off the lip before the wave closes out. Solid.

     Gary takes the heat with a right. He somehow manages the only turn this session, cranking out a backhand snap. I give him the nod. He smiles back.

     All I can do is Spartan up. Gary hoots me into some waves that I normally wouldn’t go for, but I must when it comes to these salty mentors. I pull in, and the bottom just sucks out, opening up a dredging cavern. Man, I’m in there. Fuck it feels great just to pull in and get that perspective, but no sooner than I’m in there does the fucking thing stretch and collapse. Payment is an awkward wipeout with the tail of my board in my armpit the whole way down. I can’t even explain how I get into this position, but I resurface unscathed. Still felt good.

     We’re forcing rides against the dropping tide. The wind settles but there’s just not enough water. Gary paddles into more dredgers, somehow pulling out and escaping annihilation into the flats. On his next wave he says, “See you later, Matt.” He scratches but doesn’t get into it. A right comes. He calls me into it. It looks like it’s going to close, but I go anyway, it’s my ticket in. As I’m bottom turning, I see the wave about to double up into the next section. I sneak in a backhand snap and ride out of it. Looking out back, Garr gives me the grin.

     I don’t know if it’s a heat winner, but as Bri and I are showering, I take a look back out at the water. There’s a guy getting barreled going frontside, arm outstretched before him. He’s driving and getting distance until the whole thing shuts down. Worthy. But wait. I turn to Bri. “I think that was Gary.”

FOR WHAT IT’S WORTH, SAT 04JULY2015

Foiled again...

Loc: North Churches

Time: 1400-1530

Conditions: 3 FT, onshore, uncrowded

     Last year, Bri and I walked around El Segundo with our favorite German family in the world. “I don’t want to do that this year,” said Bri a couple of days ago. I agreed. Nothing wrong with enjoying the neighborhood fireworks, but . . . we just wanted to do something else.

     Everyone had plans, solo plans, doing their own thing. I couldn’t think of anything. I would have been fine just chilling at the house, but . . . we do that everyday. Bri deserves a good Fourth. We should do something. What are we, losers? So why not hit Trestles? According to Surfline, there’s a little south swell coming in. Should be good.

#

     Since the tide is drained in the morning, and we went to bed really late, Bri and I take our time and hit the road around 0900. High tide’s also at noon, but we’re not really expecting much swell today. It’s all about tomorrow the fifth that the swell is supposed to fill in.

     When we get to Churches, we’re surprised to see how vacant the beach is, maybe not by normal standards but definitely for a holiday. It’s overcast. The tide’s swamped out, but despite the onshore wind, the water’s still clean. Soft peaks are breaking, and a handful of longboarders are getting their fill. Looks promising. We Vox Klaude and call Rick, letting them know that the swell’s already showing.

     The plan is to set up shop right in front of North Churches, our favorite spot. There’s no rush. The tide’s gonna go down in a couple of hours, so we snack, read, and enjoy the sun. About an hour in, the wind picks up, and the surf turns choppy. A few people paddle out, but they have to manufacture all of their rides. The magic left’s not working. A few rights section out but hold shape for pumps and some carves, good for regular footers. Those racy sections are manageable on my forehand, but I surf those like shit on my rear.

     The wind settles a little, so we paddle out around 1400, mid tide. The new swell’s starting to show more. Sets are coming in at four feet. Non-classic, long lines roll in. No signature Churches’ peaks. I hate the idea of coming all the way down here for surf and getting skunked. At least Bri’s on a good board for the way it’s breaking. Anything resembling shape is catchable for her.

     After an hour and a half, we get out and wait for the surf to improve on the tide push, but it doesn’t. Something about the angle. Swell’s coming in too lined up. Or . . . it’s just nature. Sometimes you get it when it’s good and sometimes you don’t. Surfline’s not always right.

     So we get skunked on The Fourth, but for what it’s worth we had a nice time sitting on the beach. I read through a magazine and a couple of short stories from a book. Everything’s closed for dinner, so we end up at Denny’s. Meanwhile, Klaude Voxes me and says that local was pretty fun this morning. It’s okay though because tomorrow we’re gonna score.

#

     It’s July 5^th, 0515, and we’re up. We repack the wagon and deflate the air mattress. Pulling up to Churches, all the parking’s already taken. The tide’s drained out. It’s overcast. There’s a light onshore wind, and the surf . . . it hasn’t changed. Yesterday’s swell was the new swell. It’s coming in the same, too lined, no peaks, no shape.

     We take a gangster vote and make an O.G. call to head back to the South Bay. Yesterday was good, so today should be better with the swell officially here.

     We make it to Manhattan Beach fast, and before us, looking down the hill at the beach, are crumbly, low tide, two-foot drainers. It just . . . it’s fucking horrible.

     We bum it the rest of the day at home. We’re not going anywhere, save picking up some groceries. Rick went up north to Point Mugu solo, the only person I know who actually caught decent surf today.

     And was the call going down south worth it? Maybe you don’t have to celebrate the fourth or leave the house to do anything. The surf might be where you already are.

OUT OF TUNE, TUE 30JUN2015

Loc: Manhattan Beach, 30^th Street

Time: 0640-0830

Crew: Bri

Conditions: 2-3 Occasional 4 FT, consistent, crowded.

     There’s a left by Marine Avenue that’s working, as well as a peak in front of tower 26^th. The waves are breaking in the same place, which will make things difficult because some longboarders are sitting right on it. Even though the faces are familiar, I’d rather not have to battle it out, especially after the difficult time I had here on Sunday.

     Bri and I paddle in front of the brickhouse, but more people show up, so we paddle further north.

     There’s an older bald guy on a blue fish that’s doing well in front of the 30^th Street Tower. I hate sitting on people, but, not only is his spot good, it’s the most vacant compared to the other breaks. With patience, I wait for him to catch a right before moving into his area. As soon as he does, an outside wave pops up. The surf has only been three feet, but this roguer is a solid four. I have to duckdive the lip. A couple guys hoot. Don K. paddles over towards me with an ear-to-ear smile. “This is the spot,” I say.

#

     Unfortunately, the rest of the session is hard to remember. I recall peaks. Baldy on the blue fish was pulling a conveyor belt action, catching wave after wave, the good ones, too. I struggled. Almost all my waves were sectioning out and racy. I pulled in on my backhand a lot, expecting the pinch. On one, my line was too high. I saw the curl was lower on the face, so I got pitched when the lip curled, awkward wipeout. There was a set right though, and I believe I got one snap, my claim to fame.

     Bri was doing so friggin’ well. I swear, all the smaller waves had good shape, and she and that Becker Board were just in tune, catching long rides to shore.

     Don came over and, of course, caught some good ones. He asked me if the guy on the blue board snaked me. I said no. He said something else, but I didn’t understand because I had my earplugs in. I took them out and said, “Did you just say that guy snaked you?”

     “Yeah,” said Don. “I was wondering if he was doing that on purpose. There was pause. Both of us bobbed in the water. Don peered out into the open sea before speaking again. “Because it looked like he knew how to surf,” he added.