FINALLY SWELL PT.2, SUN 30AUG2015

Loc: Manhattan Beach

Time: 0630-0930     

Conditions: 4-5 FT, consistent, crowded

Board: Lost Mini Driver, 5’10

     --So I’m at Starbucks right now, and a chick went up to pick up her drink at the counter and just knocked it over. Water everywhere. No bullshit. Now she’s grabbing a gang of napkins to clean it up. At least it wasn’t coffee. . .—When I prepacked my car last night, I fucking examined the bottom of my board again for any indications that Noobie-Noob had dinged my board. I found some straight lines that looked like scrapes, but I couldn’t tell if they were from yesterday.

#

     Alarm goes off. It’s 0530. We sleep in a little because low tide is later and plus we had a long evening barbecuing at my best friend’s house in Inglewood. I showed one of my childhood friends, who we had recently reconnected with, pics of us from twenty years ago. He couldn’t believe it. Robert Cervantes. It was like we were kids all over again. It’s in the eyes where people look the same. Even though years have passed, I found him there.

     Anyway, this morning I’m not in the mood for bullshit. I ponder at the scrapes on my board and if I need to say something else to Noobie-Noob if he paddles out.

     When we get to the beach, more people are here at this time than yesterday. Big Ben’s out in the lineup early. It’s basically Dejavu, except the waves are breaking differently today. I don’t know what’s going in with the swell, if it’s ground, windswell, or a combination of both, but scattered peaks are breaking everywhere, and they are clean.

     I’m frothing in my panties, so I paddle out just south of the tower. Young Mike and Rising-Sun Guy are out, too. I pass on the turns and just try to pull in, but my first couple waves don’t throw out, which is probably noobish, pulling into nothing. However, when the tide is low, it’s when you have the best chance for it, so I might as well try.

     Some young buck drops in on me on a left. Fuck. I’m really sharp and short after yesterday. “You didn’t see me behind you?” I say.

     “No, dude. Sorry. I didn’t.”

     No sign of Noobie Noob, but I’m over him. I’m just . . . I’m gonna turn into “that guy.” I know it. I feel it. I’m gonna end up being a bad guy to a lot of people.

     Bri’s doing well. Other people are watching her as she paddles for waves. Thank goodness she uses her feet, too. She kicks. Those three weeks in Indo really helped her. Her popups improved, not to her full potential but fast enough for her to get up earlier on the waves and surf them better. It’s a huge difference from popping up late. You can’t set yourself up right if you do.

     Going down the line, making sections, not throwing buckets out the back, but she’s trying to hit that lip. Tom, Collin, those guys acknowledge her, too. She’s the best chick out here, even surfing better than some guys.

     I get pinched on one backhand attempt. Bad move. I don’t know if I’ll ever get right-hand barrels. I pull in on the lefts and get a few pinch glimpses. On one, I’m just too far ahead of the pocket and miss the hollow section, but I still believe that I can do it, that I might get barreled today.

     This one left has a perfect shoulder to it. Instead of pulling in right away, I try to fade out first to set myself up. Bad move number two. I have so much speed that when I pull in I just go through the face of the wave. Ha! Idiot.

     Wave of the morning. . . I catch this left that’s standing up, but it’s shaped like it’s gonna be a spiller instead of a barrel. I pop up and go down the face, and then the bottom just sucks out. The face, which just had been shouldery, now stretches out and sections. A wall stands up next to me, and water just starts throwing out over my head. No, it’s not one of those pussy barrels I try to pull into when I’m already on the shoulder,--Dude, now this lady is complaining about not having enough “caramel cream” in her drink. I fucking hate customer service. Fuck the customer.—but the ride started off mellow and is now in full barrel mode. So I’m strobing inside of it, legit. Jagged shapes of light penetrate through the smooth surface. The lip is clear as it curls over me. I see the slot closing just a few feet away, and I’m thinking, Motherfucker, I’m actually gonna MAKE IT out!!!! Within a flash, my mind is already fast forwarding to that victory moment when I come flying out, triumphantly, and then . . . typical Donny D., I lose it. I somehow get fucking pinched. Man . . . when you’re sucking at barrels everything is just happening so fast. I’ve progressed to where I’ve slowed down time a little, but not enough, at least not enough to make it out.

     Resurfacing, I’m filled with a mix of jubilation and disappointment. I paddle back and share my story. I just can’t let it go.

     We link up with Klaude, and there’s a moment when we’re sitting with just all the regular locals at one peak. Even though it’s crowded, I feel safe and at east being surrounded by familiar faces. I share, tell others to go, not taking it until they acknowledge I can have it. However, I do snake Klaude on a right. Friends can snake friends.

     My highlight rides are the rights. I get plenty single-hitter snaps. My paddle feels strong. Dropping in, I feel powerful on my setup into the hook. It’s not critical surfing but at least something that I know I can do well.

     At the two-and-a-half hour mark, Bri gets out. I leave a half hour later. We stay to help KK set up his EZ Up and supplies. He’s teaching the kids he coaches how to surf today. He’s a much more selfless man than I am, dedicating his whole Sunday.

     Bri and I eat at Mandy’s afterwards, and then she leaves to help her friend move. My apartment’s been stifling hot, so hot that right now I’m sitting inside a Starbucks, having killed a Strawberry Shortcake Frappuccino over an hour ago. My blogs are all caught up on. This was a productive week. I’ve job searched, surfed, took some tests online for the jobs I applied for, went to my homie’s barbecue, and now I’m about to go home and play some COD on PS4. Ha! You have no idea how stoked I am. I’m gonna “crack open a beer” and be a PIECE OF SHIT for the REST OF THE DAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

FINALLY SWELL, SAT 29AUG2015

Loc: Manhattan Beach

Time: 0610-0810     

Conditions: 3-4 FT+, consistent, crowded

Board: Lost Mini Driver, 5’10

     I told Bri how gnarly the crowd was the day before, so there was no way that we’d be surfing on the second shift. Dawn patrol was the only option. Since I’ve been surfing consistently as of late, I’ve been on a better rest plan, eating early and in bed by 2300. When I woke up that Saturday, I had ample time to make coffee, which I barely do nowadays.

     We scored free parking at 0545. I expected a line full of cars, but barely anyone was there yet. The full moon was so bright. A bunch of people were out taking pics of it. The night before, Cassady had invited us to go night surfing in Malibu. I’ve never done it before, but I’d be a bit sketched about sharks.—Chinese food gives me the best farts ever.—We changed and were in the water fast, like the fourth and fifth people to enter the lineup. Ben, and older local white dude with thinning gray hair, was already out. Bri and I traded off waves with him for about fifteen minutes before more people showed up.

     The surf was consistent. I’ll give it that. I mean, it was one of those mornings where the inside was just wave upon wave. Resurfacing after rides, you’d either get clobbered by another wave or someone was already on one coming straight for you, so the inside was a little dangerous.

     Two noobs were just south of us, two really light-skin Asian dudes. I’m Asian myself, and I could only guess at them being Chinese. ANYWAY!. . . It could be a little hard for us to tell sometimes, too.—In junior high school, sixth thru seventh, chicks wouldn’t even fucking look at me. I was jacking off nonstop in those days. I remember how smooth my penis was, and now it looks like tree bark. I wish I were lying. . .—On this one right, fucking noobie-noob ate shit on his NSP. He wasn’t in the wave but he ate it just from sitting too deep as the wave broke, and his board shot forward and almost hit me. His friend, who could surf better out of the two, gave me that ashamed look like, Sorry, dude, my friend is learning. Okay, so I can understand that. Later on another right, fucking noobie-noob dropped in on me, fell backwards, and shot his board right in my line. My nose rocker barely made it over his rail, and I ended up rail grinding his board.

     When we resurfaced, I turned around and yelled out, “You fucking idiot!”

     “I’m sorry!” he said.

     I cursed at him some more, but my main concern was my board. With waves pounding on the inside, I took my beating and just held my board, examining it for any signs of damage. Meanwhile, homeboy paddled back out.

     “Dude,” said a guy who saw the whole thing. “If he hadn’t hit you, he would’ve plowed straight into me!”

     I was amazed that my board didn’t get dinged.

     Dude continued, “If it’s dinged, I’ll fix it.”

     I thanked him but declined and paddled back out. No damage, but I was still fucking pissed. The two noobs paddled away, and within minutes half the fucking South Bay paddled out.

     Tom, Collin, Calvin who I hadn’t seen in about a year, was even out. You would have thought that no one had traveled for surf.

     During the low tide, the waves would hit the sandbar and just double up really fast. I went late on a few of these and got pitched, legit pitched. To think I thought I had been progressing in barrel hunting.

     There were plenty of waves, but the lineup was just chaos. A current pulled most people north, so I fought against it the whole time to stay in front of the tower. There were momentary gaps in the lineup when I had space.

     One guy was tearing it up on a fish, a less cute version of Craig Anderson. Craig snaked Bri on a right. When they nearly collided on the inside, he just got back on his board and paddled back out.

     I went up to him and said, “You know, if you’re gonna drop in on that chick, the least you can do is apologize to her.”

     He turned around, searching, as if he didn’t know what he had done.

     “Dude, you see me almost get barreled!?” some guy yelled at Craig from another peak.

     Crowds. I never wanted to be that guy who has to sound people, but I surf here too fucking much to deal with this shit. Etiquette, etiquette, etiquette.

     This other local guy, who has a Rising Sun tattooed on his neck, got run over by a random noob, too.

     Tom called me into a big right. This older longboard local backed out for me and told me to go. It had a long section, but my quads helped me make it. With a lot of speed, I got a frontside snap, but nearly fell from my momentum, and then I kissed my board off the lip right before it closed out. I rode straight to shore afterwards. 

THE POON AND I, FRI 28AUG2015

Loc: Manhattan Beach

Time: 0645-0845     

Conditions: 3 FT, high schoolers are back

Board: Motorboat Too

     The surf looked weak as I drove past the Porto Smoke Stacks. Driving by my surf break, looking for parking, the waves weren’t faring much better there either. I found free parking on Highland Avenue, and by the time I made it half way down the hill with my Motorboat Too, I realized that I brought the wrong board. A small but walled three-foot set broke, the most size I’ve seen local in a while. Instead of swapping boards, I convinced myself to just use my Motorboat. Doesn’t hurt to test your boards in different conditions.

     I was in a pretty good mood. I had been surfing consistently, I was expecting a small pulse before the weekend swell, and I was happy just to be alive and surfing, but that was before I saw the high schoolers at the tower, a whole colony of them. It wasn’t just the surf team either but fucking friends, parents, and just any adolescent teen with a surfboard.

     The 30^th Street peak was working, but there were already a bunch of heads on it. Once the kids paddled out, everything from 26^th Street was packed one tower over, north and south. I’ve had luck at the brickhouse before, but I decided to paddle out a little more south just before Marine Ave.

     People were just fucking everywhere. I had taken these empty weekday mornings for granted. What was I thinking, that these kids wouldn’t be back? No, they were just waiting for the forecast to turn on a little, and now they were out in full force.

     Locals and noobs alike had to make way for the invasion. Aside from the crowd, it’s hard to remember much else.—When I used to work at Ralphs, when I was 17, the Produce Guy was hurting one day. He was crouching behind his vegetable cart and just wincing and clinching his eyes. He said he had hemorrhoids. I said to him, “Just get some paper towels, drench them in cold water, put them between your butt cheeks, and just SQUEEEEEEZE all the water out. When I came back the next day, I asked him if it worked. He said no. “But it did feel good, didn’t it?” I said. He paused a moment and said, “Yes. Yes, it was quite refreshing.”—Some of the waves had slots, and I was pulling in just hoping that I could get one that would line up and let me out, but I kept getting pinched.

     When all the fucking kids left, the whole break just opened up. Plenty of people had already left, anyway, to go to fucking work (ill). Second-shifter locals paddled out. Horndog Mitch, Bruce, Miles, Toru, and Twenty-Minute Toru. And then, the fucking surf just died. Fuckin’ A. Those fucking high school kids. They literally came in, raped, pillaged, and plundered, and left nothing for the rest of us.

     I was desperate and looking for a last wave in, and that’s when a random roguer popped up the back. I paddled hard for it. Ross was on the shoulder, but when he saw I was paddling, he yelled for me to go. The wave started off with a perfect shoulder but stood up and started to break into an oncoming right that Jordan was trying to get into. When she saw me, she pulled out. As the sections connected, I climbed the face at a pretty critical point, got flung toward the flats, and stuck the landing. 

DAYS OF THE HOMO, THU 27AUG2015

Loc: Manhattan Beach

Time: 0700-0840     

Conditions: 1-2 Occasional 3 FT, uncrowded, inconsistent

Board: Motorboat Too

     So I had bought into the forecasted windswell that was supposed to pick up and hoped for the best. Actually, I remember thinking that if the waves would be the same as the day before, I’d be happy, but when I reached the lineup there were these shapeless lines coming in. Occasionally, one would break in the two-to-three foot range, but the waves were mostly sectiony. Aside from that, the conditions were perfect and clean. –To guys who think that grabbing another guy’s ass makes you gay, you are wrong. You are the one who’s gay for being squeamish about grabbing another man’s ass, especially if he’s your friend.—Some of the local regulars were out: Stocky Jon, Don K., Collin, Robert, Cheeseburger Chad, Anal Al, Scuzzbucket Sal, Dingelberry Dave, Cum Bucket Bob, Fred the Felcher, and Renaldo.

     Towards the end of the session, I caught a right that actually opened up. One of the progressions I feel with my surfing is trying to hit that lip, whether a turn, floater, of foam climb, just to milk the shit out of the ride. On my backhand, I busted out two backhand snaps, and before the lip closed, I did a foam climb and got pretty vertical on the white-wash curl. Sticking the landing, I felt pretty accomplished at that moment. That wave was my saving grace; it made the whole session. I smiled the whole way home, that’s at least until I got inside my apartment, which had just finished preheating for the fucking heatwave.

DD VS TEAM COSTCO, WED 26AUG2015

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