THE RETURN TO LOCAL, SAT 19SEPT2015

Loc: Manhattan Beach, 26^th Street

Time: 0620-0800      

Conditions: 1-3 FT, glassy, warm, dumpy

Board: 5’10” Lost Mini Driver

     Can you imagine? I just returned from the Trestles area yesterday, and now I’m sitting in this. Sure, the water’s so fucking clear I can see sand dollars and stingrays. Yes, the water’s so fucking warm and inviting that “I can’t believe it’s like this in September” over and over again. But the wave is dumpy. Two-foot lines just stand up, stretch out, and dump. I miss North Churches.

     There is the occasional corner. I pass up on a solid right because I don’t want to backpaddle Stocky John. He takes it and goes far.

     Bri, holy shit, that Spyder Hopper that Rick had leant her is just too easy for her. She’s riding that thing like the NSP, and she’s hungry, getting way more waves than me. Even the other locals are rubber necking, wondering how she’s getting into so many.

     Second solid wave that I pass on is a left, and the shoulder looks hollow, my kind of small-barrel puss wave that I love so much, but yet, I must back out for Bri.

     I pull in on a few and get some quick glances but no real drive. Just a delayed pinch when I’m engulfed by a liquid bounce house.

     As warm as it is, I’m actually cold. Wagon Week has taken its toll. I’m just plain tired.

     When we go in, we run into Klaude on the sand. Afterwards, Bri and I have breakfast at Mandy’s. Small surf or not, I’m just happy to be home. Wagon Week was fun, but after camping that long it’s just nice to have luxuries again.

     More coffee.

WAGON WEEK PT.5: My Left, FRI 18SEPT2015

Loc: North Churches

Time: 0630-0845      

Conditions: 2-3 FT+, glassy, sunny, warm, consistent, soft

Board: 5’10” Lost Mini Driver

     That morning was supposed to be “the day,” that good south was gonna produce some rippable surf, but again, Churches looked small at first light. I paddled past the top of the wave and stubbornly sat at North Churches by myself. Manny and Jimmy had left. Rick and Garr were packing. My buddy Cassady, who had shown up last night, had to do a social media post on Lowers for his job before paddling out.

     I sat in a lull for about fifteen minutes patiently, and then all of a sudden those motherfuckin’ lefts started coming in. Perfect and peaky, I was getting into position with ample time. No one was out there to challenge me because most were on the right. I was surfing in a vacant no-mans land. Only issue . . . my Mini Driver didn’t feel right. Shit. Just . . . the wave was just too weak for it. Suddenly I missed my Motorboat Too. Though, the speed from the quads did feel nice, but the waves just felt too soft on that board, like I had too much rocker.

     Most of my waves were pumping setups for a solid hack at the end. I attempted a layback on a critical closeout section. If I could have paused that moment when I dropped my wallet, it would’ve looked good, but then I lost it.

     Still though, even though the waves felt soft, it was the best session of the trip. Just fun rippable lefts all to myself. That’s what I come to Trestles for.

     In the distance, I could here the P.A. system from the event. Someone in a pink wetsuit busted an air. I didn’t care.

WAGON WEEK PT.4 (double), THU 17SEPT2015

Loc: Churches

Time: 715-1015       

Crew: Jimmy, Manny

Conditions: 2-3 FT, glassy, sunny, warm, inconsistent

Board: Motorboat Too

     Gary was on a mission. Literally, he had prepacked all his gear the night before, and he was already heading to Lower Trestles in the dark. Rick followed suit a few minutes behind. Even though I had told them that I’d meet them there, I was apprehensive of surfing SoCal’s most crowded A-frame.  

     I took my time getting up, and then Manny, Rick’s Bro, showed up. He said he still had to go to work, and that there was no way he was surfing Lowers because of the amount of heads he had counted out there.

     North Churches was weak, but I stubbornly sat there, waiting for my payday. Even the longboarders at the top of the wave looked like statues in the midst of the long lulls.

     Manny paddled over to me and motioned behind him. “Looks better over there,” he said. I didn’t want to leave, but I also didn’t want to be anti social.

     Manny was ripping it on a 4’11” Average Joe, so fucking small. He got a frontside air on a right but missed the landing. “Sometimes I land weird,” he said. “Like the board lands between my legs.” Not sure if I’ll ever be able to relate to airs.

     Manny called me into a right. I took it and got two snaps, kicking out of the third turn.

     “Looks zippy!” he said. I nodded. Then I got a freak left, two in a row.

     The surf was fun, but it was just inconsistent. The new swell was barely showing, so sizewise it was a bust.

     When Manny and Jimmy left, I paddled towards Middles and sat on the outside of Lowers. I saw Parko, Carissa, Lakey, Medina, and Wiggoly just tearing shit up. So many people were rushing Lowers and trying to get in on the action. All I could do was smile and watch. It was the first time I had ever been so close to a pack of pros.

#

Loc: Churches

Time: 1700-1830      

Crew: Rick

Conditions: 2-3 FT+, onshore, consistent, choppy

Board: Channel Islands #4

     Unlike the day before, the onshore wind picked up and didn’t settle down. Rick did the repair on my Lost Mini Driver, and then I paddled out on Gary’s #4. He heavily insisted.

     So I paddled out on it, and it took forever to get a good wave. I didn’t go as deep as North Churches and settled in at the top of the wave. The same crew from yesterday was out along with some new faces. Must’ve been from the surf report that gave that day a good rating, but really, the prior afternoon was when they should’ve been there.

     As shitty as the surf was, that #4 was working, and I couldn’t really tell if it was a superior wave craft or not, all I knew was that there was so much volume on it that I was able to get any wave I wanted. It was just too easy. I’m too light for it. It reminded me of the blue Zippifish I used to ride, but this board was a little looser.

     When Rick came out, he did well on his battered Neckbeard. I rode past him on a rogue right, a right that I thought I was too late for. When I got the wave, I instantly made the section without trying, and it was open and smooth face thereafter. I actually got three snaps. I felt the other guys’ stares. They weren’t drawn in by me but more by how lucky I was to get a wave like that.

     After my ride, Rick got two good rights, too.

     Later that night, Sebastian showed up with a twelve pack of Modelos, chicken wings, and potato wedges. We had gone through all of our provisions, so Seba’s arrival was a godsend. An hour later, Domino’s pizza came through. By the skin of our ass cheeks, we hit our third night in a row well nourished.

WAGON WEEK PT.3: Evening Glass, WED 16SEPT2015

Loc: Churches

Time: 1545-1900      

Crew: Jimmy, Garr, Rick

Conditions: 2-3 FT, light onshore, sunny, warm, consistent

Board: Motorboat Too

     The Lowers contest was just happening two breaks north. Just as the competitors had been hoping for surf, so were we, but upon waking up, we witnessed two-foot rights rolling through Churches. Foregoing an immediate paddle out, Jimmy, Garr, and I walked to the contest site.

     Middles wasn’t breaking, but, of course, Lowers looked really fun. Three feet and rippable. Gary called out to Pots who was seated above us at the announcers table. It made me nervous. I get star struck; it’s just who I am.                        

     After watching the Lower-Trestles A-frames get ripped up by pros and home-schooled kids, we began to walk back. Gary stopped in his tracks when he spotted Adriano Desouza.

     Instead of waiting, Jimmy and I walked a little further down to watch the surf. Five minutes later, Gary and Adriano were walking on the dirt path right behind us. If we didn’t know who they were, they would’ve looked like two good friends who had known each other their whole lives.

#

     Just like the day before, I returned after sitting on my ass in the library all day. The guys were gone and eating poke in San Clemente, while I suited up to pull a solo sesh.

     The conditions cleaned up, and, surprisingly, there was also a slight increase in the swell. I caught a couple of rights at the bottom of the wave first, and then I made it to the top of the wave where I scored plenty of inside lefts. I was pumping, pulling off some floaters, and trying to get some good carves, but they were mediocre at best.

     Two guys paddled out and sat right on me. Fuck I was so annoyed. And then one of them busted a 360 air reverse and landed it. Shit, I thought. They were good, and that kind of talent means I have no say-so in being overrun.

     When the guys came back, they paddled out further north at the left. Out there together, that’s when the session really got fun. Random lefts would pop up, solid three footers. The rides were long but still a little weak. Regardless, it was the best session I had had since being there.

     That night, Jimmy cooked us potatoes in a soup broth in his pressure cooker. I really wasn’t expecting much. Despite not having meat, the meal was good with just rice alone. The taters were hot and steamy. Another cool night out was thwarted by a hot meal.

Ricky and Jimmy, tearing it up. Never was a paper bowl so appreciated.