I messed up by requesting too much
overtime last week at work, not thinking that they’d approve it. I didn’t take
into account that when it rains, a lot of people call in sick. For a week
straight I had to see my friends post record breaking stats on their Traces,
knowing that local surf was fun and rippable while I was stuck at work. After
pulling a 10 hour shift on Monday, I was determined to paddle out on Tuesday.
Passing Dockweiler, I could see that
there were waves. The Chevron Tanks looked a little walled. I pulled into 45th
Street in the midst of a light rain. There were waves, indeed, but they weren’t
peaky. They were coming in a little walled, or the shoulders were just saddles
that led into another oncoming wave. Either way, it looked worthy enough, surf
starved as I was.
I pushed it a little more south just
to see what 26th Street looked like. The surf was a tad smaller and,
quality wise, not much better. However, there was free parking, so that was
just too hard to pass up.
Paddling out at 1030, only a small
thimble full of the usual locals were there. Two whose names I don’t know and
the legend Don Kadowaki. The storm drain had some runoff creeping towards the
ocean, but hadn’t quite reached it yet. I thought about all the sharps that
could be embedded in the sand and the nasty bacteria floating around in the
water, but there was no passing on this session.
The water was cold as I had
expected, but a few duckdives later and I was used to it. I paddled a smudge
north to escape the few heads that were there, and within a minute a big
rolling right came my way. My board felt leafy, just too small for all the
water moving around, but as I turned to scratch and kick, it was like my board
stopped and slowly gained momentum just in time for the wave to pick me up. The
drop itself was fun, although sketchy, and the feeling of maintaining my
balance down the face felt victory enough.
I just didn’t want to blow it. Not
surfing in nine days does make a difference. My board felt awkward, the quads a
little to fast and loose. I managed my first backhand snap and carefully
transitioned into a cutback with still some open face left for another hit.
After the second snap, I hit the eject button before the wave closed out and
cannon balled into the safety zone just behind it.
It wasn’t a session when I scored
wave after wave. In fact, that was my best wave of an otherwise uneventful
session, but paddling back to the lineup and getting the smiling nod of
approval from Don and a few of the other gents there made being out there
worthy enough.
