2017-3

I woke up with a hangover. Really unlike me. I'm not a young buck anymore. On top of that, the rain tapping my roof didn't help much to get out of bed either. I thought it'd be a lay day when I rolled out of bed around 8, but a glimpse out my window showed the rain had stopped. With the thought of the commitment I had made to Klaude flashing in the back of my mind, I prepped the water jugs.

26th St. Fuck it was crowded. Or should I saw crowded enough. More crowd than a weekday for sure. It was too easy to spot Klaude on his Puddle Jumper Lolli. All the regulars were there. I'm surprised I still have some local stripes here it's been so long.

Upon paddling out, I caught my best two waves right away, and then the competition got too tough. The waves weren't as peaky as the day before. The lines were really long, allowing he longboarders on the outside to get them first. It was an realization that I just catch so many more waves when I surf solo and on the weekdays.

THE RETURN OF RANDY, SAT 17NOV2012 MOR

Crew: Randy, Klaude, Khang, Dais, Hideki, Chris

Conditions: 3-4 FT, gloomy, cold, crowded, fun.

     My bro flies in from Java Friday afternoon. Or . . . should I say Java to Korea to L.A. I may be missing a destination, but to make a long story short, he was traveling for over a day without much rest.

     The first thing I did was take him to Khang’s surf shop to get some jeans, then we went to happy hour with some of my classmates in LB, and then we had dinner at the best Chinese restaurant in the world: Seafood Town. Back at my place, we had ice cream with brownies and threw on Year Zero. It’s weird watching surf porn with my bro because I usually NERD OUT when I’m watching them, but it’s kind of hard to with Randy because he’s been doing nothing but getting barreled for the past year. 

     Everyone’s paddling out tomorrow morning. I haven’t surfed with Randy in over a year. I’d like to show him that I’ve improved since the last time we surfed Bali, but also . . . I’m really looking forward to him finally surfing with all of my friends.

#

     I’ve had the hardest time waking up early since the temperature-drop and the time-change, but I’m up at exactly 0515—no fuss no muss. I eat some breakfast, fill the hot water jugs, and even put on some surf porn to get psyched up. At 0545 I’m worried that Randy’s gonna be too tired to get up, but then he opens the door and walks out already dressed. He opts to borrow the 5’8 Lost board, the one I bought off of him but have only surfed in crappy conditions three-times. As I pull it out from the corner of my living room, where I have it stashed, he says, “Wow, it feels good to see this board again.” I still can’t believe he can ride something so tiny.

     At 26^th, I pass-up the street parking to take the spot next to KK’s van. I have the JS because I discovered this morning that the tail on the Tokoro is cracked, but when I pull out the JS I see that the tail is missing a chunk of fiberglass on the tail, ten times worse than the Tokoro. As much as I don’t want to get my JS waterlogged, there’s no way I’m driving back home.

     The sand’s so cold that it makes my feet painfully numb. Randy’s borrowing my loud, 3/2, Hurley disco-suit. As usual, I see Klaude first. We paddle out. A couple minutes later, I’m able to introduce them to each other (even though I think they met in person once before without me).

     Randy’s not a fan of the crowds, so he paddles way north, away from the pack, but I’m super-stoked. With Randy’s arrival, the waves come as well. It’s the best I’ve seen Manhattan Beach in a long time. Even though the tide is coming up, waves are coming in pretty consistently at three-to-four feet, and they aren’t all walls. The only problem is the crowd.

     Khang shows up a little later.

     Even though it’s hard to get a wave, I still get a couple to myself without any hassle. The first wave is a little walled and racy. I’m behind the section and can’t quite reach the face, but I get this left . . . man, it’s the best left I’ve had in a while. Since my brother’s here, I am already surfing a little better. For the first time, I’m consciously trying to get deeper, forehand bottom-turns. I get this four-foot left. Another guy on the shoulder backs out. I drop in upright, already eyeing the part of the face that I want to climb. I push my ass out a little which makes my board fade out. From there, I spring-up and climb the face with more front-side speed that I’m used to. I check the spilling lip and drop back down into the wave with momentum. Since I’m behind the section, I do a little check-hit off the lip again. I try to set up for a carve, but the momentum is too much for me, so I lose my balance.

     I didn’t get any snaps, but the speed I got from the bottom turns and reentries were fun—progress.

     Randy’s struggling with the 5’8. I see him scratch out on some or just trim down the line since the rising tide is making the inside mooshy.

     It was raining this morning, so the storm drain is spewing shit water which smells really bad.

     Dais shows up. I introduce him and Randy to each other, as well as Hideki. We have a pretty solid crew in the water.

#

     We surf a little over two hours. My bro says he feels a little “off” surfing in a wetsuit again. This morning he said, “I’m looking forward to actually ‘turning’ today.” I don’t know anyone else who has this problem, stemming from only riding barreling waves.

     KK, Randy, Khang, Hideki, and I head to the Blue Butterfly in El Segundo for some breakfast. I’m stoked to surf with my brother again, but I’m also glad he got to meet the homies too.

FUCKIN' BOURDAIN, SUN 7OCT2012 MOR

Crew: KK, Leslie, CC, Bec

Time: 0715-0900

Conditions: 2-3 FT, clean, offshore, walled

Balance:

     After spending the whole day blogging yesterday, I ate dinner, cleaned up my JS board, and I got ready for bed. In the middle of brushing my teeth, I got a phone call. I looked at my iPhone. It was my cousin from Sacramento calling. The last time he called was three weeks ago, but I was so busy I let the phone ring without picking it up. I hesitated with a mouth full of toothpaste, looking at the name HAYDEN on the screen. I couldn’t blow him off again. I picked up the phone with a fake, excited tone.

     “Heyyyy!” he said, surprised that he was talking to a living being, “I thought I was gonna get your voicemail!”

     We covered the “minors,” which is catching up about family and what we’ve been up to lately. I told him about my girlfriend that he had no idea about, that’s when I realized that it’s been longer than a couple months that we talked. I’m an asshole, I thought. I get so wound up in my own shit sometimes that I let my friendships fall to the wayside. Seven months ago I was desperate to reestablish those connections; I needed friends more than ever.

     I told him how I’ve been struggling for balance and barely have the time to surf, about trying to find time to exercise in between, and how I plan to make more “cuts” this week. Then he gave me a revelation that I didn’t expect to hear from him.

     “You have to surf,” he said. “That’s your connection with nature, something to balance you out. Keep you ‘human.’”

     So that’s that, that’s what he told me. I think I’ve been doing too much. So now it follows. I think I’ll just say fuck hitting the gym this spring semester and focus more on squeezing in sessions wherever I can.

NEED GOOD WAVES:

     It’s day three of my “staying local” plan. I fail to get up as early as yesterday but still wake up with the same raging piss boner as always. I push my erection into the toilet bowl while I sit and yawn. The hot stream of urine works its way through the solid roll of wiener, running parallel with the primary vein at the top of my shaft.

     I grab the JS that I stripped last night and put fresh coats of base and cool water wax on. It looks so clean. I can’t remember the last time the JS looked this good.

     Instead of hopping on the 405 North, I experiment with taking Marine all the way to the coast. It’s a shorter distance, but there are a lot of stop signs and speed restrictions which make the drive longer.

     Of course, there is no free parking. I spot Klaude’s van, but he’s long gone from the lot already. I park across from him. The local vet Bruce is already posted, talking to the old timers in the upper lot.

     My boardshorts and rashguard are in my bag, but the air feels a little cool. I chicken out and throw on the wetsuit. I won’t be the Boardshort Mamba today.

     I spot KK and Leslie on the sand, warming up before I cross the run path. By the time I get to the sand, they are already in the water. He’s pushing her into the whitewash. She gets up with a wide, water bug stance. Her hands are reaching forward to balance the unstable, nine-foot behemoth. She falls. KK shoots her into the next wave. She purls. Awwww yes, the glories of barneyism! Enjoy.

     I make my walk into the shallows, waving down Klaude. He smiles when he sees me an approaches in short steps.

     I wave him back off and point to the lineup. He needs to focus his attention on his padawan.

#

     I can’t tell if the surf is better than yesterday. Today supposed to be smaller, but there are still waves. The tide’s approaching mid level, and the conditions are clean, but the waves are breaking section-into-section. Some waves look peaky but end up being walls. Or if they have shoulders, they dump really fast because of the tide.

     Still, I’m hoping to get lucky like yesterday, getting a fun ride here and there. First I catch some closeouts and go straight, and then I experiment with getting slotted in the closeouts. None of the rides standout.

     The current is taking us north of 26^th, so I paddle back every couple minutes. It’s more crowded by the tower, and where I am, north of, there aren’t as many people.

No Reservations:

     Finally, I’m in position for the left shoulder of a wall. It looks tapered and small, but I know that (on a day like this) I’m in the best place for distance; it’s gonna line up and give me an open face.

     There’s this other guy who looks exactly like Anthony Bourdain surfing in the same area. Sometimes I wonder if it’s actually him. I’m working my way over to the shoulder because I’m a little deep, but he starts working his way over from the opposite side.

     How can he not see me? He has to see me because he has to paddle directly towards me and turn around in order to get this wave. I paddle and pop up just behind the shoulder. The ride is starting off with good shape, just a good tapered shoulder that begins to go vertical, but lines up well for at least one explosive turn. And what does Bourdain look-alike do? He drops in right in front of me. I can’t pump and gain speed because he’s right there. I wipeout from being caught in the section. When I resurface, I’m wearing a frustrated look, it’s the “Gee, man . . . I really just came here to surf and not deal with any assholes” look. I turn to Bourdain.

     He has the “I’m sorry I just farted on your ham sandwich look,” the look that says, “I know I could have farted anywhere else, but I had to go, and your ham sandwich just so happened to be there. . . . Sorry.” He looks at me with a pity-me countenance. He puts his hand up in a friendly gesture.

     I wave back, but I paddle to get away from him. I guess I had No Reservations.

#

     KK unscrews the training wheels, swims next to Leslie while she paddles out, and then he goes back in to get his Don K. Rocket.

     Leslie drifts so far outside that she can barely hear Klaude when he yells for her. Instead of turning around to paddle towards the beach, she throws the board in R and paddles backwards while still facing the horizon.

     Despite the one-to-two foot forecast, there are some waves coming through. KK and I paddle for a lot of them, either going straight or pulling out. I’m still looking for the same gem that Bourdain ruined earlier.

     I recognize Bec in the lineup. She’s sitting to my south. I paddle up to her. She says that Christina is on the sand still warming up.

     “How was your trip?” I ask.

     “Oh, it was beautiful!

     “How far north did you go?”

     “Portland.”

     “PORTLAND?!” I see KK paddling up to us. I try to introduce them but Klaude takes a wave. “Did you get to surf on your trip?”

     “Yes, I went to that one spot, ummmm,” she looks down at her board then looks back at me, “Steamers Lane!”

     “Oh shit, you surfed Steamers? Wow, I heard it’s pretty localized. I’ve seen it but never surfed it.”

     “Yes, the locals had it down so well. They ride the waves so close to the rocks. It was un-bee-leevable! I only caught one.”

     Klaude paddles up. I introduce them.

     Bec’s got quite the itinerary coming up. She’s going to El Salvador on Tuesday, then Nicaragua, and then back to San Francisco to catch a flight to Hawaii. Somewhere in November, she plans to be back in Australia.

     “I’ll be back in a shitty time,” she says. “I might have to find work in the mines.”

     I pause. “Wait . . . the mines? Like with a hardhat, helmet light, and a pick?”

     “No,” she says, “more like sifting through small rocks. It’s pretty boring actually.”

     I explain that I’ve never met anyone who worked in the mines, and my mental image is the stereotypical stuff you see on TV. I guess it’s like me telling people I used to pick pineapples, and most people think pineapples grow on trees.

     “Damn, is Christina still stretching?” says Klaude.

#

     The four of us are in the water, going for whatever’s there. Bec says she feels rusty. She pops up too early on some waves, unable to get into them. I’m being picky, looking for something with a shoulder. I really want a turn.

     After a closeout, I’m on the inside working my way back. I see a classic Dump Rider set roll in. CC goes for broke, paddles in and goes straight. Beck pops up a little late, ditches her board, and rolls into the falls.

     I can’t get an open face for the life of me. What a shame with such good conditions. I just want some shape. I need to go down the line; even single shot turns would be awesome. To my north, I see a regular footer going right. He gets an arcing turn; he’s so fast and fluid it’s like he’s slicing into it. I guess there are good waves here, but I’m just not getting them.

#

     I contemplate on feeding the meter and staying longer, but I have some obligations. My homeboy Sebastian’s birthday was yesterday, and I promised to take him out to breakfast. I say my goodbyes to Bec. I wish I could stay longer, but a little bit of face time is better than none at all. We’ll keep in touch.

     Klaude, Leslie, and I change back at the lot.

     I didn’t get my San Onofre fill on Friday, so it feels like forever since I caught a down-the-line ride, but I don’t regret staying local. I’m stoked I got to see Bec, and yesterday was a good turnout for the DRC. Friday I got so surf with Whiff, which barely happens because I’m not at Porto as much. I have work next weekend, so I’ll miss out on surf for at least a week. I hope I can follow Hayden’s advice and sneak in one more session before I have to report on Friday.

    

MILKING CLOSEOUTS, SAT 6OCT2012 MOR

Crew: Klaude, Nicky, Dais, CC, Tom

Time: 0645-0900

Conditions: 2-3 FT, clean, offshore, walled, racy

PRE BLOG:

     I spent the whole day yesterday catching up on my surf blogs, and right now at this very moment, at exactly 1749 on 06OCT2012, I am caught-the-fuck-up! I’ve never fallen this far behind on my blogs ever. I made the commitment when I started this thing to write about every single surf session I do. So . . . instead of doing my homework this weekend I’ve been working on this. I know it sounds silly. Why go through the trouble, right? I ain’t getting paid for this, and I only have 21 people following me, and probably only a quarter of them actually read what I have to write. The truth is that part of the reason why I’m in the masters program is because I have this creative outlet where I CAN write and practice my craft. Even though this blog isn’t fiction or literary greatness, it counts as words on the screen, fingers hitting keys, mechanics, grammar, punctuation. Also, I’m passionate about surfing; it’s my livelihood even more than writing, but right now in my life I can’t have one without the other. I love having this journal or personal account. Surfing is life, and here I can share it with you or one day look back on it myself, rich man or poor man, it doesn’t matter.

#

     Last night I was so tired by 2200. I could barely keep my eyes open. I was watching this thing on Netflix while eating dinner. It’s a movie called Zeitgeist (2007). It was some trippy shit. It talked about how the Judeo Christian religion is a parody of the ancient Egyptian religion and how the worship of God was originally from the worship of the sun. It was some crazy shit they were talking. I was intrigued until they talked about how 9-11 was pulled off by America. That’s when I really said, “What the fuck?” I’m telling you, man. Weird shit. . . . But . . . how the hell DID Tower 7 collapse?

#

     I wake up at 0550 to take a piss. I’m so tired. I think about lying back down to get a little more snooze time, just to hit that button once more and catch a couple Zs. Then I think about Klaude. Shit . . . he’s probably on the muthafukin’ road right now.    

     I sip on my hot chocolate and munch on a banana before grabbing my gear. I went to Surf Concepts yesterday and bought some wax (they’re moving into a different suite in the same lot just so you know), so I got that problem solved. I haven’t showered since Friday night, and I’m still wearing the same cum-stained Hurley shorts from Thursday. Fuck it. Why dirty-up another set of clothes?

     I grab the Tokoro, my towel, hot water jugs, and a dry wetsuit out of the closet. There’s no free parking around 26^th, but since I spotted Klaude in the parking lot, I circle around to the meters and park next to him for the fuck of it; I never park next to him.

     Nicky is with him, and they both throw me shakas as I enter. I step out; we hug and shoot the shit while we change. The waves look small, but they seem to be coming in consistently. The tide is going from low-to-mid, so it’s breaking a little close to shore. It still looks fun, and there’s potential that things can get better. The offshore wind is also adding some texture, but it’s not killing the shape.

     The lineup’s a little emptier than usual. According to Klaude, all the locals have their annual camping trip in San Elijo this weekend, so that explains it. But it does seem odd not to see Bruce or Uncle Miles out here.

     Even though the conditions are great, the waves are mostly closeouts. KK and I can’t do much but go straight. The first left with a decent shoulder rolls through. Nicky whips his Zippy around. Another guy is on his inside, but Nicky goes anyway. He pumps and skims the high line with speed, leaving some mist out the back. He tries to kick out, but the ride’s already over.

     Dais and CC show up about forty-five minutes later, and then we spot Tom to our south. So we got a pretty good crew out with us, minus Khang who’s in Dallas for his vacation.

     Wave wise, good rides are few and far between. Kind of like yesterday, the low tide is making the waves hollow. Since I can’t turn for shit, I start pulling in, hoping for a little shampoo before the clamshell. I don’t have this same mentality on big round waves which is something I need to change. On one left, I pop up, hug the wall, and just crouch down. I see the lip throw out over me, and then everything turns to bubbles and water.

     When I resurface, Nicky’s behind me. He says, “Yeah, Matt! I wish I had a camera behind to film that!”

     “Sorry, man. You looked a little deep. I didn’t think you’d make it.”

     He gives his signature boy-band smile. “Awww, it’s cool, man. No worries.”

     But I do feel a little bad. I snaked him. I guess on his fish he can make those sections faster.

     Another surfer paddles up and says, “Hey, I saw you . . .” he mimics a barrel ride with his hands in front of his face, knifed and pointed forward.

     I thank him, but tell him that it was a closeout anyway, so why not go.

     As the tide rises, pulling this off is getting harder. I try to pull in on another closeout, but the wave spills. Just like yesterday, bad decisions.

     Some of us are milking the best out of the conditions. Klaude gets some distance going right. Tom gets a good bang off the lip too on one wave.

     Nicky’s doing the best out of all of us, getting time on the open face with his Zippy.

MY WAVE OF THE DAY:

     So I’m waiting for a wave when Mother Ocean sends one right to me. I’m in the perfect spot. Since the waves are a little racy, I definitely prefer the shoulder today. I get a couple hoots from the boys as I’m paddling in; I have this to myself. The shoulder is tapered but it starts to build fast. I drop in, pump, and try to make the section to the open face for a turn. It’s not emphatic, but I do hit the lip before it closes out. I paddle back to the boys (and girl).

     “That was my wave of the day,” I say to Klaude.

     “Yeah dude!”

     “Yeah, but fuck . . . I should’ve pulled-in. It was going vertical. I might have gotten barreled on that.”

     “Awwww, you didn’t enjoy it? And we pulled out so you could have it?”

     I see what he’s getting at. Why the hell am I complaining? As Dais say: J.E.T.S. 

     KK and I say by to CC and Dais and head back up to our cars. It wasn’t a surf session with waves galore, but it was great to see our friends, those committed, enjoying the surf with us. We plan to see each other tomorrow. The sound of drums dissipate behind me as I drive back home, satisfied that I got a session in.

    

FISH HANGOVER, SAT 29SEPT2012 MOR

Crew: Deathwish Dave, KK, CC

Ran Into: Gary C. and his son Russ

Conditions: 2-4 FT, glassy, clean, inconsistent, walled on the plus sets.

     My alarm goes off at 0600, but I hit the snooze button a couple times. Last night Bri said she wanted to surf again, but as I sit up at the edge of the bed, she’s still out like a rock. I get my gear together, kiss her on the forehead and tell her to sleep in. She obliges without a challenge.

#

     I take a spin around the parking lot to see if I can score on a meter free spot. Nothing. . . . I know that I’m out of change, but luckily I find a space a little south on Highland. It’s actually a prime spot, and I’m surprised that no one else took it.

     I don’t bother with the Zippy today. My instincts are telling me that it’s time to get back on my thruster, so I whip out the 6’0 Tokoro. The sun is already shining over the ocean when I get to the tower. Klaude’s easy to find in the lineup with his jet black hair and wetsuit. His Vertra painted face is contrast to the rest of his body. He looks like a Geisha. Hot.

     When I paddle out, my Tokoro feels so leafy. The nose of the board is so narrow that it looks impractical. I paddle next to Klaude. He says that Deathwish Dave will be here.

     The morning starts off slow and inconsistent. I scratch out multiple times, unable to get into the waves. When I finally get a left, Klaude and a couple other guys are hooting me on it, but when I get back to the lineup Klaude says, “There was a guy behind you getting barreled, that’s what everyone was yelling about.”

     “Oh. . . .”

     “Don’t get me wrong. Your ride was okay, but,” he laughs, “the other guy got barreled.”

     I look out at the horizon. “Yeah, you mean like one of those barrels you can barely remember.”

     He laughs again. “No, I’m sure everyone will remember it.”

     I dismiss the miscommunication and look towards the inside. There’s this little grom chick. She goes left and gets two carves, unleashing some small spray. I need to get me a wave like that, I’m thinking. With the rising tide comes a little more size, and random walls start coming through. I know it’s hollow; I’ve been watching some of the other guys pulling in to get pinched. I try to paddle-into a wave behind the peak, but when it hits the sand bar it jacks-up fast and morphs. My commitment is half-assed. Part of me wants to pull back but I’m already in the wave. The lip pitches me over and I become part of the crashing lip. My upper back touches the bottom. When I resurface, I see Klaude still in the lineup; he didn’t see what happened. As I paddle back out, the grom chick is close by. She looks at me. I’m embarrassed.

#

     I spot Deathwish Dave on the sand. Shit . . . I don’t think he’s surfed with us the whole summer. I get Klaude’s attention to let him know Deathwish is here. Dave only suits up half way and rushes into the water. KK and I are confused.

     “Wassup, Dave?” I say.

     “Hey!” He smiles as he puts his arms through his sleeves.

     “Why didn’t you just change on the shore,” says Klaude.

     “Oh, I don’t know. I saw you guys out here. I thought I’d hurry up.”

     Minutes later, I spot Christina warming up on the sand. More walls are coming through, but I’m being picky especially after my wipe out. I paddle and pull out numerous times. Eventually I catch a couple closeouts. I look back towards the sand. “Damn, she’s still warming up!” I say to Klaude.

     “Still?” he says.

     After ten more minutes and a dozen yoga positions, CC paddles out to join is.

#

     “Hurleeeeee,” says a voice from behind.

     I doubt that person’s talking to me.

     “Hurleeeeee,” the person says again.

     I turn around, and it’s Gary C, Rick’s friend. “Hey!” I say. “Rick’s at 45^th. He texted me this morning.”

     “Yeah, I told him to come down here; it’s better over here.” He motions his head to the guy next to him. “This is my son, Russ.”

     I smile and nod. Russ looks just like J.O.B., the similarities are striking. Gary and I talk about our plans tomorrow to surf Oceanside with Rick.

#

     I feel like a beginner. I haven’t caught any good waves thus far. A wall approaches. It has no shape. I hear Dave start to turn his board. We’re a little deep. He’s going for it. “Careful, Dave,” I say. The walled, glassy lip is already curling behind him while he’s still paddling. He plunges down below, and his longboard shoots straight up into the air.

     CC has more balls than I do today too. Even on the closeouts, she’s charging. The look of commitment’s on her face, and her objective is to get into the wave, closeout or not. For the rest of the session I continue to struggle, and I never get one turn, only straight drops.

     KK and I are standing on the inside when Russ catches a wall, but he manages to do two long floaters to make the sections. We’re impressed. Reality hits that I am definitely far from Russ’ level of surfing.

     KK says it’s time for him to go. Dave’s working on his last wave too. Again, he turns and starts paddling for a bomb that nobody wants. “Careful, Dave,” I say again. From behind I see the explosion, but his board doesn’t shoot up. I’m looking for him to resurface. It takes a while for him to resurface, but his board isn’t next to him. I follow his gaze towards the shallows and then I see his board heading towards the sand. He snapped his leash.

     I tell CC that I’m heading out as well. Bri’s at the house, I got some homework, and I’d like to conserve some energy for tomorrow.

     When I get back home, Bri is still KOd. Even though I didn’t pull a grueling session, I am TIRED. There’s still residue left over from yesterday, and my body needs more rest.

     Bri takes off to work, and I spend the rest of my day trying to be productive. Rick gives me a call about tomorrow.

     “What time you want to meet?” I ask.

     “Is 0500 too early for you?”