Fri., Oct. 4th, 2019: Unexpected Fun

Loc: 45^th St.

Time: 0830-0930

Conditions: Clean offshore, 2-3 Ft., semi dumpy, fun, crowded

Board: Zippifish

            Surfline said the swell would be tapering off, so I expected a slow morning of lully surf. I was even supposed to meet a guy who wanted to buy my 5’10 Lost Mini Driver, which I barely ride nowadays, so I brought that board with me in case he would be surfing. Aside from that, I ditched the Skipper for a change and brought the twin fin Zippifish.

            On my way to Porto I could already see that there were waves, and not just waves but a little bigger and better than yesterday. What the fuck, Surfline? As usual, right before I hit the Highland Ave. and 45^th St. intersection, I have to make the clutch decision on where I’m going to park. If I make the right into the lot, I’m committing to the meters. If I keep going straight, I may end up pushing my way towards 26^th to find some free street parking over there, or…if I just keep an eye out, I might get lucky and just find something right here. Lo and behold, I find a spot in the immediate vicinity, so 45^th St. it is!

            I love street parking because, one, I obviously don’t have to feed a meter. If you surf four to five days out of the week, then meter costs eventually add up. Also, when you score a street spot you don’t have to rush as much. The clock is friendlier, and you can stay out and surf to your heart’s content without worrying about getting a ticket.

            Already looking down the hill, I can see that my board choice is off. Fack, I should’ve brought the Skipper. The surf looks consistent, a little sectiony, breaking close to shore, and even a little bigger. When it’s dumpy like this I’d rather practice pulling in with a foamie than purling on a big hunk of voluminous board like…the Zippi I have now. But at the same time, it’s nice to change things up. I’ve been leaning on the Skipper quite a lot lately, thanks to KK who sold it to me (I’m sorry, brother, I had to buy it from you because I had been riding it hard. It wouldn’t have been right for me to hand it back to you like that.).

            So I throw on my slippers and walk down. I’ve cut my feet so many times on glass or stepped in globs of tar, a bad thing about street parking. When I reach the lot, I see that it’s packed. Surfers are coming out of the water back to their cars, but there are still a lot of people in the water, mostly congregated near 42^nd St. and in front of the sandwich shack.

            I paddle out right at 45^th where there’s a noobie Asian chick on a longboard. Immediately I start catching waves around her. Even though I don’t have the preferable equipment, I start pulling in on closeouts. On my fronstside lefts I’m developing a technique where, instead of my two-hand stall, I grab the rail on my board towards the tail with my right hand and lean my left shoulder into the wave, using my back to stall my momentum, and…it actually works. I haven’t made it out of a barrel doing this yet, but it’s fun just to mess around. This has been a breakthrough year for me in scoring tiny barrels. Being honest, I don’t know if I’ll ever get a big barrel, but even the little ones are so small that I’ll happily claim being a small-barrel guy if I can keep getting them consistently.

            After years of eating shit, I finally know the difference between going nowhere and actually getting a little momentum and distance in the tube. There is the flash of travelling, being under the lip as it’s curling, and that extra second of travel time that you get from holding on and just wiping out in the barrel, fully committed and not preparing for a safe exit. This is arguably dangerous but on these small dumpy days, they aren’t as consequential.

            So I kept going and catching waves unmolested. A guy with a familiar face paddles past me and says, “Ain’t much out here today.” I’m stoked that he even remembers me. It’s funny how you eventually become a local just by consistently showing up, alone. It doesn’t have to be every day. It can be every once in a while, but as long as you show your face you are a regular, and you do belong.

            The surf was consistent. I got enough of a satisfying fill that after an hour I was content enough to leave. I’ve also been getting better at that lately. When I feel like I’ve had enough, it’s a lot easier to walk away. I can move on to the rest of my day, surf mission completed.

            On the sand I crossed paths with another familiar face. I didn’t even think he wanted to talk, but when I looked back up he smiled and said hi. I’ve seen him several times out here, have never spoken a word to him, but the familiarity with having seen each other before was enough for a greeting.

            I am currently making moves in my life to further solidify this surfing lifestyle. Stay tuned. Also, I recontacted the guy who wanted to buy my Mini Driver. I told him that I’m holding onto it instead. I gotta see if I can get barreled on it this winter. If not, I’m selling it.

Beyond Ashamed...

I'm beyond ashamed that it's taken me this long to write again... I've been off of the radar for quite some time, and this is where I stand:

1. I'll probably never do an air. 
2. I doubt I'll ever get barreled again unless it's just given down to me from God on a silver platter, even then, me catching it and making it out clean would be an event of pure luck.
3. Having a full time job and balancing surfing is not easy.
4. I like two-to-three foot surf. In fact, that's probably where I excel the most on either a chunky fish or a good groveler with decent volume.
5. I'm getting out of shape the older I get.
6. I'm about to turn 40. 
7. I still hate other fucking surfers.

I paddled out at El Porto today. First I swung by at high tide and decided that I'd come back a little later because, although clean, it was just too soft. After knocking out my laundry, I came back and hit it during mid tide.

With the tide going down, the surf got more and more drained. And then, of course, the lineup starting emptying up. Then I just sat there after my shitty ass rides, thinking, wow, was this really worth it? Was it worth it to skip out on the gym, maybe knock out more errands, or just getting some good self time in before work to paddle out here in lackluster surf?

And yet, when I was changing in the lot, it was nice to see the place mostly empty, to be there at the beach on a Monday when most people are at work; it was just so peaceful. And on the drive back, same thing, there's that vacancy on the street and in traffic that lets you know that most people are at work, and you're not.

I listened to KJAZZ on the way home, the lyricless music like a soundtrack to my life at that very moment, and discovered that, despite that crappy surf, I was still adorned in "the post-surf glaze," a natural surfer's high, if you will, and … that itself made the paddle out worth it. 

FINDING THEM, WED 09SEPT2015

Loc: Manhattan Beach

Time: 0620-0850      

Conditions: 2-4 FT+, sunny, warm, disorganized, crowded

Board: 5’10 Lost Mini Driver

     After taking a lay day yesterday, I decided to get in the water again. Despite the south swell, I just stayed local because I didn’t want to road trip it again. Plus, it would be nice to show my face and get my local card revalidated.

     I didn’t really know what to expect. Collin had told me that yesterday the swell wasn’t hitting right and that he got worked, so I slapped on my quads in case I needed the speed.

     Finding parking was easy. As I made my way across The Strand, parents were dropping off all the high schoolers.

     Like dejavu, Young Mike was out just south of the tower. “Where’d you surf this weekend?” I asked.

     “I just surfed here. It was pretty fun,” he said.

     “I heard there was current.”

     “Yeah, there was, but most people here don’t know how to surf, so the current just took them away, and. . .”

     He took the next wave. Ha. . . I wondered what he thought about me and if I fell into his kook category or not. Either way, it all depends on whom you’re being compared to. Someone’s always better than you.

     The second wave of the set popped up. I went for it. It didn’t look like much of a wave, but I was surprised at how fast it was standing up. Aside from that, I was just as surprised with how well I paddled into it. Seems like resting and taking lay days is paying off.

     I bottom turned and pulled in. The wave stood up and curled over me, a super fun-sized four footer. I saw the exit but got pinched at the end. Wow. Almost. I looked at the shore. The surf coaches were watching the kids in front of the tower, who were all donned in red, yellow, and blue jerseys. All around me, the rest of the kids paddled out.

     I really wanted to stay and surf that peak after that wave, but the abundance of groms pushed me out. Instead, I paddled north and sat on the brick house.

     The surf was a bit disorganized. It was mid tide, but there was already some backwash. Most of the peaks were coming in a little too lined up and sectiony, but there must have been a different swell mix because a decent peak would come through now and then.

     At first I was trying to pull into everything, but nothing really opened up. I finally started going for turns. On one wave I got three floaters in a row because it was so sectiony. No turns but fun.

     Wave of the day was a shouldery left. As I popped up, I saw that the shoulder was standing up and about to curl. I pulled in but didn’t stall. I got as close to the face as possible and just dipped my head for a partial coverup. The ride felt fast, bumpy, and uncontrolled but still worthy. I was pretty stoked after that. Not bad finding a gem in mediocre conditions.

LONE WOLFING, TUE 25AUG2015

Loc: El Porto, 45^th Street

Time: 0815-0945

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

Board: Motorboat Too

     I’d like to go to my usual local break, but as I pass 45^th Street, I notice an open parking spot on Highland Ave. I keep driving. No, I’m not surfing Porto today. I’m gonna surf where I know at least half the lineup, where I’m welcomed. Against my will, I hook a U-turn and head back to that open spot.

     I haven’t been surfing as long as most of the regulars who surf Porto, but I have a right to reflect and recall my own past experience here. There was a time when I’d pride myself in securing a metered parking spot, way back in the day when I was surfing with friends who fell out of love with surfing years ago. If I would have kept my attendance consistent here, I think I’d qualify as a local, but I don’t.

     Lone wolfing . . . it’s the conscious decision when you decide to surf somewhere you’ll be casted as an outsider, away from the confines of your usual comfortable spot. Every once in a while this isn’t such a bad call. You get to be anonymous. Nobody knows you, you don’t know anybody. If you surf like shit, people will just think you’re a kook. If you have a good session, then you’re the unsuspecting sleeper, everyone’s favorite.

     Well, I doubt my session’s gonna go that well because it’s fucking tiny. A thick voluptuous chick is playing on the inside, blonde hair but looks Hispanic, possibly South American. She’s wearing a black bikini top with bottoms that are thick around the waist but ram up her anus like a G. She swims out to the lineup and lingers around three fun boarders who are all speaking Spanish.

     Four other Asian chicks are out on longboards, too. Wow. Yeah. This is summer in the South Bay. After Blue Crush came out, Rick A. calls the chick surfers crushies, but who gives a shit. . .

     Doing my lone wolf thing, I try. I scratch. Meh. I do get a few short rides to begin with. I actually get one racy left where I make a section with a floater and get vertical on the finishing floater. Feels good and aggressive for a small day. But after that wave, fuckin’ A., it’s hard to get another one like it.

     The crowd’s no joke. The school kids aren’t the ones crowding the lineup but adults. Are this many people unemployed and barely working part time like I am? Either that or a gang of people have Tuesdays off.

     One guy looks like a young Hedo Turkoglu, but he has dirty blond hair and a soul patch like a billy goat. He’s one of the few idiots like myself trying to surf this shit on a shortboard. We trade off on waves. I make the effort to share; if I catch one I let him take the next.

     Some long hair Russell Brand looking dude paddles out on a shortboard with a noob chick. He’s teaching her how to surf. I swear, the best wave of the morning comes through, a left. It’s perfect and shouldery. Russell paddle battles with Hedo until Hedo backs off. My dumb ass is on the shoulder, slightly scratching, hoping that one of them fails. Hedo backs off, and the look on Russell’s face is so fucking intense. Man . . . Lone Wolf all the way. I think we found our sleeper. He’s on a fish. I don’t watch his ride, but I hear the swish of spray get thrown out the back. Fucker.

     When he returns, he says to the chick, “Man! Whenever I’m going for a wave I can’t help it. I go for it like I’m in Bali!”

     Hate to break it to you, guy, but Bali is played out and fucking crowded. It’s cheap. Nowadays you’ll probably meet more people who have been to Bali than fucking Mexico.

     The whole session while I’m catching meager rides with nowhere to go, I have to hear them talk.

     “I know what you mean,” says the chick. Later, she asks him if she should be riding something smaller like the fish he’s on. Mind you, she’s on a foamie.

     “You can,” he says. “But it might be a little frustrating for you.”

     Hedo turns to me unexpectedly and says, “It’s actually pretty fun!”

     What the hell? I’m thinking. I thought we were all supposed to be lone wolfing it?

     “Yeah,” I say. “Probably would help to have a little more volume.”

     “Nah!” He grabs the nose of his shortboard. “You can either turn or you can’t!”

     I blow my nose.

     “You got something right here,” he says, pointing to the left corner of his mouth.

     I touch my face and look at my hand. There’s a big slimy booger.

     The session’s a short one. It’s the deal I made with myself. If it’s small or crummy, I’m only surfing for an hour, hour and a half tops.

     Driving back, I recount the lone-wolf session. Heh . . . not dramatic at all. That one wave I had, that was it. Hedo was cool, Russell annoying, and I was the kook. Kook with a fucking huge ass booger on my face.

RESIDUE PT.2, SUN 23AUG2015

Loc: El Porto, Rosecrans

Time: 0730-0840

Crew: Bri, Rick, Gary, Manny, Dave, Chris, Jack, Russ

Conditions: 1-3 FT, inconsistent, crowded

Board: Motorboat Too

     It’s hard to get up early after Orlando’s party. I look at my phone, Rick had texted me an hour ago.

     There’s no legit swell on tap, so I’m not expecting anything this morning. Especially since we’re meeting Rick at Rosecrans on a Sunday, I know it’ll be crowded.

     Pulling into the lot brings back a memory of how I had brought my brother here to surf for the first time, the cliques of surfers lined up along the lot. “Too much of a scene,” he had said.

     This morning, it’s not so bad. I catch Whiffle Boy pulling out his board from his car, stop, and ask him if he’s ready to shred. He laughs.

     I spot Rick’s van at the end of the lot and score the last parking spot there. Jimmy B.’s rinsing off as Bri and I get to the sand. We call out and wave to him.

     As crowded as the lineup is, we spot the Hurley wetsuits in the water. Rick’s hat also gives away their position. Almost all of their crew is out, and they’re holding down a whole peak to themselves.

     Greetings go all around when Bri and I reach the water. The conditions are clean with just a light onshore, but the surf is inconsistent. I get a right immediately, but my snap on the end section is lackluster.

     Meanwhile, the WHC crew is in full heat-mode. Gary goes for a left and scratches out, and Manny gives him so much shit for it. Of course it’s playful banter, but they’re being a little hard on each other the way good friends do.

     Before that, Rick had taken a wave under Gary’s priority, and Gary dropped in on him, taking the wave and scoring a hit on the inside section. All Rick could do was shrug because he knew it was Gar’s wave. It’s the only time you’ll ever see him give one up.

     In the spirit of pushing each other, I get a decent left that everyone’s eyeing. I get up a little late but make the drop and pump down the line. I want to send a bucket over the back, but the wave walls up. Instead, I get a little float job and stick the landing. Manny hoots me on. Eh, I know it’s a charity hoot, but it’s just nice that they don’t blow up on me like they do on each other.

     A backhand hit on a right is probably my best wave. The surf isn’t offering much for turns, but Bri paddles into a nice right, pops up, and goes down the line. All the homies give me the nod of approval.

     We’re done in about an hour. Even though it was crowded, it was one of those sessions when it was fun to just hear everyone talk shit. It was crowded, but there were also a couple waves, too. I think I’m finally getting back into the swing of things since coming home.

     In the lineup, I had heard this one guy rant to his friend. I didn’t hear the whole conversation, but I got the gist of it. “This is all we have,” he said, holding out his arms towards the ocean. He was talking about how some guy was being greedy in these small, begging conditions.

     This is it. This is what we have. Shitty surf or rippable, be grateful for it. Paddle out and own it, but you have to share at the same time. This ain’t Indo, but this is where I surf. Take some pride in it.