WHEN YOU SEE. . ., FRI 24APR015

 

Loc: Huntington Pier, northside

Time: 0845-1110                                      

Conditions: 3-4 FT+, light onshore, semi consistent, cold, overcast.   

Board: What else? The go to. 5’10 Mini Driver, until it breaks.

     I’ve waited . . . I’ve waited all week to babysit my nephew and surf HB. This would be the day that I wouldn’t be looking at HB through a Surfline cam, today would be the day that I’d score. But . . . when you see a standup paddle boarder at the Huntington Cliffs, there’s a chance that you might get skunked.

     Brookhurst. I’m here. With a gray overcast sky above the surf, I’m staring at unorganized low-tide two-footers. In the distance, it looks like sheets of mist have left the clouds and made landfall over Newport. A sprinkle of rain smooches my face while the onshore wind French kisses it. Only two guys out here, a small handful more at River Jetties. Fuck me. Hideki had texted me yesterday, asking me where I’ve been, saying that HB has been epic. Not the choice word that I use lightly, but I trust his judgement. Must’ve been good. Anything is good compared to one-turn quota sessions at Porto.

     I drive back south and decide to chance the pier. Like the South Bay, on shitty days you go where the waves are guaranteed, and what better gamble than the pier. As I make the right onto 7^th Street, I spot Chris by the 7-Eleven changing out of his wetsuit. His clammy pale skin looks cold wrapped around his towel. At the end of the block Hideki waves me down. I haven’t seen this guy in a while. “Late train,” I say.

     “Serious late train!” he says. His hair is longer and more unkempt from the last time I had seen him. Stubble protrudes above his upper lip and around his chin. He’s been consistent. It’s too easy to tell. He says that it was better earlier before the wind picked up and, of course, that yesterday was better.

     I have lunch scheduled with Cassady at 1130, so what else am I going to do? I don’t drive all the way to HB not to surf, so I change, walk into the onshore wind, risk life and limb standing in the center divider on PCH, and make my towards a no-man’s land surf session. (I will use the crosswalk from now on)

     Did I mention I’m not a local here? I’m weary of sitting next to people, so I sit wide north. A grom who had paddled out at the same time catches a wedgy right, ripping two backhand snaps. Two battle buddies paddle around their spot like sharks protecting their kill. After the shark brothers leave, I take over the peak. I’m head of the second shift. First shift clocks out. The rest of the second shift crew is manageable, a couple old longboarders, a noob chick, and a couple guys who don’t look too aggressive.

     For an onshore low-tide overcast day, I’m impressed with how the sandbars are still causing the waves to hold shape. Not every wave is a taker, but it’s consistent enough to stay busy. Off the pier, four-foot plus wedges randomly roll in, and throughout the whole lineup, the Surf Gods deliver.

     I go to work right away, catching both a handful of closeouts and some single shot rides. It’s my first HB sesh on my new stick, and I instantly feel how surfing HB is different. After surfing shitty Porto, playful DMJ, and slopey rippable Churches, HB is definitely faster and steeper on the takeoff. It’s challenging. The only thing missing is glassy conditions. Who cares about the overcast? If it were glassy, this place would be perfect.

     I don’t catch any memorable rights, but just popping up in time gives some satisfaction, even if the waves don’t line up enough. It’s the lefts that are fun. Upon popping up, the waves slingshot you down into fast rampy faces, more speed than my surfing ability can handle, but I stick to what I know. I bottom turn with tremendous momentum and get a frontside wrap, rail to rail with minimum effort because of the wave’s speed. The fast sections are fun to race. Instead of chancing a floater, I clear a section by driving around the flats like the pros do, and my board actually gives me enough drive to make it around. On one ramp, I attempt a layback. I have so much speed that even on the petering two-foot shoulder, I feel my fins make a slashing arc as I lean back and plant my hand behind me. Ahh, only if I could actually ride out of these. One day. . .

     By 1045 the third shift comes out. These guys are fresh dudes, catching wave after wave. I’m the only one left from the second shift. The atmosphere turns into one of those sessions where everyone, except you, is getting waves. I start making mistakes. Looking for that last ride, I fall after a backhand snap. Other waves are closeouts. At 1110, I call it after my last lame wave. It has to end sometime.

     Before turning my back on the beach, I take one last look at the surf. Maybe I couldn’t tell that the wind had picked up from when I had paddled out earlier. The surf looks like a different break. For a day of low expectations, though, I had a lot of fun. An average day at Huntington is like a decent day at Porto. There was more size here, more shape, better sandbars, and I exceeded my one-turn quota.

     So . . . when you see a standup paddle boarder at Huntington Cliffs, it doesn’t mean you’ll get skunked. Keep driving, do more recon along the coast, and if the surf still looks like shit, paddle out anyway and see what happens. Sometimes, you won’t know unless you go.

SOUTH SWELL’S OFFICIAL, WED 11JUN2014

Loc: Huntington Pier, Northside

Crew: Dais, Khang, Hideki and the HB Gang

Time: 0645-1015

Conditions: light onshore, 3-4 FT, warm, crowded, semi consistent.

     I had called for everyone to meet at my place at 0530. My phone starts ringing at 0536. I pick it up. It’s Khang. I’ve slept in. “Is Dais here?” I say.

     “Nah, he’s not here yet. Take your ti-ime.”

     I can hear his smile over the phone, but I’m not smiling. Blame it on the Rich Chocolate Ovaltine that I drank last night before going to bed. I had a hard time going to sleep after that.

     We’re on the road by 0545, three guys, three boards in my surf wagon. We stop at Goldenwest first for a look over the railing. It’s a gray overcast morning. The wind is light sideshore from the south. Sectiony peaks break in front of us nice and clean. At the pier, we see the lefts peeling from the northside. There are heads in the water.

     I suggest we use my state parking pass and push it further south. Stopped at a red light at the intersection on PCH and Main, I see a surfer in a short-sleeve full wetsuit running towards the pier, board in arm. It’s Manny A., Rick’s brother. I yell at him out the window. He’s surfing the pier.

     Two blocks later, I make the call to turn around. We know that the pier is working. My other HB spot is a gamble. Might be uncrowded but might not be as good. The clock’s ticking. Have to paddle out ASAP.

     We paddle out north of the tower. The surf looks decent, a solid three-to-four feet, but . . . it’s much more crowded than it was when I had surfed it last week with Hideki.

     Upon reaching the lineup I see Chris, Hideki’s homie. He says that earlier was a little better and more consistent, standing up more. Hideki paddles up to me a few minutes later and says the same thing.

     So I’ve brought the South Bay DRC to HB. Hideki is now the official Huntington Beach Rep of the group.   

     The waves may have been better earlier, but they are still good. I choose to sit with the pack. There’s a technique to it. The current pulls everyone north a little, or they catch a left that pulls them away from the lineup. A gap is created. As the other surfers paddle closer to the pier, I shoot in that gap. I let everyone scatter for the first couple waves of the set, and then I at least have one for myself out the back. I sit outside.

     On my Lost Mini Driver with the quad setup, I take my first bomb left. I bottom turn deeply and shift my weight for a carving top turn, but I feel sluggish. It turns into a check turn. On the inside, I get a baby turn to finish.

     Dais and Khang sit a little more north where there are less people, but I continue my carousel, sitting closer to the pier, catching a wave, and then paddling back. I’m doing okay despite the crowd, and I even choose to sit away from my spot for a while to ensure that I’m sharing.

     After spending so much time on my Motorboat Too, my Mini Driver just feels too big. Even at 174 lbs., this is too much board for me. My surfboard perspective has shifted since riding my smaller boards. The question is, which board in my quiver is the right one now?

     Hours fly by. What was an overcast morning is now full on summer sunshine. I’m burning up in my wetsuit. So is Dais. I attempt a layback snap, the right way this time. Hideki sees this attempt. “Did you stick it?” he asks afterwards when I resurface. I didn’t. The board was under my feet while I was lying back, but I came unstuck underwater. Regardless, it feels good that I’m trying and that it’s an identifiable effort.

     By 1000 the light onshore is enough to create some surface chop. The waves aren’t as clean as this morning, and now it’s more inconsistent.

    Ending the session, we hit up Pho Vie. Gotta have Vietnamese food when you’re surfing around here. It’s a travesty not to, for your stomach and your wallet since it’s so cheap.

     It’s a rare occasion, surfing with these two guys, having the whole morning to ourselves. HB is working right now. Hopefully we can come back for more. Oh, and DRC is not dead either.