2017 – #16 TUE21FEB

            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 45^th 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 26^th 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.

2017 – #15 SUN12FEB

            So now two more people I know have a Surf Trace. Good thing about that is I can check their stats to get an idea of how the surf is. Manny and Rick both scored turns at 45^th. Actually, Brett Simpson was surfing out there, according to them, so if it’s good enough for a pro…

            Klaude called me right when I got home from work, said he had slept in late, so he was gonna hit it. On the way to the surf, he called again and said there were waves everywhere, except 26^th St.; something about those sandbars over there that’s not working.

            Bri and I parked in the Porto lot and walked to Rosecrans. Sadly, there was so much trash in the lineup: candy wrappers, straws, plastic, and plastic bags. Not big pieces, but there were a lot of tiny plastic things just floating everywhere, and every time a wave stood up, you could just see the trash lifting up with it, weaved into an aquatic curtain.

            Despite the high tide, the paddle out was a little far, and waves were breaking way on the outside. Typical of the tide, a lot of the rides started off fast and bogged out on the inside. We all scored a few waves, but really, the trash was just so nasty. Every duckdive all I could think about was how my sinuses were getting contaminated. My eyes burned a little more than usual.

            After the sesh, I didn’t really have any solid turns to claim. If anything, the surf was a game of just making sections and trying to stay in the pocket, a lot of stop and go without a good face to unleash a solid carve on.

            But the day was beautiful. Bri and I walked down to 26^th on The Strand to enjoy the atmosphere. Manhattan Beach was just as crowded and active as an amusement park without the lines, the ocean as the main attraction. It was like a spring day, and yet, we’re expecting another storm come Friday.

2017-2

 

                I write this after going to a bar at Hermosa Beach to celebrate a coworker’s birthday. It’s the first time that I’ve partied with those guys, and God bless their Mexican and Black souls, but being in my married state, I definitely realize that there is nothing for me out there in the single world of bar and club hopping. Sure, the music sounds great when you’re buzzed, but I’ve already lived out this scene in my twenties.

                This morning I woke up late and took a look at the surf cam at El Porto. The waves looked small and like they were breaking close to shore, but the conditions were clean. On the late train, I filled my hot-water jugs and started up the surf wagon.

                On the way there driving through El Segundo, I saw that the wind was light offshore. On Vista Del Mar, I told myself that I’d actually spring for the metered parking at the Porto lot. Driving in front of the smoke stacks, I could see small but rippable peaks. When I noticed free parking, I opted to pull in there instead.

                I sent out a few bat signals, letting my mates know that the surf was small but clean. Of course, with the recent rains there was the risk of getting sick or catching some kind of bug from the tampon-polluted water. Worth the risk? Absolutely.

                I suited up in my wife’s 5mm hooded wetsuit, only because my 4/3 needs some tears repaired. Walking down to the beach on 45^th, I could see that the session was building up to be a classic second shifter with decent conditions. Maybe the word didn’t quite get out, but the lot wasn’t as packed as it could’ve been. As far as breaks are concerned. 42^nd St. had the most heads, but 45^th, which I had my eye on, only had a few people.

                One of the old dads from 26^th St., my other spot, was actually surfing there. We chit chatted for a bit. What else can I saw? For two whole hours, I only had light competition from a guy on a Zippifish and a couple dudes on longboards. Everyone else was a noob who eventually drifted away. My magic Kadowaki Puddle Jumper really did wonders in the waist-high surf, getting me into small waves and making sections to milk the most out of each ride. Even when I left at noon, the onshore was fairly light and plenty of peaks still up for grabs. According to my Trace mount, I caught 48 waves. Later, Gary pointed out that I had caught 100 waves in my last two sessions. I wasn’t counting, but that’s a nice little stat to start the new year.

                Even though a lot of people opted out to avoid post-rain surf, I’m glad I paddled out. I’m glad I caught a good, clean day of surf.

WED 23SEPT2015

Loc: Manhattan Beach, 26^th Street

Time: 0800-0910      

Crew: Bri

Conditions: 1-3 FT, variable wind, high tide, backwashy

Board: Motorboat Too

     What the fuck? I know that the primary swell is from the south, but how about a little wrap-around energy? I should have known it was a bad sign when barely any of the regulars were out. I spotted Oscar south of the tower, and so was the guy who had run over Bri one time. He was on his Costco foamie. I didn’t want to surf by him, so I moved us in front of the brick house.

     That one short stocky dude who helps coach the surf team was doing well on his funboard. Foam, maybe that’s what I needed. Even Bri struggled on her Hopper, which is blessed with volume.

     After a wave, she came back and said, “I just noticed this now.” She pointed to her deck. A line was going across the nose. The deck had a slight crack in it. It was flexed. “I think I nosedived it inside.”

     “You mean purled,” I said.

     One of the set waves was worthy for a pull in. It closed out from the backwash, but it was fun just to get gobbled by a wave that size.

     A squad of grom bodyboarders paddled out. I caught a left, a good one, and one of the kids was standing right in my line, filming me with his GoPro, so I had to kick out.

     “My bad!” he said.

     Last wave to go in, I wasn’t expecting much, but I paddled into a right that actually had a shoulder, at least a single hitter, but I didn’t even get a chance to wind up for the snap because my fiancé snaked me. Fuckin’ A. I guess that’s what marriage is about, letting someone snake you on your wave.

TUE 22SEPT2015

Loc: Manhattan Beach, 26^th Street

Time: 0800-0910      

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

Board: Motorboat Too, large fins

     During the Labor Day camp trip, someone had told me, “Small board, big fins. Big board, small to medium fins.” With that in mind, and without much swell on tap, I thought it would be nice to experiment, so I grabbed the set of large Futures that Rick had given me to donate in Indo, which I didn’t, and slapped those suckers on the Motorboat Too. They have much more surface area than the medium Blackstix that KK had loaned me.

     As I said, I wasn’t expecting much, so I even showed up late for the second shift. To my demise, there was no street parking. I circled around and caught glimpses of the high schoolers on what looked like decent peaks. My anxiety grew looking for a spot, and I finally lucked out on Marine.

     I grabbed the MB Too and headed across The Strand, and there they were. Peaks, though fast, they were pretty consistent just south of 26^th Street. Unfortunately, that’s where the majority of the surfers were sitting.

     I paddled out at the tower and scratched into my first wave. Don K., The King, had to back out for me. I anticipated a zippy ride on my board, but as soon as I got to my feet, my board felt so sluggish and just got stuck. Man, I mean, like it was just shackled. Starved for momentum, all I could do was head dip the lip as the shoulder took off without me. Oh . . . how lame. Ha! And for The King of 26^th Street to have to back out for me on that one? For shame. . .

     And that’s how the rest of the session went. I watched that one good peak break. One dude, who I had never seen before, was just merry-go-rounding it one wave after another, small rides but still fun.

     My best wave was just a pumper where I got down the line, but I cursed the big fins. Yeah, there comes a good time for experimentation, but sometimes it just doesn’t work out. Like going to your favorite restaurant and trying out a different dish. You ever do that? I have, and most of the time I regret not just sticking to the staples: beef chow fun, eggplant with garlic sauce, salt and pepper pork chops. However, if you don’t try, you never know.