FROM ZERO WAVES TO ZEROES, THU 18AUG2012 MOR

Location: Zeroes

Crew: Klaude, Dais, Daichi, Tom

Conditions: 3 FT, cold, inconsistent, high tide.

     I was still in Massachusetts when Klaude sent me the text. “Thinking about 0s this weekend,” he said. 

     When I landed in LAX, Bri was there to meet me. The energy is so different on the West Coast. There are so many things we take for granted, one of them being so close to the beach and not just any beach but a beach you can surf. Also, the friggin’ traffic. After driving through NYC, I will never complain about rush hour traffic in L.A. again.

     After a day of celebrating my return, Klaude called me. “So what’s the deal?” he asked.

     “Fuck, well . . . I want to surf, but my roommate blocked my car in. Either I’ll have to meet you later or you’ll have to pick me up.”

     “Yeah, let’s go, dude.”

#

     It’s 0530 when Klaude pulls up. I give Briana a kiss on the cheek before I go. She wants me to stay in bed and sleep in with her, but she knows how much this session means to me.

     “Tell Klaude I didn’t give you up that easy,” she says.

#

     Sitting in the van with KK, it’s like I never left. I tell him how NY and Boston was, and how much I missed the surf. He fills me in on the sessions that I missed out on. We pick up Daichi and head back to KK’s where Dais is waiting for us.

     Sunset looks flat as we pass it and so does Malibu. When we park off the highway at Zeros, we can hear waves breaking. We stand on the guard rail for a peek.

     “There’s lines yo,” says Klaude. 

     He’s right. It looks good, but I don’t think we should start sucking each others’ dicks quite yet, not until we see the water.

     “You guys trunking it?” I ask.

     “Nah,” says Dais. “It was cold here last time.”

     Cold? I’m thinking. It was so hot when I landed, and my bedroom last night was a goddam sauna. How could this not be boardshorts weather?

#

     I throw on the short-sleeved 2/2, grab the Tokoro, and head down with the boys. I’m not sure what happened to the lines we saw, but it still looks fun out there. The consistency doesn’t look as good as my first session here. Where I sat wide last time is breaking too close to the rocks. The main peak is the only place giving consistent waves, and the lulls are long for anything to swing wide.

#

     Tom and Klaude paddle out first. When my feet touch the water, I can’t believe how cold it is. I know that Nicholas Canyon is north of L.A., but I didn’t expect the water temp to be this much cooler. I imagine how cold I would’ve been in boardshorts.

     I sit on the inside away from the pack to start things off. Surprisingly, I get two quick waves. The first is a left that closes out, but the second wave is a right. It’s leading straight into the rocks, but I do a tight, backhand carve that redirects me into the foam. I don’t mean to, but I set myself up for a perfect cut back, but I have to kick out because of the rock. To be honest, if the rock wasn’t there, I’m not sure if I’d be able to complete the maneuver by whipping myself back around, down the line.

     After these two waves, things begin to slow down. The main peak works between the lulls. Plus sets roll through, closer to four-feet, but they are walled. I gamble and head back to my old spot, south of the point. Roy gets the best waves, but my spot has me too deep. When the waves come, I pop up, but I can’t clear the big rock on the inside. I pull out while the guys on my outside get the waves. I move towards the top of the wave. The next set disperses the lineup. I’m all alone with one out the back. I catch it. Dais is on the inside, hooting me on the drop, but all it is is a drop. There is no open face.

     I’m frustrated. More people show up to surf, but there aren’t enough waves. Daichi, Tom, and Dais work the inside. KK converses with guys at the main peak.

     Giving up, I sit wide to the north. I should be alone, but the influx of late-risers has me fighting for the scraps. A wave breaks wide. I can’t believe it. It’s a peak that’s shifted out of place. I’m gunning for it, just me. I paddle into it and slide down. Even though this is an inside wave on a rising tide, I’m surprised at how it’s lining up. An instant grin plasters itself on my face. I climb the wave at midface to do a check-carve off the top.

     “Hey!”

     I turn my head. I dropped in on someone. “Shit!” I kick out. When I turn around I see the wave close out, followed by the surfer I snaked. “Sorry. I didn’t see you.”

     He waves it off and paddles back out.

     I make the mental note to avoid him the rest of the session.

#

     Roy and Tom have left. The conditions haven’t improved. I’m over it, but I don’t want to be the one to kill the stoke. I ease drop on Dais and KK’s conversation about leaving or staying. One of them makes the O.G. Call to go.

     KK and I bob next to each other, waiting for a closeout to take in. I expect nothing. And of course, when you expect nothing, that’s when something happens. A small bump forms in front of us. It doesn’t look like much, and the high tide has created some funky backwash. However, the backwash is calm when this wave rolls in. It looks barely two feet, but it doubles-up on the inside. It’s just like that ride that I had to give-up earlier to that guy I snaked, but this time it’s just me. The section starts off with a soft but fast drop. I bottom turn, climb the face, and get a grinding, front-side carve. I redirect the board down the line, pump, but the wave turns to foam before I can get a second shot. The ride ends with me in the shallows, so I walk out full of stoke, punctuated by that last, unexpected ride.

#

     I tell KK that I’ll treat him to lunch since he drove. Dais suggests a Caribbean restaurant by Bay Street in Santa Monica. We find metered parking and foot it. I cross the street in nothing more than flip-flops and boardshorts. Damn it feels good to be home. 

This cat is awesome

     The menu looks good. I order the Cha Cha Chicken. I feel the grease filtering through my pores, making my forehead shine. I look around us and see families, yuppies out for a morning breakfast, and other people around our age. We’re a mixed crowd of different ethnicities, backgrounds, and working classes, right here next to the beach. There’s a laid back vibe, like no one is pointing the finger or talking under his breath about the people at the next table. It’s easy to take this sort of thing for granted. 

ZERO EXPECTATIONS, SUN 08JULY2012 MOR

Loc: Zeroes

Crew: KK & Daichi

Time: 0715-1015

Conditions: 3-4+ FT, low tide, overcast, clean, walled on the plus sets, crowded but mellow.

     On Saturday night, I was done with getting skunked. Still, I looked at the forecast, and the local surf just seemed too unappealing. I tex’d Khang and asked where he was surfing in the morning. “No idea,” he replied.

     When I tex’d KK, he said he was going to Zeroes. “Wanna roll?” he said.

     I thought about it . . . surf a brand new spot north of L.A.? How can’t I?

#

     I told KK I’d be at his house by 0600, but I sleep in until 0515. I can’t be late, I think to myself. I can’t be late because I’m the asshole who’s always punctual, upset when people show up late to load-up in my shit, and here I am being a hypocrite. I jam over to KK’s house, park, and shoot him a text at 0559 which reads: I’m here.

     Rick calls me up, says that he’s used up all his “free passes” this week, and that he has to surf local to be close to the family. Just then KK rides up on his skateboard. He holds out his hands with his palms up, tilts his head and says, “Yo, what’s taking you?”

     “What? Oh, sorry. I tex’d you when I got here. I figured you were still asleep.”

     “No. I saw you park. I waved. I thought you saw me.”

     I fumble for my sunblock and zip them in my backpack. “My bad. I drove by your garage first. You weren’t there.”

     I try to downgrade the tense moment by going with the flow. We load up and head to Daichi’s house. He steps out as soon as we pull up in his driveway. From there, we enjoy the ride north on PCH. We pass Sunset; it’s clean. Two-to-three foot rights peel from the point, up to the massing crowd of longboarders. Malibu’s the same. The spot that I thought was Zeroes is way off. We park on the highway, completely different from what I expect. Some other guys are already parked and changing. I feel their stares. It makes me wonder if we’re gonna get singled out for being “outsiders.” I’m surprised at the lot set up. Too bad it’s not a State Beach because if it was, my parking pass would work here, but it looks like people have to pay for parking, which I have no idea how much it costs. 

     From the parking lot, overlooking the break, we can see some lefts breaking north of the main peak, but really, everyone sits at the point. A local guy climbs up the steps to get past us. He says, “Have fun, fellas.”

     “Thanks,” we say.

     I’m surprised at how hospitable this guy is. The only other time this has happened to me has been at PV and Blacks. Down on the sand, we see Roy from 26^th come out the water to switch boards. Years ago, back in my super Barney days, he mouthed off to me in the lineup. I’ve never spoken to him since then, even though all of the DRC is pretty cool with him. I’m a grudge holder, and I don’t forget, but . . . it takes a lot of energy to hate someone, and everyone I surf with is cool with him, so for the first time since the altercation I wave and lift my chin, a universal sign for “Good day, mate.”

CROWDS:

     I never liked crowds. I already know where the best place to sit is, but I don’t want to sit there because it’s just too competitive. On top of that, I’m a new sausage on the block. It’s obvious. These guys have probably been surfing here for decades, and here I am, a new shit on the lawn. “KK, I’m gonna sit wide,” I say, pointing just north of the pack.

     I’m wearing Francis’ loaner 4/3 that he gave me before he left. KK said that the water here’s colder, so I figured this was the perfect opportunity to bust it out. Earlier as we were changing, Klaude said, “Now your penis is touching where Francis’ penis was! Awwwwwww.”

     I’m thigh deep when I feel water seeping in from broken seals through the legs. “Fuck.” The water’s cold. “Motherfucker.” I brace myself going under the next wave. Cold water chills the small of my back.

     Sitting wide doesn’t work. Of course, KK being the social butterfly that he is, paddles into the main crowd, talking to some guys that he’s probably never talked to before.

     There are those of us with an easy, outgoing flow of energy to approach and be welcomed by strangers. Me? I can only pull that off so much.

     “What about over there?” I ask KK, pointing south of the main peak, towards the rocks.

     “It’s good over there, but the people over here just drop in on you. The section’s actually a little hard to make.”

     I figure that it’s better than catching nothing, so I paddle through the lineup and share the spot with two other antisocial guys.

PLETHORA:

     Other people are riding longboards or fishes, definitely meatier boards. The Tokoro feels light and chippy, so I wonder how I’ll do this morning. I try to predict the waves, but the water is so glassy that it reflects off the overcast sky, giving the illusion that the water and sky are one. Waves approach the main peak, surfers scramble, and the waves are so clean that they remind me of PV: clean and mooshy but fun.

     I identify a bump in the distance, so I paddle out to meet it, drop my chin on the deck, paddle and kick, and then I’m in it. The section’s fast, and I lose the wave while failing at a floater (the pros make it look so easy). Still, in the midst of a lull, it’s nice to catch something. Back at the same spot, I catch another left. I pump and set up for one turn. A guy on a red fish tries to go for it but backs out. Again, another wave comes my way. It lines up well, but Red Fish purposely drops in on me this time. I stay behind him, trimming the face just under the crumble just so he knows I’m here. When the ride ends, we resurface next to each other, but I’m not pissed off at all.

#

     I don’t know how, but I get lucky. Even when I surfed Santa Cruz for the first time with Al, I scored at “his” spot, so I got a streak going for good sessions ant new places. More waves are coming my way. I stick to my brother’s advice: paddle hard, kick, be aggressive, show intention that you want the wave. His advice works. The other two guys give up their priority on a couple waves because I’m stroking hard for them. I don’t get any long rides, but I get a lot of single-shot, one-turners, still worth their weight in stoke.

     Before I change spots, I even catch a right, leading me into the rocks. I keep an eye on the shallow water and still crank out two backside carves before kicking out.

#

     Things slow down, so I paddle back over by KK, telling him that I’ve been getting lucky over there. I try the main peak, but it’s too thick, so I sit on the south side of it. Some plus sized sets start coming through, easily over four-feet, but the bigger waves have less shape and are more on the walled side. A right comes my way, but some guy who looks like Taylor Knox has priority, so I pass it up. I’m in position for the second wave of the set, but two shortboarders and an old man on a longboard are in my way, so I pull out. Taylor Knocks paddles by me, staring at me. Here it comes, I’m thinking.

     “Why didn’t you go?” he says.

     “Oh, there were guys in my way.”

     “You should’ve went.” He paddles further out, looks back and continues. “That first one wasn’t that good. I didn’t go. But yours . . . It was bowling. It was shaped better.”

     “Yeah,” I smile aimlessly, “I don’t know. Didn’t want to run anyone over.”

     “Might as well go. They’re sitting there like pile-ons, treat’m like it.”

#

     Daichi sits towards the inside for most of the session. I don’t even see him on a wave, but he tries to scratch for them. I paddle back to KK and eventually sit north of the main peak where I first started. Outside bombs start breaking way outside, forcing everyone to paddle out for the duckdive. A wave starts to throw out, turning round and barreling for just a moment. I get a left, but KK’s right behind me, working his way closer, so I kick out.

Kind Snake:

     Zeroes has potential. There’s no doubt in my mind that it does. Clean, outside bombs keep pouring in, but I choose the wrong ones. Mine close out or run away much too fast, but some guys get the good ones and go all the way to shore. I scratch out multiple times, probably because I’m growing tired, impatient, and frustrated that I’m missing this set. Finally, I have a chance at position. I’m deep behind the shoulder, but I’m racing for it, hoping to make the section. Some ripper is on my outside, going for it too. I drop in and look up. The fucking guy is right there in front of me. I feel like the section’s too fast and that I’d be left behind but then again, maybe I can make it to the face. I never find out. The guy turns around and sees me as the section closes on the both of us. I resurface pissed, but I fight to stay positive. I don’t even know the guy, maybe he didn’t mean to do it, and I probably couldn’t have made the section anyway.

     He talks to Roy on the way back to the lineup, saying, “By the time I saw that guy it was too late.”

     I hear his splashing approaching.

     “Sorry. I wouldn’t have gone on you, man.” His eyebrows are raised with cheeks lowered, solemn.

     “It’s cool.”

#

     I can’t get a good ride to end the session, so I take a closer. When I turn around, I see Roy speeding down the line on a left, trimming and pumping. It’s a show of pure finesse. When he reaches the sand, he complains that his last wave wasn’t that good. I’m dumbfounded because it looked better than all of the waves I got this morning.

     Courtesies are extended at the showers. Surfers rush to get out the way and say, “Here you go, leaving the water still running.”

     Roy walks up to me and says, “Fun, yeah?”

     “Yeah, yeah.”

     After we’re done showering, Klaude notices that Daichi forgets to shut the water off. Before leaving, he tells him to do so.

#

     At the van, Daichi searches around the van for something. He says something to KK in Japanese. Someone stole his slippers.

     We pass Malibu on the drive back. It’s twice as packed as it was this morning and looks even smaller. Sunset looks consistent, but there are even more people here. “Lucky we didn’t surf here,” says KK. Yeah . . . he made the right call. “You guys wanna eat?” he asks.

     “Yeah, I’m down.”

     “I only got cash though.”

     Klaude drove us to Zeroes without asking for cash, so I say, “I got you. Just don’t order the lobster or the sashimi.”

     It’s a toss-up between Japanese food, Norm’s, or Rutt’s, so KK makes Daichi decide. He chooses Japanese. While we’re eating, I break Daichi into some good old fashion American culture by showing him clips of pregnant porn.

#

     After the session, KK told me that I brought good luck with me. Usually that’s not the case. Instead, a cloud of skunk hovers over me wherever I surf. In fact, it takes someone like Francis’ positive energy to reverse my luck when surfing with other people. KK also taught me the lesson of how having the right attitude in the water affects how your session goes. I easily could’ve bitched about it being crowded, sat with the main pack, and not have gotten any waves. Instead, I had “zero” expectations, took initiative on sitting wide, and scored. It still blows me away how clean this little surf spot is and how it wasn’t as crowded as Sunset or Malibu when the surf was way better at Zeroes. It’s nice to get a good impression of a new surf spot.