Tue., Oct. 8th, 2019: Grinder

Loc: 45^th St.

Time: 0830-0930

Conditions: light texture, 2-3 Ft., dumpy, uncrowded

Board: Catch Surf Skipper

            As usual, I scored free parking. I was on the later train to avoid the rising tide. I wanted to catch it on the way down. I couldn’t exactly tell what the surf looked like at the top of the hill, but when I walked down, I could see that it was dumpy, solidifying the foamy as a good choice.

            The waves were super sectiony. The hint of a shoulder just stretched out over the shallower inside and dumped. Somehow, I managed to snag the in-between waves that had marginal shape, legit kissing the lip on my front side before the wave shut down.

            I pulled into a few for some barrel practice but still wasn’t the worthiest day for even that.

            A few longboard chicks paddled out and were jaw jacking back and forth about how dumpy it was, and then a set wave came, one that actually had a shoulder. A turned and scratched for it. I was literally at the end of the corner, right where it looked flat but would immediately pick up as soon as the main lip folded over. The drop was so fast that I had to knee ride it, but I slotted myself in the hollow pocket. I don’t know if going to my knees is a bad habit or not, but I can tell if I’m too late. Going to my feet would take a fraction of a second longer and make me miss my mark of where I need to be. My knees though, if I’m super late I can save some time and get in there, so I was. I was in there, the white cavernous swirl around me turning white and sandy from the wave sucking up everything over the inside bar. One of the longboarder chicks was paddling out and saw me in perfect view. I knew I wouldn’t make it out, but I held on and held my line until detonation. I had my arms up like a Y; I didn’t know what else to do. And at point of impact, it’s like I was pushed forward in a box of suds and sand, still on my board until I tumbled off into the shallows. No consequences, no injuries. I guess it’s easy to get away with this when it’s not too gnarly out, but even then, the bigger set waves are hella dumpy.

            “How was that?” the longboarder chick asked.

            “I was in there. It was super grindy. I didn’t make it out, but it was nice having this board. I can kind of go for it on the foamie.”

            We talked for a little bit longer, but I paddled back to my spot. Another set wave came, just like the grinder I had caught before. This one heavyset longboarder chick hooted this longboarder dude who was at the top of the peak. He had prime position. It would have been gnarly if he went for it, especially on his board, but…he backed out. Right there on the shoulder, I turned and went. I popped up, but my footing was off. I felt like I was wheelieing, hitting the brakes too hard on my back foot. I never stuck my bottom turn to redirect down the line, and just like that the wave crashed behind me. Fock, that would’ve been a good one.

            And of course, when I paddled back to the lineup, the heavyset chick was on the balls of the other longboarder dude, talking about, “Wow, that was so dumpy! It’s so dumpy out here!”

            Sorry…I am being totally judgmental, but yeah. At least I actually went for it.

            And that was the session. I walked back up the hill, feeling I got as much as I could. Parking for free helped. No need to feel obligated to that hour or hour and a half that I would have put in. Even on a day like that of insignificant surf, I still felt good. It was nice, driving on Vista Del Mar back to El Segundo, windows down and wind in my hair, salty, ready to move on with the rest of my day right.

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. 

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.