SMALL DAYS PT. 1, MON01APR2013 MOR

 

Loc: Palos Verdes

Time: 0900-1200

Crew: Bri

Conditions: 1-3 FT, glassy, kelp infested, cool, clean.

     There are a couple things going on. First off, it’s spring break, but I still have an assload of homework to do. Two, Bri has three days off, and after my last camping trip, I have to make quality time for the little lady. Three, there is no surf, at least according to Surfline.

     We drive the coast on the way to PV, glancing in between houses and streets, looking at the tiny, textured surf. Every sense tells me that we’re due for a good skunking. Even Torrance Beach looks like shit, and with PV around the bend, well, we pretty much know how the conditions are going to be over there.

     However, this very hour, to be here at this very moment, is planned. The tide is about to bottom out, and with the tide push, there is a chance that some cobble stone magic can happen.

     As we pull up to park, there are some other surf vehicles there—a good sign. It’s a little overcast and grey; the sun hasn’t burnt through yet. We step off the trail for a little look. There are just over a dozen surfers, and the surf, well . . . it looks small but rideable. Best of all, while the other beaches are choppy and onshore, the cove is providing some protection from the wind. Adding the kelp on the ocean’s surface, the water’s conditions are super glassy.

     I didn’t even bother packing my Motorboat Too; I brought CC’s Zippi Fish that she let me borrow.

     As I’ve said before, I don’t surf as much as I used to because of school, and this morning, making that low tide, cobblestone dance, and then paddling way out to the lineup, my delts were on fire. The locals at the main peak just sort of watch and stare for a moment as we secure our positions, and then they look away. There isn’t much to be territorial about today, especially since it’s small. Besides, they are all on longboarders, what kind of threat do I pose on a Zippi? We are also sitting wide of them to the north.   

     With the tide still low, the waves come in a little walled, but there is potential. They are just so clean, and even though they aren’t even three feet, I’m able to connect some sections for some long rides. It’s into the second hour, once the tide fills in a little, that things begin to pick up.

     Did I mention it is clean? God damn, it’s a true score, to surf somewhere where the water is glassy, especially when the whole South Bay looks like crap. Bri wipes out on about half of her waves, or she pops up too slow, still using her knees. I try to silence the dickhead within me. I’m just an impatient, shitty teacher, and I’ve learned a lot about myself in surfing with Bri. Sometimes you have to just let go because if I go into drill sergeant mode, then I could possibly kill her stoke, and that’s not what I want. She does get some quality waves too though, and every time she paddles out she gets a little bit better.

     Despite being entangled in kelp and having our fins run them over, losing momentum, the rides are really long. How shall I describe it? It’s just cold and glassy, so glassy like even the fish aren’t moving; the ocean is just so still. So when these waves come in, they just break so clean. I do nothing critical, but trim the fish, play around with the different lines, practicing some slow front side cut backs, and just standing tall and looking down on the shoulder forming in front of me. I manage to walk the nose on a couple of rides, turning around and ending up regular foot before falling.

     My best ride is one of the few three footers that roll through. On this Zippi I’m unstoppable. It’s way too big for me. I could easily use the same thickness and go down 5’7 at least and still have enough volume. I catch one of the biggest lefts of the day (which again is not that big), and being on this Zippi is like driving an SUV on the freeway; I just feel higher. As the section is about to close in front of me, I climb the face, attempt a floater, and drop back into the wave with more momentum. I finish the ride with a finishing carve, all the way on the inside. Mind you, this was a slow wave, but . . . hey, surfing is all about fun, right? I was stoked after that wave and for the few I caught after.

     The sun comes out, and now my piss-filled wetsuit is turning my piss and ball juice into stew; it’s time to go. 

     We head to the best Chinese Restaurant in the South Bay and experiment by ordering the salt and peppered pork chops, which is officially now my new favorite dish at Seafood Town. Sorry, Beef Chow Fun, you take the back seat now. 

     Splurging is good, but to splurge after an exhaustive, long, three-hour surf session? I feel the salty fat after each bite crunch and dissolve, and then I stuff my mouth with some rice. Salt and peppered pork chops, the now official ritual after surfing PV from now on. Not a bad to score like this on a day when there isn’t supposed to be surf. 

A GOOD WINDOW, SUN31MAR2013 MOR

Loc: Manhattan Beach

Time: 0845-1115

Crew: KK

Conditions: 2-4 FT, overcast, low-to-mid tide, glassy, consistent, uncrowded.

     My friend Cheryl said she had surfed yesterday and that it was tiny. She asked if anyone was surfing today. My friends Klaude, Khang, and Rick said they’d be paddling out. When I looked at the tide chart, I saw that low tide is gonna be around seven, so I thought I’d sleep in a little to wait for the tide push.

     At 0622 I’m woken by a text. It’s Klaude. “Heading to Venice,” he says.

     Okay, I’m thinking. That’s one surfer I won’t see. At 0822 I’m woken by Klaude’s text again, this time saying, “Heading to Manhattan Beach.” I sit up, head to the bathroom, and brush my teeth. Then I get a text from Rick: “42^nd Street was fun. Just got out.” Fuck. I hope that I haven’t missed the window for good conditions, but I’m thinking that the tide should still be low.

     I send out a text to my buddy J, but he says that the cams look small and that he’s going to stick to Venice since it’s close. On the way to my favo local spot, I see Klaude’s car parked on the street. Looks like he scored free parking. I make a round by the lifeguard station, and YES, one open spot, VIP parking! The surf looks small on the low tide, but it looks consistent. Something is happening out there. Since there’s no rush, I take my time changing. I whip out my stick of Waterman’s sunscreen and apply it to my forehead. The fucking rub-on stick has turned into liquid. Fuck my ass. Now I got this heavy, gooped-on blob of 35SPF sunscreen on my forehead. I try to rub it off, and I accidentally rub it into my hairline. This shit is like superglue in my hair. Fuck . . . especially on a day that it’s overcast, I’m gonna be the guy with way too much sunscreen on.

     I try to wipe off as much as possible and spread it on my neck and ears. Oh well. It is what it is. Once I’m on the sand, I see Klaude out there. It’s funny how after surfing with the same people for a while how you can tell how they look from far away. Just from the way Klaude sits and paddles, I know it’s him. Even looking at the back of his head, like on some doggy style, homo love prison shit. True friends can tell each other’s penises apart. Don’t let anyone else tell you otherwise. If they do, they’re gay.

     As I’m warming up, I look down at my knees and notice how the rubber seals are coming apart. With the morning being overcast and all, I’m expecting another freeze session. I don’t know how much longer I can go on with my holy wetsuits.

     The tide is low, which makes the inside waves a little punchy. Klaude is in front of me, popping up on a left. I try to smile at him, but I remember that he can’t see for shit. When he comes back to the lineup, we end up next to Roy, Jose, Bruce, and some other locals. We talk about last week’s camping trip again, not bringing up the stolen boards but instead talking about how fun it was. We still have stoke afterburn. Orlando, another guy whose board was stolen last week, paddles up to me. “Hey, Matt,” he says, “Ahh, I had so much fun last weekend, mon. Next time, I bring my wife and her friends, so we have girls at the site.”

     I smile back and notice that he’s on a different longboard since his other one was jacked. “I’m sorry that your board got stolen, man.”

     “Hey, no worry,” he says. “Now we know. Gotta just lock it up. Actually, lucky Don told me to lock my van. I was going to leave it open.”

     “Yeah . . . I guess it could’ve been worse.”

     With the tide push, guys start to get some nice, shouldery waves. By the storm drains, some nice rights are coming in, but it’s a little deceiving because the shape is mostly walled. Klaude and I go, gambling, mostly finding closeouts instead of turns, but it’s still fun.

     If anything, the lack of a wave buffet isn’t the ocean’s fault. Roy gets some nice ones, and Orlando kills it on his longboard, getting distance, paddling in at the last moment, forcing himself into the waves. Actually, everyone with a big board scores this morning.

     About half way through the session, the sun begins to make its way out, which is a surprise since it’s supposed to rain. The crowd’s even thinner now, maybe because it’s Easter. For some reason, no groms are out either, which is very odd.

     My wave of the day is this right. Man, I finally pop up on a good set wave that has shape. As I’m winding up from my bottom turn to climb the wave, there’s a nice open face, a canvas waiting to be worked on. With the ease of my momentum from the drop, I do a backhand snap just before the section closes. I ride it out while leaning forward, and I roll into the flats through the white wash. Klaude catches the next right. It’s a little smaller, and he pumps down the line before it closes. I tell him about my turn.

     “Yeah,” he says, “I saw that!”

     The oceans definitely changes at ten o’clock. I expected it to be small, but the swell is building early. A lot more closeouts come through, breaking way on the outside. Klaude catches a wave all the way to the inside, right before a long set. He’s inside, paddling and duckdiving for at least fifteen minutes. Half of the lineup is there with him. One the outside, a random, rogue five footer breaks. A longboarder is the only one sitting on the outside to get it. He paddles in and tries to turn too soon, so he purls his inside rail and nose at mid face.

     Now most of the local guys who were here earlier are gone. Klaude and I decide to call the session on the next wave.

     We go to El Segundo for breakfast, but our usual spot is closed. I’m not in the mood for anything in El Segundo anyway. I’m thinking about a plate lunch. “Let’s go to Bob’s,” I say.

     “Can’t. It’s too far.”

     “Okay then. We’ll just go to Mandy’s.”

     Right before we pull into the lot, he calls and says, “Hey, let’s just go to Bob’s.”

#

     Bob’s Hawaiian Restaurant. It’s our favorite local spot for Hawaiian food. As soon as we walk in, Klaude notices the hawtie waitresses. He says that they all have boobies. Our waitress has the proper thickness hiding under her jeans that are plugged by UGGs. “Sweet Jesus,” says Klaude.

     He orders a Chinese chicken salad. I’m starving to death, and my food is taking forever. By the time my order, Da Big Hawaiian, comes, I’m ravenous, ready to engorge myself. 

     They bring out his chicken katsu, which makes me regret my order. If I could have a do over I’d have what he’s having. The live band is playing, who are three old timers. They mess with the people sitting in front of them, asking their age, what they’re eating, and “why they look so serious.” One of the waitresses with major butt and boobies puts a shirt on. “Were we that obvious?” I ask.

     “I hope we were,” says Klaude. That line gives us a good laugh.

     We talk about the day’s surf; we’re having a typical bromance. I hate that word, but it’s true, it’s exactly what’s happening. We also talk about our buddy Francis, who used to eat here with us before he moved back to Oahu. We miss him.

#

     Back at the apartment we part ways. He has a long day of studying. I hit the shower and fight the urge to jack off, staying away from jizzonline as much as possible. Damn technology nowadays. I remember when I used to jack off to pictures. My how times have changed. . .

SECOND DRC CAMP TRIP (part seven), SUN24MAR2013 DAY

Loc: Middles

Time: 1500-1700

Crew: Khang, J, Dais, Al, and Klaude

Conditions: 4 FT+, glassy, high-mid tide, consistent, crowded.

     Despite the onshore wind, Churches looks fun. Initially we had planned again for Uppers, but . . . that’s not gonna happen. With a stomach full of Sonics, and a long drive back, we are all about the hit-and-run session. Churches looks so fun. Not that many guys are out, and there seems to be enough waves for everyone. Cheryl joins us, but she takes a nap on the beach while we paddle out. She’s calling it a trip. 

     We paddle out just south of the main peak. J and I scratch on a couple waves, and then Khang again. Man, he just gets this special delivery, a good down-the-line ride, a four footer; it just comes right to him. He gets it, taking it all the way to shore, pretty much by where we parked.

     J is next. Dais too. I keep working my way north until I’m at the main peak. Al gets some good ones. I see him on so many, just going right, and me pulling out of the way. Even Klaude gets his share. Me . . . fuck, I’m struggling again. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

     The crowd gets thicker, and the main peak gets too much for me to handle. There is one wave though, right in the thick of it. I have to pass so many waves for the longboarders, but I draw the lucky wave. I’m on the outside with time to spare, but two guys are paddling for it too. “Go, Matt,” says Klaude. I turn and start paddling, going purposely deep. A guy is just on my outside. He’s going for it too. I can’t just give up the wave, so I kick, scrape, and pop up. I’m up, and the guy is still on it. I wait. He’s still not getting off.

     I yell, “Woooooh!” but not in a motivating manner. He kicks out, and I get my set wave of the afternoon.

     Back at the lineup, Klaude says, “Man, hungry-hungry hippos out there.”

#

     Dais, J, and I paddle towards Mons Pubis, where it is nothing but walls. I mean, solid walls, just unrideable. I get caught on the inside, facing long rows of whitewash. I’m beached, drained, frustrated. This hasn’t been the easiest of surf trips for me. For me the best thing has been the company, not the surf, but everyone else has scored, which is fine with me. I work my way towards Churches, passing Khang who’s still sitting with the pack. “You gonna call it soon?” he asks.

     I tell him that I’m going for one more. We had surfed about two hours. Back at the car, the crew leaves one by one. Embraces are exchanged. I thought everyone had a shitty session like me, but that’s not so. Guys are stoked, talking about some good ones they got. I smile back and mask my frustration. So long as my buddies score, I’m happy.

     Al and I had originally planned on sushi, but we’re more tired than we are hungry. We plan to eat somewhere in the South Bay for dinner. Khang and Dais say they’ll join. So we end up at Alejo’s on Lincoln Boulevard, chowing down. I’m so surfed out. 

#

30MAR2013 SAT

     I just saw Rick this morning. He said his brother and Gary’s son, both connected guys in the surf industry, have taken measures to keep their eyes out for the boards. Rick’s not sore. I’ve actually been worried that he may have been a little upset at me, and then again, that’s just my personality to think something stupid like that I guess. I’m happy to see that he’s okay; his bro’s gonna give him a loaner, but of course nothing will replace his beloved boards.

     This evening Al calls me. He says he looked at the pics that Hideki had posted from our surf trip. He’s so stoked. All he can talk about is how much fun we had. And when I look back. .. he’s right. I mean, yes, we did get robbed pretty much, but we did have a lot of fun. To think I was paranoid that we had too many people, that people wouldn’t get along, and everyone did just fine. Good energy, love basically. And the surf. . . Even though I had some frustrating sessions, everyone had a blast. I tell Al that I can’t wait to do it again. He can’t either. As Klaude said last trip, it’s rare, to score like we have been is rare, especially with a good crew of people. He’s right, but even if we don’t score next time, I’m happy just to be surrounded by my people with food, a campfire, and good energy. Much mahalos to everyone that helped make this trip what it was. Fuck the negative, I’ll cherish this weekend forever.

SECOND DRC CAMP TRIP (part six), SUN24MAR2013 MOR

Loc: Middles

Crew: Khang, J, Dais, Hideki, Al, and Klaude

Conditions: 4 FT+, glassy, high-mid tide, consistent, crowded.

     It’s the final morning before we have to check out. Rick and his crew head back out to O-side. I’m left awake again, waiting for everyone else to get up. Cheryl, Orlando, Tim, and Don start to head out to Old Mans. The remainder, except Seba and Boris, head out towards Middles. The new guy to our addition today is Klaude, who was fortunate enough to find to spare time to make it down.

     We pass Churches and keep going. Mons Pubis isn’t really working. The tide is still high, and Middles is kind of working, despite that it’s a little on the walled side. However, it is better here than it was yesterday morning. Some longboarders are getting decent rides, but it’s still breaking mostly in one area.

     We paddle out and sit wide, a little south, kind of by our old spot, Battle Position, which is a formation of stones resembling a machine gun nest. So this is where the story really begins.

     Blame it on me being surfed out or my shit judgment, but I struggle to find good positioning for almost the whole session. I get so tired that I sit towards the inside. Hideki snaps photos from the shore, being very selfless instead of opting to surf; he chooses his other hobby.

     I catch a wave on my knees because I can’t stand up fast enough. It was a good one too. On the inside, I get some fun little three footers, good for at least one turn, but nothing like . . . everyone else. Man, they are killing it. They all get good rides, all of them. I can’t really write much else because from my perspective, I only saw so much of them. As far as the master perspective over myself, I struggled.

#

     Back at the campsite, everyone returns at about the same time. Orlando, Rick and his boys, everyone. As I make my way out of the showers, Orlando says, “Matthew, they took my board.”

     “What?”

     “They took my favorite board. It was under my van. They took it. It’s gone.”

     Fuck. I can’t believe my ears. “No way,” I say. I’m thinking that it has to be around here somewhere. I walk around the site and tell everyone else. Then . . . Rick’s missing a fucking board too. Then so are Hideki and Fisher. Rick, that Zamora Fish and his brand new board that he just got about three weeks ago during my last camping trip, they are all gone. Five toal.

     Fuck, it killed the trip. Up until that moment we were jacking each other off, saying how much fun we all had, and now . . . stolen fuckin’ boards. We’ve never had a problem camping out here; we’ve always left our stuff out, expecting respect in the surfer’s code. No surfer would want his board stolen like this. Rick calls the police, and a report is taken. Fuck, such a bum mood. I’m upset. I mean, this happened when I was hosting the site, this was my event, an event where my friends got their boards stolen. And poor Orlando, his first time here, to have his board stolen. What a shitty impression. I’m so sorry for all of my friends.

     Seba has to leave. Everyone else stays to wait for the filing process to at least be done. We leave on a bad note, but we try to salvage what stoke we can.

     We find ourselves at Sonic’s, eating an overdue lunch. Sitting at the round table with Tim, Khang, Dais, Klaude, Al, Cheryl, J, and Hideki, they are still happy and smiling, joking around, not letting today’s thievery get to them. I dig deep and smile with them.