Wed., Oct. 30th, 2019: Red Flag Sessions #5 & #6

Loc: El Porto, north of 45^th St.

Conditions: offshore, dumpy, 2 Ft.

Board: Catch Surf Skipper

            Last Friday I actually trunked it. Same spot and everything from the session before. Because of the Santa Anas and the recent warmth in water temp, I thought I’d be safe in boardshorts.

            I paddled out and felt like a G for the first half hour. For the next half hour I felt like a G string. I was fucking cold. Man, yeah, it’s not the time for trunks, but I still milked the tail end of that little combo swell we had and made the best of it. I didn’t get any barrels, just pulling in and practicing for the real deal.

            Yesterday I hit the surf, same spot at about 0800. I surfed for about an hour, once again, this time in a full suit, and…it really wasn’t that great. The offshores were still here, but the NW swell was just weak sauce. Also, every foamie and longboarder was back on it as if it were summer again. I couldn’t believe how packed it was. Regardless, I got one take-home wave that really made the session. It was a set wave that popped out of nowhere, and it actually had a nice, tapered shoulder on it. I paddled in, bottom turned, and two-hand stalled right away on my forehand. In my peripheral I saw some longboarders going for the shoulder, but I had to hope that they saw me first.

            I stalled and waited for the lip to curl. I was in there. It was like slow motion, the wave felt like it lasted even though it had to have only been a few seconds, but I was in there, in the small curl getting shampoo coverup. Then came the moment when I should doggy-door it, but I chose to hang on until oblivion.

            When I churned up on the inside, I saw the longboarders had long backed off on the wave. I’m glad there were no accidents and that I didn’t get snaked.

            At the end, at the showers, even though I didn’t know anyone, I had some nice little conversations in passing. Everyone, people, even me, we’re all just out here trying to get “ours” on a weekday. Despite the lackluster surf, we still want it; we still want to get wet.

Thu., Oct. 24th, 2019: Red Flag Sessions #4

Loc: El Porto, north of 45^th St.

Time: 0930-1130

Conditions: offshore, fast, dumpy, 2-3 Ft.

Board: Catch Surf Skipper

            I waited a little bit later to catch the tide on the way down. Since I’d be starting later, I didn’t expect to find any street parking near 26^th St., so I changed things up and headed to 45^th St.

            It was another day of awesome conditions, Vegas meets the sea, just dry heat and very sunny and glassy. I hadn’t surfed 45^th in a while, and I forgot how the El Porto lot is usually the first option for surfers. Everyone was out. For a weekday, I don’t know if people are unemployed or not, the lineup was packed. From 45^th on southwards was nothing but bobbing bodies. A ton of longboarders were out, chicks in bikinis, a few guys trunking it. I chose my spring suit, and to me that felt just right.

            I first paddled out in a little hole just north of 45^th. There were waves there, but they were on the fast and dumpy side, typical as of late. The longboarders around me were mostly going straight. I started pulling in to work on some barrel practice.

            More north towards the smoke stacks, I saw some guys getting longer legit rides. Once a longboard couple paddled out right next to me, I paddled more north. A few other people cleared out, and then I had the place to myself for the majority of my session.

            Even though the swell was trending down, there were still waves. A few set waves broke at about four feet. A lot of the guys near me were docile. They didn’t want to go too late because it was dumpy, yet they were trying to get into the waves too early and kept scratching out.

            I scratched hard on the Skipper, and that thing is pretty good at catching waves, even at 5’6, so I was having a legit buffet.

            Things to note? Well, I didn’t make it out of any barrels. There was a left that I should have made it out of, similar to the day prior, but I still got the green-room view on a lot of my rides. It would have been a great feat. to get a clean in and out or even a doggy door barrel. It was fast. And yet, every time I looked towards 45^th and saw the lefts breaking, I could see clearly that there were waves where one could get “slotted.” I wasn’t sure if it was just a mirage effect. Were the waves in my spot breaking just as clean with good shape?

            I got good backhand practice, but I still can’t get my technique dialed in. Not sure if I should stall with my arm behind me or ride it out with my forearm in front of me, more focused on covering distance. Also, it’s a lot harder for me to start out standing and then crouching down on my backhand. I tend to end up pushing my board into the wave. Like I said, I have a lot to learn still.

            I could’ve stayed out all day. Hours later, my wife would even hit Rosecrans after work, on the very same Skipper, and catch some waves in hot, offshore conditions.

            Now on this very Friday morning, I’ve already eaten breakfast, watched my NBA game recaps, did some dishes, and caught up with this blog. Surfline is calling the swell at 1-2 ft., and yet when I saw the wave cam about an hour ago, the waves looked fun to me. I’m about to take a fat ass shit and feed my addiction once more.

Wed., Oct. 23rd, 2019: Red Flag Sessions #3

Loc: Manhattan Beach, 26^th St.

Time: 0830-1030

Conditions: offshore, fast, dumpy, 2-3 Ft.

Board: Catch Surf Skipper

            I had a hard time leaving, the conditions were so good. The whole time, the wind was either offshore, creating slight texture on the water, blowing mists over the curling lips. Or…the wind would just die and everything would glass off. The air was humid; it was desert surfing again, return of the red flag.

            The day prior, the water was cold, but on this morning, the water felt much warmer. I was boiling in my full suit, even though it’s holy. There was one guy trunking it. I wouldn’t say it’s warm enough for that, but, clearly, I could’ve busted out my spring or short-sleeve full. I pissed in my suit twice, and that was enough to make me too warm, uncomfy.

            The swell tapered down from Tuesday, but there were still waves. They were breaking the same; smaller insiders had the best potential for shape while the bigger set waves were fast and dumped close to shore.

            With my Catch Surf Skipper in hand, I was adequately equipped for the conditions. I pulled in both left and right. I’m still struggling on my backhand, but it was still good practice. I think I could’ve gotten barreled on one, but I wasn’t positioned right; I outraced it. On the lefts, there was one that I almost made it out of. It was one of those rare, perfect shoulders. It broke fast. I doggy doored it but lost my balance through the curtain. That would’ve been major success for me if I would’ve made it out clean.

            Going left, I did practice on getting that first initial pump to set up my momentum right. It worked well on this one wave that had a growing section in front of it, but I still lost it.

            There was only a light crowd to deal with the whole time. 20 Minute Toru was there, other than him, I had some small talk with a few other guys who I see there all the time, but I was pretty much in my own world.

            When it was time to leave, I walked up 29^th St. to the free parking on Highland Ave., and the houses that lined the walkway made the atmosphere look like an urban paradise. There were palm trees, exotic plants, and just a lot of well-manicured foliage that made my trek up the hill gorgeous. I wondered if I should be thanking the owners of these multi-million-dollar homes. I imagined what it would be like to be them, and then I realized that I’ve only seen a few of these homes with anyone ever in them, nor have I ever seen anyone in a surfboard or wetsuit rushing it, coming out of these homes. No, that’s actually not true. I did see a grom once come out of one of the houses, but not from a McMansion. I’ve also seen guys in wetsuits from some of the smaller homes that are sandwiched in between, away from the walkway. Well, the point I was going to make was that I don’t think all the people there are even maximizing their close proximity to the surf. Most of the homes don’t even seem occupied. And, yes, I don’t live there, but I feel that I maximize the shit out of my proximity to the beach, the four miles it takes me to get there. But it’s still nice, quiet and peaceful every time I trek up the hill. It’s a reminder that I’ll never be rich like that, but my life is rich, and maybe I should thank them for making everything so nice for a surf bum like me.

Tue., Oct. 22nd, 2019: Losing Track of 5 Sessions

Loc: Manhattan Beach

            I’ve fallen behind on this blog. One of the reasons why I stopped was because it was a lot of work to document every single session, so I’ve decided not to do that to myself anymore. So, what can I report and what progress has been made in the last week?

            The only days I didn’t surf was last Thursday and this past Saturday. Other than that, I haven’t skipped a beat.

 This past Sunday was one of the best local sessions I’ve had, perfect for beginner barrel training. There was a good windswell that day, about shoulder high, and the peaks were a little fast and “bowly.” I was on my Lost Puddle Jumper that day, and that decision was a total score. I had the wrong fin setup, being that my center fin on my first gen. Blackstix broke long ago, so I use a composite fin in its place. But…as my friend Gary would say, “It’s about the Indian, not the arrow,” so I made do.

            That morning I was pulling in, but I couldn’t make it out. I focused on at least getting that first pump to try and get the momentum I needed. Finally, on this one left, I made it clean out. No doggy door, just in and out. Even though it was small, it felt like a major feat. All around, most guys were looking for the turns. Lately, I just don’t see the waves for that purpose.

            The bad side, that morning I realized that my backhand tube riding skills are terrible. I was pulling in and pig dogging, but my wave perspective going right is different; I feel like I’m never where it’s hollow, or that I just can’t get any cover up at all. At first, I thought it was the waves, but I’m sure it’s my technique. I have broken the habit of immediately stalling, and I focus more on having my forearm and elbow for my emergency brakes while I keep as much momentum as possible.

            There was one right that was a bomb, and I grabbed rail right away. The wave felt big. I was out of my comfort zone. As I rode the wave closer to shore, it stood up more. I’m not sure if I should have stalled, had more gall to hold my line, or just plain and simply rode it out, but I freaked a little and got bucked off of my stance. As the wave was curling over me, I ended up riding out the wave on my ass. I don’t count it. I was in there, but I lost it to folly.

            None the less, friendly local Kurt called out to me in the lineup and said that he saw me in the barrel. On the next wave, I tried to redeem myself, but foolish redemption had me in the wrong mind frame, and I went to late. My board purled where the wave bottomed out, and I ended up having one of my nastiest wipeouts that morning.

            Yesterday, I went back with the Catch Surf Skipper with the pure motivation to practice my backhand tube riding. I was on a mission. Even thought the surf tapered off a bit, I still took all the set waves and pulled in. No turns. I didn’t want them, and I was on the wrong board for that anyway.

            Sadly, there were at least two lefts that I should’ve made it out on. The shoulders were perfect, and I got under the lip as they curled, but I just couldn’t get any distance.

            However, at least on my backhand, I did work on some bad habits, like looking down at my board as I grab rail instead of looking down the line to focus on where I’m going. Also, I’ve gotten a little bit better at wiping out backhand. Of course, that’s no guarantee that any barrel wipeout is “safe.”

            Today was another story. The surf was less consistent and the NW finally tapered off, leaving the S swell that usually wraps into the South Bay walled. It wasn’t walled, but the sets were fast, dumpy, and breaking in shallow water. I should’ve used the Skipper.

            My boy Klaude came out, and it was great getting some face time with him again. I’m not sure if I’m going to hit it tomorrow. I think I usually feel that way until night time when it’s time to pack the car…and I usually do.

Tue., Oct. 15th, 2019: Surprise, Surprise at Shampoo Central

Loc: El Porto, 34^th to Rosecrans

Time: 0800-1000

Conditions: offshore, consistent, 3 Ft.

Board: Catch Surf Skipper

            Just call it a hunch, but if the forecast is calling for a slight bump in WNW windswell with a few south swell reinforcements, I bet on a fun local session this morning.

            Everything was prepacked the night before, and even though I had planned on waking up at first light, it just didn’t happen. I woke up with the wife at about 0700, made her coffee, drank some water, gave her a kiss, and headed towards Porto.

            Already at 0730 my secret parking spots were gone. Also, Tuesday is street cleaning on Highland Ave., so street parking was super scarce. I cruised past 26^th St. and got a glimpse of a set coming through. It looked like it was dumpy around three-to-four feet; it looked…fun. There was a pulse. There was a pulse of surf, and…I…was…not…ON IT!

            The search for parking became desperate. I found two spots on the hill, but some constructions workers literally beat me to them seconds before I arrived. I was pissed. I even honked my horn and threw my arms up in their direction.

            After trying to calm myself down, I focused on more parking. I kept missing and missing and missing, and then…FUCK YES. PARKING!!!

            I tried to calm down, to tell myself to take my time. The hardest part of the morning was over. I needed to breathe, relax, put on my sunscreen at a normal pace, and just change into my wetsuit without being over eager. I was like a Soldier fresh from deployment who hadn’t been with a woman in a year who was about to get the pussy.

            The wait was excruciating, but I finally grabbed the skipper and locked my car. Could you imagine if I lived in Hawaii? No wetsuits. It would be so much faster and easier.

            Now I needed to make a clutch decision. I was right by Tower 34. Should I walk towards 30^th St. Tower to see some of the locals I haven’t seen in a while or walk closer to Rosecrans where some of my other friends like to surf?

            Waves were coming in everywhere, but they looked a little fast, sectiony, and dumpy, especially right out front. One surfer was already there, and he hadn’t sold any of his rides. For whatever reason, I decided to just paddle out right there. At this point of my surfing life, I can’t adjust my life and schedule to everyone else. Of course, for planned occasions, yes, but just on the everyday sesh? No.

            I chose the Skipper because I had a feeling that today’s waves would be more for pulling in, and I wasn’t wrong. The waves were fast and just a little hollow because high tide hadn’t kicked in yet. It was barrel practice day.

            I just kept pulling in, channeling my inner Mason Ho. Over and over again I was getting glimpses of the tube. On one solid pinch I even had both hands out in front of me like I was presenting an invisible bowl. I traveled as far as I could before getting crunched and munched. I’ve progressed and picked up new habits that actually make closeouts fun. Back in the day, this would’ve been a disappointment.

            And then, because the Surf Gods let it be so, the shape got just a little bit better. All of a sudden, the shoulders became more defined. Man, I swear, it was the most fun I’ve had locally in a while. This one wave I just pulled in, two-hand stalled, waited, waited, and waited, and then the lip started curling over me. I doggy doored it and punched through, but I was trying to maintain my balance in the white wash. Next thing, I was tripping in ankle deep water. No, it was not a legit in and out, but gawd damn did it feel great, invigorating. Nothing wasted today. Everything worth it. From that moment on, the session had already been paid for.

            Then this older chick paddled out. We talked for a little bit, and then in the middle of conversation another sweet gem came though. The old me would have pumped down the line and cut it back, but not the new and improved me, Matthew the Aging Surfer, not at all. Nope. It was so natural to, once again, two-hand stall, slow it down, see the shoulder curl and start chandeliering over my head. I wasn’t deep but it was legit shampoo action. Same thing, I tried to doggy door it. I was leaning back hard on my tail to hold my balance as I punched through. Ahhh, I almost held it, but I fell on the inside again. Still, IT FELT SO GOOD! I never, ever, ever thought I’d ever come close to getting barreled, and a day like this, to come so close and at least get some coverup, a day like this is HUGE for my progression and to  just enhance my love for this beautiful art. It’s like I’m opening an untapped dimension in my surfing.

            I ended up drifting towards Rosecrans, where I got my biggest closeout bomb of the day. A guy who had seen me on it said, “Well that was kind of scary. It was like a perfect shot when you were under there.”

            “Yeah,” I said, “but I didn’t make it out. It was still fun to pull in, though.”

            Little by little, a few more people paddled out, but it wasn’t crowded at all. There was still enough room for everyone, and after two hours, when I left, the wind was still good. The waves were still breaking, and I ended up leaving a bunch of rides on the table.

Mon., Oct. 14th, 2019: Be Your Own Surf Report

Loc: El Porto, 45^th St.

Time: 0800-0900

Conditions: glassy, 2 Ft.

Board: Zippifish

            Don’t always put full stock into Surfline. In fact, I had my eye on both Surfline and Magic Seaweed, and all I could tell is that one of them was lying to me. In any event, Surfline definitely forecasted the surf to be so lackluster that only a fool would even bother doing a surf check. Well, lucky for me, I am a fool.

            I scored free parking where I normally do and trudged my way down to 45^th. I wasn’t expecting much, I hadn’t really seen a wave break before I parked, but I did notice a few heads out. Once I made it down to the lot and saw the other surfers out there, I truly felt like I understood. Yes, I never thought I’d be the surfer who sees ankle slappers and says, “Fuck yes, this is me, this is who I am! I am stoked!” And now, to see how many other surfers still opted to paddle out despite the forecast, I truly realize that I am one of them. I am that guy who just wants to paddle out every day. I see my future self, old and weathered, still doing this routine for as long as I can.

            So I paddled out at 45^th. Nothing to really see here. I didn’t expect much, so I was fine just waiting for some ankle slappers, and then it happened. It was bigger than ankle slappers. We’re talking thigh and hip slappers! But the waves were breaking a little long and fast. I would’ve been better off with the Skipper, but I thought it’d be weaker.

            Even then, the surf still got a little better. With the tide going higher, there were these occasional set waves that broke further out at about waist high. I still pulled in, never making it out, but it was a lot funner than expected; better than both Goldenwest and the local afternoon sesh on Saturday.

            I don’t have any memorable rides, but I just remember feeling good, like I had scored. Despite the forecast, I chanced it and had to see and experience it for myself, and it was well worth it.

Sat., Oct. 12th, 2019: Just to Get Wet

Loc: Rosecrans Ave., Manhattan Beach
Time: 1330-1415

Conditions: onshore, crumbly, low tide, blown out, 1 ft.

Board: Catch Surf Skipper

            I thought that the red flag conditions would go on for a third day straight, providing awesome offshore conditions for at least another day, so it made sense to wait for the tide to drop off in hopes to help the tiny surf. Afterall, we’d have all day to pick and choose the best window, despite the lack of swell. Well…I was wrong.

            Bri already had the day dedicated to her school project. Meanwhile, I was trying to make the best out of a crap surf forecast. I had it figured out. Just wait for the tide, Bri would eventually need a break, and we’d paddle out into some nice, offshore one-to-two footers.

            Unfortunately, by the time we chose our window, the wind was already strong onshore. When we pulled into the El Porto parking lot, it was still packed, but we were witness to crappy onshore conditions. No shape whatsoever. Just these crumbly lines breaking close to shore. Other than that, it looked like an awesome beach day.

            I’ve been consistent lately, changing my mantra from “would rather hit the gym if it’s small” to “every day is worth paddling out.” So, regardless, Bri and I had been stuck in the house all day anyway, so why not at least get wet?

            No wetsuit required. She grabbed her big blue pill AKA Blues Clues and I my Skipper. After being stuck in line for parking, once the lead vehicle parked, we were all finally set free to park at the end, which had been wide open the whole time. Go figure.

            We paddled out right in front. The water was cold, and the wind wasn’t helping, but it was nice just to throw on some shorts. It was a hassle-free session. I was paddling into little waves in thigh deep water. I managed to get a lot of them, trying to see if I could get down the line, but there was literally no shape to do that on. I think best wave I got was just a couple pumps past some closeout sections, but even that was a far cry. However, we still had fun. It was, indeed, good to get wet.

When you think about it, we are lucky. I mean, how many people get the opportunity to be close enough to the beach just to dunk their heads in? Sure, some people live within walking distance, but we don’t even need to be that close. We’re grateful. That’s all I can say, and I continue to be every single day I get to paddle out.

A little kid paddled out next to us in a full suit on an NSP. It was funny because we had the whole place to ourselves, and he paddled out next to us because we must’ve been making it look a little fun just goofing off, and, also, we looked…safe.

Bri and the kid struck a small conversation. I stayed off to the side and just did my thing. Bri told me the kid said something about the surf being too small. He reminded me of my nephew Jaya, probably like nine years old or somewhere around there. Cute kid.

And then Bri and I left. It was good. We both got the break we needed, and even after grabbing some groceries and going straight home again, just to touch nature at least once that day made us feel like we had been somewhere and did something.

Fri., Oct. 11th, 2019: Red Flag Sessions #2

Loc: 45^th St., El Porto

Time: 1100-1200

Conditions: offshore, 1-2 Ft., ankle slappers,

Board: Zippifish

Same place but just a little bit later than yesterday. The conditions were even better. Zero wind, it felt like. The ocean was glassy and calm as a lake, but…the surf definitely tapered off big time. There weren’t even a ton of surfers out, it was so small. Mostly longboarders, foamies, and just any small wave equipment possible. Me, I had the Zippi. It’s my go to board when it’s tiny, and I can still turn it. Those glassed-on twin fins get me down the line with speed when it’s small and slopey, but I really, truly was NOT expecting much.

First wave I caught was an inside runner. After that, for the next 20 minutes, I struggled. Most of the waves I tried to get into just got obliterated by my paddling and kicking alone. I kept scratching out over and over again; it was tough. Then…the tide dropped just a hair more, and the sandbars were now sprouting up these little two-foot peaks with these racy corners on them. I can’t say I got legit turns, but I was flying down the line, making sections, pulling off floaters at the end. It was super fun just to get the distance. I was running circles around people in my vicinity: two Euros who had GoPros filming each other, the longboard guy who paddled out and sat right on top of me, the noob chick in a full suit even though it was hot.

After my good rides I, I found people with their heads turned towards me as I paddled back. I couldn’t believe it. There was just enough surf to still milk some legit stoke, and I did it on a 5’6 Zippifish, tiny compared to all the foam everyone else had.

I unexpectedly ended the session after a wave in. My inner voice just said, “You had enough. Time to go.” So, I did. I had enough time to eat, make my dinner for work, and take my time preparing my uniform for the salt mines. In fact, I still left a few minutes early.

After that session I felt like a thief. I shouldn’t have gotten all those waves so easily, but my timing was right and so was my surf craft. Right place, right time. I guess that comes with experience. No, I can’t get airs, probably never will. I don’t get consistently barreled. I don’t paddle out when it’s double overhead. But…I know how to catch waves. I know how to milk them. I know how to make crappy and lackluster surf look good. That to me is an accomplishment.

Thu., Oct. 10th, 2019: Red Flag Sessions #1

Loc: 45^th St., El Porto

Time: 1000-1100

Conditions: very, very light texture, 2-3 ft., uncrowded, consistent, decent shape

Board: Skipper

            With the news pumping up abundant offshore winds and red flag warnings, I had a feeling that the wind would be prime for whatever surf the South Bay had on tap. Of course, there are the people to consider who will/are affected by the wildfires to come from these red flag warnings and conditions. My condolences go out to them, but here in El Segundo life can’t stop for me, so I’m going to hit the beach like I try to do as much as possible.

            High tide can be a bitch. It’s right smack dab around 0800, so the decision has to be made to either go at first light to catch it on the upswing or after high tide to catch it going down. Habitually, my body is more prone to wake up well rested around 0700, which works out because that’s when my wife wakes up, and I’ll also have about seven hours of sleep, which is awesome for me.

            I scored parking at my usual spot. As much as I’d rather surf Rosecrans or even 26^th St. to see all the locals I know, it’s hard to beat free, easy, prime parking. I’ve also come to realize over the years that sometimes you have to lone wolf it. I can’t organize my surf schedule around other people. I miss some of my buds, but I have to also hit it in a fashion that’s convenient for me.

            I couldn’t exactly tell what the surf was doing. I had brought my Puddle Jumper with me, but I opted to go with the Skipper. One, because the Skipper is fun, and two because if it just happens to be too small or even dumpy, I’ll still be able to catch waves on it.

            Once I made my way into the El Porto parking lot, everything was just so wide open. Not the parking, necessarily, but the sky. It was just so blue without a cloud in it. Also, the heat coming from the offshores just made the air feel stale, like the desert meeting the ocean. I know that description sounds dreary, but it’s not, not with the cool ocean right there. For 1000 the conditions were freaking awesome. There was only a light texture on the water, but even better were the waves. Sure, they weren’t big, maybe consistently two feet, but there was actually shape.

            Typically, 42^nd was packed, but over by the rocks I made my stand. With only a few people out I was able to scrape into everything I went for. No mini barrels today, but I was getting down the line easily. Actually, I struggled in a major category—turns! I should’ve busted out the Puddle Jumper. That was my bad. I had so many rights that were perfect setups for single-hit backhand snaps, and going rail-to-rail on the skipper is not easy. Those full rails just make it hard. So, even with open canvases there wasn’t much I could do.

            A guy paddled up to me and said, “Man, what is that you’re on? A Beater?”

            I explained that it was the Skipper and that it’s fun but I can’t turn on it.

            “Well you’re still making it look fun,” he said.

            And that’s how the rest of the session went. I was barely out for an hour, and I had such a good fill that it was all I needed.

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.

Fri., Oct. 4th, 2019: Unexpected Fun

Loc: 45^th St.

Time: 0830-0930

Conditions: Clean offshore, 2-3 Ft., semi dumpy, fun, crowded

Board: Zippifish

            Surfline said the swell would be tapering off, so I expected a slow morning of lully surf. I was even supposed to meet a guy who wanted to buy my 5’10 Lost Mini Driver, which I barely ride nowadays, so I brought that board with me in case he would be surfing. Aside from that, I ditched the Skipper for a change and brought the twin fin Zippifish.

            On my way to Porto I could already see that there were waves, and not just waves but a little bigger and better than yesterday. What the fuck, Surfline? As usual, right before I hit the Highland Ave. and 45^th St. intersection, I have to make the clutch decision on where I’m going to park. If I make the right into the lot, I’m committing to the meters. If I keep going straight, I may end up pushing my way towards 26^th to find some free street parking over there, or…if I just keep an eye out, I might get lucky and just find something right here. Lo and behold, I find a spot in the immediate vicinity, so 45^th St. it is!

            I love street parking because, one, I obviously don’t have to feed a meter. If you surf four to five days out of the week, then meter costs eventually add up. Also, when you score a street spot you don’t have to rush as much. The clock is friendlier, and you can stay out and surf to your heart’s content without worrying about getting a ticket.

            Already looking down the hill, I can see that my board choice is off. Fack, I should’ve brought the Skipper. The surf looks consistent, a little sectiony, breaking close to shore, and even a little bigger. When it’s dumpy like this I’d rather practice pulling in with a foamie than purling on a big hunk of voluminous board like…the Zippi I have now. But at the same time, it’s nice to change things up. I’ve been leaning on the Skipper quite a lot lately, thanks to KK who sold it to me (I’m sorry, brother, I had to buy it from you because I had been riding it hard. It wouldn’t have been right for me to hand it back to you like that.).

            So I throw on my slippers and walk down. I’ve cut my feet so many times on glass or stepped in globs of tar, a bad thing about street parking. When I reach the lot, I see that it’s packed. Surfers are coming out of the water back to their cars, but there are still a lot of people in the water, mostly congregated near 42^nd St. and in front of the sandwich shack.

            I paddle out right at 45^th where there’s a noobie Asian chick on a longboard. Immediately I start catching waves around her. Even though I don’t have the preferable equipment, I start pulling in on closeouts. On my fronstside lefts I’m developing a technique where, instead of my two-hand stall, I grab the rail on my board towards the tail with my right hand and lean my left shoulder into the wave, using my back to stall my momentum, and…it actually works. I haven’t made it out of a barrel doing this yet, but it’s fun just to mess around. This has been a breakthrough year for me in scoring tiny barrels. Being honest, I don’t know if I’ll ever get a big barrel, but even the little ones are so small that I’ll happily claim being a small-barrel guy if I can keep getting them consistently.

            After years of eating shit, I finally know the difference between going nowhere and actually getting a little momentum and distance in the tube. There is the flash of travelling, being under the lip as it’s curling, and that extra second of travel time that you get from holding on and just wiping out in the barrel, fully committed and not preparing for a safe exit. This is arguably dangerous but on these small dumpy days, they aren’t as consequential.

            So I kept going and catching waves unmolested. A guy with a familiar face paddles past me and says, “Ain’t much out here today.” I’m stoked that he even remembers me. It’s funny how you eventually become a local just by consistently showing up, alone. It doesn’t have to be every day. It can be every once in a while, but as long as you show your face you are a regular, and you do belong.

            The surf was consistent. I got enough of a satisfying fill that after an hour I was content enough to leave. I’ve also been getting better at that lately. When I feel like I’ve had enough, it’s a lot easier to walk away. I can move on to the rest of my day, surf mission completed.

            On the sand I crossed paths with another familiar face. I didn’t even think he wanted to talk, but when I looked back up he smiled and said hi. I’ve seen him several times out here, have never spoken a word to him, but the familiarity with having seen each other before was enough for a greeting.

            I am currently making moves in my life to further solidify this surfing lifestyle. Stay tuned. Also, I recontacted the guy who wanted to buy my Mini Driver. I told him that I’m holding onto it instead. I gotta see if I can get barreled on it this winter. If not, I’m selling it.

YOUR BOY IS BACK

0ct. 3^rd, 2019: The Good News…

Good for who, I don’t know. No…I’m here writing again, so here it goes. After being sick for about a week, I’ve felt like ass. Inactivity, sitting around sucking soup and tea, and simply not surfing or exercising just made me feel weaker overall. This morning, marking my first day that I felt well enough to surf, I finally went for a surf check on the second shift.

            Dawn patrol would’ve been first shift, but I get off work too late for that. Slightly dizzy from last night’s NyQuil, I watched my wife leave the apartment at about 0740, sipped my coffee, took a shit, and then hit the door.

            The weather was absolutely gorgeous: clear skies, offshore wind, clean and groomed ocean lines, and a weak weekday crowd (I hate crowds). I debated on my favorite free parking area for Porto but instead chose to part near Rosecrans at the end of the lot.

            The surf was overall small and breaking close to shore. I missed the early morning window with the lower tide, but even with it rising, occasional peaks sprouted, offering shoulders for some short rides.

            At first I debated on “fishing it” but decided on the Catch Surf Skipper, which has been my ultimate board choice as of late. It’s awesome in sub stellar conditions and still fun when the surf is good, just don’t expect any hard rail-to-rail carves.

            I put on the full suit to ease my way back into the surfing norm, especially since I’m getting over the flu/cold (not sure). Instantly when my face submerged with my first duckdive, I felt like my day had a purpose; my day is not wasted. That was my mantra. The day is not wasted.

            The lack of crowd made it easy to catch waves, but I felt weak. I forgot how much paddling, turning and going at the last second really takes out of you. It had been a while, so I was rusty. Still, with the smooth, slow speed of a manatee, I timed my waves well and managed to get down the line. Some of the beefier waves stood up, offering more sections and shoulders to pump down. I check turned on a few faces to wait for more shape and did some front side snaps, which on this board was more like kisses off the curling lip, pushing my nose back down for easy reentries.

            I felt like I had a purpose. Surfing gives me a purpose. I love it. Is that sad? I don’t think so. The high, the natural high I get, even off of small waves like today, what can I compare it to? I imagine the early-morning runner who hits the trail/street/track at dawn before no one is out, breathing in rhythm to his footsteps, smiling. Maybe something like that. Even with fellow surfers around, I didn’t feel invaded. I was right in my comfort zone.

            An hour later, pulling out my earplugs on the sand was like a reward. To hear the ocean, the waves, the birds, and even the warm, glowing atmospheric buzz of a good day, I knew I had started the day right. Walking back to my car I felt so accomplished. My day wasn’t wasted. My day was not wasted. I have a purpose. I love surfing. So important to start the day this way. I’ll do this for as long as I can.

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.

2017 – 13 & 14 The Return of Fran-Sauce

            On Sunday morning, I was supposed to meet with Klaude and Khang at 26^th St., Manhattan Beach. Only issue is, with that day being Super Bowl Sunday, a gang of people called in sick, so I had to stay over to walk an extra flight out. When I finally arrived to the beach, the boys were nowhere to be found. I paddled over to a small pack at 30^th Street and recognized sitting towards the inside. Instead of calling out his name, like I should have, I was trying to be Ninja Matt and planned on getting as close as I could to surprise him, but a wave came, and with that wave went Dais. All I could do was look forlornly towards the shore, knowing that my buddies were somewhere on the sand, heading back to their cars, and not even realizing that I had actually made it out.

            It was a major bummer, but at least there were waves. For the first time in days, the surf was actually manageable. I mean, there were some rideable peaks, racy, but still shouldery enough for a quick turn or two.

            I spotted Toru and Cliff, two 26^th St. regulars. Cliff said I had missed it when it was good earlier, but when I paddled up to Toru he said I didn’t miss much at all. The tide was actually on the downswing, so if any window was rideable it was at that moment.

            The paddle out was surprisingly far, and the waves were breaking more towards the outside. I managed some long racy rides that brought me to the inside, but it was so hard to set up for finishing turns because the waves mooshed out around there.

            I surfed for an hour, and the wind started to change a little. The second shift was over, and most of the locals were gone for the day, already heading home to begin the pre-party festivities.

            Walking on the sand, I saw Francis waving me down from The Strand. Francis…he’s easily in my “top 5” as far as good men go. He was in town to take his paramedic test for his job on Oahu. I hadn’t seen him since last summer. With his classmate in tow, we headed to Seafood Town for their lunch special, and in the evening we went to Klaude’s friend’s Super Bowl get together in Culver City, where I finally met up with the boys and told them how I had narrowly missed them that morning.

            We all planned to surf the next day, despite the strong chance of rain. That Monday morning at work, it rained really hard on the LAX runway. It was the most coldest and miserable session I’ve ever had at work. With it still raining by the time I got home, I thought surf was out of the questions. I checked my phone. Klaude went to work. Khang was a negative. Dais suggested going around 10am.

            Francis told me we should just check it out anyway, and I agreed. “Sometimes all you need is that friend,” he said, “that makes you paddle out in anything.” I guess it had been a long time since I had a morning like that, but we packed up and headed to 45^th Street, and right when we entered the lot we saw seven guys out. The wind was howling offshore, the inside was churning and consistent with kelp, but the waves breaking on the outside were actually clean. Suddenly, what had initially been a bummer of a stormy morning turned into a stoke filled changing fest in the parking lot.

            “Fuck yeah. It’s on,” I said. We giggled like little girls, or maybe it was just me. He sampled my wife’s chunky horse pill of a board, me on my puddle jumper. We paddled out into the winter water. I wondered if we’d get sick, and I hoped it’d be worth it if we did, but there we were, two surf homies paddling out together just like old times.

            To make the rest of the story short, Francis was charging on a board that I’ve only seen in small cobblestone surf. He took a lot of bomb rights, maybe only chest to shoulder high, and threw huge fans of spray out the back. I was stoked for him, for us.

            After an hour and forty-five minutes it was time to call it. His flight home was at five, and the ominous conditions from the storm still made the atmosphere a little sketch. We ended the surf officially with a late breakfast at Main Street Café in El Segundo.

            Here’s to the homie. Hope we get to surf again soon.