BIRTHDAY GIFT, THU 29DEC2011 MOR

Crew: Rick

Time: 0745-1030

Conditions: Sunny, glassy, four feet, mid-high tide, semi consistent.

Pre Blog:

     Life has been pretty damn simple since my winter break started. Lauren’s finally been given time off of work, and we’ve been able to spend quality time together to bring some balance back to our relationship. Other than surfing and a few family get-togethers, I’ve been a homebody. Instead of waking at the crack of dawn I’ve been sleeping in. After my morning sessions I work my way back home, eat until I’m full, lounge around in my Forever Lazy, wait for dinner, and end the night with some alcohol and video games. 

     It’s almost too simple. I’ve had time to think about my life. Is this the way to live? I’ve been invited out to do different things, but all I want to do is move at my own pace, go with the flow, and surf at every opportunity I have. I can only justify it by thinking about how busy I was during my last month of school or also by the thought of school starting again next month. But the fact that I’m questioning my free time makes me feel like something’s missing. Perhaps I should step out of my surfing world and see some old friends I haven’t seen in a while. Maybe that’s it; I’ve been isolating away from things that don’t fit my surf schedule.

Happy Birthday to me:

     It’s 0549 when I get my first text from Rick. I’m so tired. He’s asking me if I’m awake. I can see him now stirring about in his kitchen, sipping on coffee, checking out the forecast on his computer with all of his gear staged and ready to go. I’m so warm . . . so very warm in my bed. After a couple more punches on the snooze button I finally text him back at 0635. He suggests that we stay local. In twenty minutes he’s downstairs ready to go. 

     We swap vehicles and roll in the wagon. It’s just too damn frosty out there. I got seat heaters which catches Rick by surprise. I throw on some old school punk from GBH. “Cool,” Rick says. “That’s what I used to listen to back in my days.” I do this on purpose expecting to hear some old Dog Town stories from the late 70s or 80s and his childhood days in Venice. You can always count on Rick to keep a conversation going. 

     We first pull into the El Porto lot. I haven’t surfed here in ages. There’s size, at least a solid four feet and a little bigger on some sets, but it looks closed out. He lets his brother Manny know the report, and I text CC and Khang to suggest coming out during the higher tide. “We can go to HB?” I say. I got my parking pass, and I’m really not in the mood for closeouts. Not to sound picky, but I know for sure that over half of my sessions this winter have been wall-dodgers. 

     “Let’s check out the jetty,” he says. Ahhhh, the jetty, the spot where I caught my first wave. I haven’t surfed it since my brother left to Bali. It was where I got my biggest wave for 2010, a wave which my brother only labeled at six feet when I swear it was over one story. Since then I’ve severely trimmed down my estimates. 

     On the way to the Grand lot we see a nice right line up off of it; there are about four guys out. “This may be the only place with shape,” he says. Me . . . I’m kind of skeptical. It’s not crowded, but even with less than six guys it can be hard to share one wave. 

     Parking’s only three bucks. A local guy that Rick knows pulls up in a truck. His name is Yoman (sounds like “yo, mon!” reggae style). He’s an older dude from Bali. I chit chat with him a little and tell him that these waves must be too small for him. He replies, “No . . . too cold!” 

     Hammerlands isn’t working because the tide’s too high. It’s been a while since I’ve taken the “Grand walk.” Looking at the Jetty it’s hard to tell if it’s promising or not. A set rolls through which brings a sweeping wall, leaving the only makeable section just short of the smoke stacks. “I’m paddling out over there,” I say as I head south. 

     “No, we’re going to paddle out right against the rocks.”

     Hmmm, I don’t agree with this. If a wave comes I’m thinking that, not only will we be in the way of surfers, we might get slammed against the rocks. “Yeah, this is the easy way out,” he says as we start to paddle. The white wash is surprisingly mellow by the rocks. “You know, back in the day I used to swim right under the pier . . . it used to suck me right out. You feel it pulling us right now?” He’s right, and my anxiety dissipates. “If the swell’s coming from the northwest we’re protected.” We even get to the top of the wave faster than the guy walking on the jetty to jump off. If I tune in and listen I could learn a thing or two. 

     I don’t know any of the four other guys sitting at the point. It's quiet, and I feel that negative energy that says, “Great, more fuckin’ dicks just showed up to our spot.” I’m not used to catching waves next to piers or rocks; it always feels dangerous like one wrong pop-up could land you with a broken skull. Rick catches his first wave which doesn’t materialize; he ends up on the inside behind. I take a similar wave which does the same. Hating crowds, I paddle a little south and sit away from the pack. It’s pretty much what I do when trying to get scraps at Lowers. On the plus-sized sets, everyone paddles way in front of the jetty and actually takes off on the Hammers side. I swear that one guy is on a collision course for the rocks, but he narrowly miss them, and the wave opens up for a long ride just short of the smoke stacks. Again . . . long ride. We all look back to see the tosses of water, the occasional silhouette of the black-suited figure skyline over the lip then reenter, all the way until he’s just a little figuring somewhere by the shallows. It’s envy. . . . 

     I’ve caught a couple closeouts over here at my spot. Rick paddles by to ask if I’ve caught anything. Just as I’m about to let out my usual, pessimistic reply, a huge peak starts to form; it swings wide and misses the jetty completely. My mouth is still open, half-caught in dialogue, when he says, “Paddle for it, Matt!” Of course, he’s trying to go for it too, but I’m the only one sitting for enough to get the forming shoulder. Another guy is right on the peak, but he’s too deep and duckdives it. Gawd damn . . . the wave’s mooshy, but it’s big. I feel the lift as I’m just sliding into to it. The drop is so gradual; it’s like Trestles on a big day because this wave is so clean. The guy that just got the long ride is in my way, so I can’t do a deep bottom turn, but he’s watching me before he duckdives. I take the highline to avoid a collision, do a light cutback, set up my bottom-turn, and connect three solid carves all the way to shore. It’s classic. For a wave to break this big and this clean at Porto is unbelievable, slopy but rippable because of the size. Trestles at Porto, at least on this wave it is. 

     I’m just so fuckin’ lucky, I don’t know what else to think or say, but my crooked ass teeth are all that’s visible as I paddle back with my shit-eating grin. Rick throws me a thumbs-up from the top of the wave. I paddle nearby. The other guys aren’t saying anything, but they look antsy, waiting for the next bomb that doesn’t exist in the lull. “You got your birthday gift, huh?” Rick says.

     I paddle back to my spot. That’s me . . . the scavenger, a vulture of waves digging for leftovers, but right now it’s working. I watch the show, guys barely escaping with their asses; sometimes it looks like they’re surfing over the rocks—nuts. My next best wave is so walled that the guys by the jetty can’t make the section. I look to my left and see a guy straighten out; again, my distance from the pack has me on the shoulder. It’s a four-turn wave. I can’t even remember the last time I got four turns, but I can tell you that it’s only happened a couple of times, and for sure they were at Trestles. It has the in-between shape: not too vertical that you purl on reentry and not so slopy that you bog out; it’s perfect. Each turn feels more familiar every time I pull one off, top to bottom with speed, crouching low then extending as I climb. I can see why surfing good waves enhances one’s abilities. Unfortunately, for most of us they are few and far between.  

     I score for the first hour and a half. It’s not wave buffet status, but the waits are reasonable and the rides worth waiting for. The second half of the sessions gets inconsistent. My spot turns off, and most of my waves are closing out. Even the guys at the point are now all sitting towards the inside. I go to the top of the wave hoping I can end it on a phenomenal, long ride, but it never happens. I catch a bogger next to the rocks and meet Rick on the sand. Back at the car I run into Whiffleboy. I give him my morning report as he shakes my hand with his polar-bear death grip. Afterwards, Rick treats Lauren and I out to breakfast at Good Stuff. I return home to find a gift waiting for me; it’s Modern Warfare 3 for PS3, so I know what I’m doing tonight.

     I know it sounds cliché, but I’m so fortunate to have scored good waves on my birthday. If it wasn’t for Rick, I wouldn’t have made the effort to walk from the Grand lot. I would’ve just drove by for a peek as usual and complained about paying for parking. 

     I don’t really go all-out on my birthdays: no Vegas, big dinners, bars, or clubs. But the gift I was given couldn’t have been bought or planned; it just happened. Good waves that came specifically to me for my picking. Topped off by a homemade meal, video games, and champagne with my girlfriend, well . . . I can’t say that I’d want to be anywhere else. 

HOUSE WINS (double sesh), WED 9NOV2011 EVE

Crew: Francis

Time: 1500-1700, 2 hrs

Conditions: Sunny, clear, warm air, stinky and cold water, glassy, 1-2 ft, consistent, low tide, closeouts.

            We go to Café Del Sol for brunch. I order the machaca and Francis gets something so spicy that he rushes his meal. It’s my second time here; the first time was on my way to Baja. We drag out the meal in hopes that the conditions are miraculously improving while we eat. When we get back we can see the cobblestones exposed along the shore. The wind blows steadily onshore, and there are some consistent waves coming in. The main issue is with the size. Everything is about two feet. We watch and try to make the conditions better than they are, but it’s clear that there are no three foot pulses. Again, a small handful of longboarders rule.  

            In desperation, we walk along the San Onofre side to see what it’s doing over there. I’ve never been there during the day, and I show Francis the little hodads that Rick brought me to for the first time months ago. A lot of older people are hanging out in the lot or are laying out on the sand, most likely where they planned to spend their whole day. An old timer greets us with a hello as we walk by. When I respond with good afternoon he says, “Is it that time already for ‘good afternoon?’” I wonder if I’ll be chillin’ at the beach like this when I’m older. 

            The hodads are the highlight while the surf still proves to be tiny. We drive back to Churches but fail to find the worth in paddling out. Just then a truck full of guys pulls up next to us. Their windows are closed, but we can hear the commotion going on inside. They pour out and look at the break. I hear, “Look at that, look at that!” followed by hoots of praise. They reach in the truck bed and pull out assortments medium boards and fishes; they are stoked. 

            The drive back is a little depressing. I thank Francis for taking this gamble with me and coming along. He says, “I’ve been skunked so many times over the years that I’m used to it.” I guess that’s the attitude I need to have. He’s been surfing longer than me, and in my short time surfing I have definitely had my share of “the skunk,” but I still get bummed out the same every time.

            For shits and giggles we stop by 26^th St. to see if it’s worth a local paddle out. The tide is around zero feet. Small little 1-2 foot peaks form and fizzle over shallow water. It’s much worse than Churches. I make the remark that if we could have juxtapositioned both breaks we would’ve paddled out for a second sesh down south. We drive to Porto and it’s just a hair better. We walk all the way to Hammers to see if there are signs of life. Coming back to the car we lean over the El Porto rails and look out. I say, “Dude, I’m with you, man. We can paddle out, but it’ll be like this until at least another hour when the tide comes up a little.”

            “If it wasn’t such a nice day I could just turn around and not even think about it.” 

            He’s right. There is zero wind here compared to down south. It’s one of those classic, El Porto, late afternoons that are super glassy, uncrowded, and warm . . . minus the waves. They look like they want to do something, but because of the tide they close. The thought of going home gives me a feeling of emptiness. We put two hours worth of quarters in the meter and suit up.

            The water’s just as cold, but the surface texture is so smooth, ideal for good shape. We trudge through kelp as we walk towards deeper water. Little bits of trash still linger from the weekend rain, and the water smells like stale garbage. Welcome to the South Bay. Some waves break in front of us. They start off so clean that they look rideable; all we need is more tide. I turn to Francis and say, “I got a good feeling about this one.”

            Immediately after paddling out, we catch waves in rapid succession, but these rides are all short. The drop-ins are fun, and some of the bigger waves actually go a little hollow for an imitation barrel on the closeout. Even though they’re not lining up, I’m having fun just dropping in. The crowd thickens momentarily, but everyone’s spaced out evenly. The low sun is blinding, and the water is so smooth that the light reflects back up as if we’re at an indoor pool. The water is unbelievably still which keeps us from any thoughts of turning around. The tide’s coming up a little, but the shape is still marginal. My wave of the day comes during sunset. I paddle into the shoulder where I have the best chance to get the most out of the shoulder. The face holds long enough for me to get two bouncy and responsive pumps, and then . . . the wave closes out. That’s it, that’s my wave of the day; two pumps culminate the whole day’s surf journey: the drive, the trials, and the search to find more. I’m a two pump chump, and usually I’d be pretty upset, spawning with negative energy all the way home. 

            On the way back to the car I wasn’t sad at all, in fact there was some sense of fulfillment and satisfaction. We tried; we did our best. The conditions were better down south but still not good overall. We came back home and still paddled out despite the meager conditions. It was a fun little sesh to put a period on the day. Sure, there was no shape, but we stayed busy, and the repetition of dropping into smooth faces before tucking into oblivion had its value of fun. Today wasn’t the day to go out searching for surf, but if we hadn’t we’d be indoors surfing the internet instead, maybe going on jizzonline to blow one good load on a dirty T-shirt out of boredom (me for sure, I don’t know about Francis), and we wouldn’t have even gotten our toes in the sand or our feet wet. Despite gambling and losing, we spent the day doing the best thing possible: surfing.

           

            After we changed I started the car to leave, but I took a look up at the ocean. “Damn, check that shit out,” I said. Francis turned. It was one of the most majestic sunsets that I’ve ever seen at Porto. The horizontal lines of the faint pulses of waves moved in as they reflected the orange and pink sky. The oil rig in the ocean shined its lights in the distance looking like a floating city. Streaks of clouds froze as the pink turned to a light purple with every passing second. The sunset remained picturesque until I made that right turn on Grand Ave., officially turning my back and saying good bye to the sun and the sea. No . . . our day wasn’t wasted at all. 

NEGATIVE ENERGY: WED 1.05.2011 EVE

NEGATIVE ENERGY:  WED 1.05.2011 EVE

CREW:  RANDY
TIME:  1330 -1500, 1.5 hrs..
WIND:  Offshore, slightly side shore
WATER:  Going mid to low tide, cold but sunny, shallow on the inside, crowded with rippers, head high to overhead, walled with some corners to pick out, barreling if you were good enough for them.

    Randy came over at about noon.  I had to break the news to him about what happened to the JSI.  I saw the look of disappointment on his face.  I explained what happened.  He said, “The rule of thumb is to NEVER ditch your board because it could come back and hit you, and it could hit the guy behind you.  You can still duckdive eight to ten foot waves.”  Fuck, I thought to myself.  I felt like that wave was too big for me.  I was mad at myself, and I felt like shit.  If there has ever been anyone that had a huge influence on me, it’s my big brother, and I hate to ever let him down.  Lesson learned.  He said that the damage was done in the worst spot because my heel will be on that area, and that the board won’t last long.  I immediately got on the horn and asked Rick for a late birthday present to do some fiberglass augmentation.  He told me to let it dry out and bring it by.  I’m so lucky to have those guys around. 

    My brother missed out on the morning sesh, so it wasn’t long before we were out again.  On the way to Porto we took a look at Hammers.  We saw a perfect, barreling, left come rolling through.  He said, “Right there, I want to surf that wave!”  We went to the Grand lot and parked at the meters.  I forgot that the meters there are only good for an hour and a half.  There were already a lot of surfers there; some were struggling with the parking pass machines.  I sent a courtesy text to Shan, then we walked to Hammers and watched the waves.  There were a lot of people at the point, and we saw guys getting barreled but not making it out.  Despite the crowd, it looked like we would have a chance if we sat on the shoulder; the smaller waves actually had better shape, but there were still a lot of walls.  I didn’t feel good about being on the sand again with the Merrick.  That board just felt so huge, especially since I’ve been testing out the JSI lately.  The water was unexpectedly shallow, which made the paddle out fairly short.  Guys were perched at the peak and actually making the barrels.  The cool thing about the peak was that it was still producing long rides, even without the set.  Randy got some rides, but he didn’t feel like competing with the crowd at the peak, so he sat a little north of it.  There was an old timer with long gray hair getting some good barrel rides.  I had the best show in the house.  Everyone let that guy through and gave him respect.  He was with a younger guy that was getting barreled, too.  They had a water cameraman in the mix with them.  There were people on the shore watching alongside with the lifeguards.  Me … I wasn’t catching shit.  I was so far from the peak that I was close to a right hand peak.  There were some waves that I went for that were too walled; the low tide was to blame.  I went for my first wave, a right, and I got pitched over before I could even attempt a pop up.  I’m not sure how many people saw that.  Next, I paddled for what looked like a workable left shoulder, and I got pounded again.  I got really passive at that point.  I still wasn’t over the disappointment of what happened in the morning.  I felt like I was on the wrong board for those conditions; but in reality, I was the wrong surfer for those conditions.  Only good surfers were out there.  They were all competing at that peak.  My brother told me that some guys were arguing because someone got dropped in on. 

    I finally caught a left.  The waves were deceiving.  Even though I was sitting at the shoulder, they would jack up and get bigger as I paddled for them.  I just remember dropping in, being grateful for sticking the drop, looking up at the crashing lip, then straightening out to avoid oblivion.  After that wave I wiped out one more time.  A rogue wave came.  Every surfer was paddling to the outside.  That one younger guy that was being filmed was the only guy to go for that wave.  What ability, I thought.  It was a huge wall, a straight closeout, and he still paddled into it just to get a shot of him in the barrel.  He emerged after the explosion like it was nothing.  Amazing.

    I was over it, and so was my brother.  After an hour and a half we left.  I just wasn’t feeling it.  I was already defeated before I paddled out there.  The conditions didn’t seem right, except at the peak which was too crowded.  Negative feelings ran through me.  I felt like I was outclassed, I didn’t belong out there, I was a coward for not going for those waves, I sat on the outside like a bitch, and I wasn’t good enough to get those waves. I felt like a pure Barney, like I regressed back to day one of fucking surfing.  I was so ashamed that I didn’t paddle in where the lifeguard tower was.  I tucked my tail and paddled further north (away from everyone) before I went back to the shore. 

    I’m still upset with myself now.  Randy said I could take the 6’2 hand me down that he gave me tomorrow if I don’t like the Merrick.  I hope I can redeem myself tomorrow, at least a little.  Oh, and I talked to Shan.  He said he got a five second tube ride at the jetty, and that he was there at 1500.   He showed up just as we left.  Oh well.  Next time. 

GRAY, WET, AND COLD; FRI 12.17.2010 MORN

   

    I didn’t even set my alarm.  I was so drained from the last couple days’ lack of rest, surf, and substance abuse.  My body woke itself up at 5:48 A.M.  I was so cold, had a headache, and so warm in bed that I contemplated just sleeping in.  I thought about how I told Shan and J that I would be at El Porto at first light.  I got up and headed out the door.  J text me that he was there, and Shan asked me how it was.  I arrived at about half passed six.  J was still in his clothes.  It was clean.  The offshore wind was strong, there was a little texture in the water, but the conditions were still excellent.  The waves were just too small.  It was one to two feet, maybe three on the plus sets.  The bigger waves were racy in the middle, but the shoulders were rideable if you were in the right spot.  There were a lot of people suiting up and heading out.  The whole sky was canvassed with a blanket of impenetrable gray.  Towards Manhattan beach there was a sheet of white in the air.  It was barely sprinkling where we were.

    We paddled out in front of the bathrooms on the south edge of a crowd.  The sets were hogged by the main body, so we went further south by the sandwich shack and had our own peak.  Everything I caught fizzled out pretty fast.  J, once again, was able to get some long rides that opened up.  I looked around and saw some other guys getting some good rides.  I only got one right that gave me a clumsy top turn on the closing curl. 

    I was cold.  The lack of waves, wind, and inactivity was a combo that had me shaking in my wetsuit.  J left for work at seven forty.  I caught a couple of the set waves that broke way on the outside, but they didn’t open up for me.  As I looked towards 26th St. I could see more peaks rolling through there.  Maybe that was the place to be this morning.  I called the session at eight o’clock.  It was a good day for a longboard, and it might even get better with the lowering tide.  It’s a little wet out, and I’m still freezing just sitting on my couch.  I’m not sure if I’ll go out again today, but I know that the rain is coming in, and things may not be clear again until Monday.  It wasn’t a good week for surf, but I can only get better by getting in the water.  Good or bad, I have to paddle out.

NIGHT SESSIONS: THU 12.16.2010 EVE

    I met with J at first light, and it looked horrible.  My brother told me that HB had a lot of wind, so it wasn’t a good idea to drive down south.  I went back home.
   
    I wanted to wait for the tide to come up, so I waited until about 3:30 P.M. before I headed back to Porto.  The waves were just as bad as the day prior, but this time there was more wind.  There were still some quick corners at the end of the long peaks, so I figured it would be worth a try.  J showed up, and I told Shan were we would be. 

    J and I paddled in front of 45th before the crowd got there.  The experience of duckdiving my short board on Wednesday helped my technique on this session.  I felt that I was able to punch through better.  The waves were mostly close outs, and we didn’t find ourselves in the right place.  J was the first to catch some waves that actually opened up.  The crowd started to drift into our spot, and by 4:30 P.M. we were sharing waves with a bunch of guys.  Shan finally made it and paddled out to us while his lady waited on the cool evening sand.  We drifted north from J, and I didn’t have much luck throughout the session.  Shan caught a wave in, so I paddled to where J was. 

    It was already dark, but the water began to clean up a bit, and it wasn’t as choppy.  Paul was out there with three other people from his surf crew.  He didn’t recognize me, so I didn’t say anything to him.  I finally got a decent right.  I was able to bottom turn and get some spray off the top.  J told me he saw it.  It was only a “one turn” wave, but it made the session worth it. 

    Some chic was talking to J in the water about the Billabong Pipleline Masters.  She said that Jeremy “Tores” won. 

    J said, “I think he’s from France.”

    She said, “Yeah, he’s French, but he’s totally from California, or he lives in California."

    I figured that it wasn’t worth getting involved in the conversation, but initially I couldn’t help but mentally roll my eyes at hearing that.  I don’t have a wealth of knowledge when it comes to the surfing world, but this girl was totally off.  I ended the session with a clean ass right.  The only problem was that it was so dark that I couldn’t make out the face, so I didn’t get to hack the lip.

    It was about 5:20 P.M.  As I walked back to the lot I saw the meter maid out there giving tickets.  I rushed to check my meter.  It was good.  I grabbed some change for J, but he was right behind me.  About three guys got tickets.  You have to play it safe at Porto.  It’s better to lose another buck in change instead of forty dollars to the city of Manhattan Beach.

    We made the best of it.
   
  

MY OLD FRIEND, THE POTATO CHIP: WED 12.16.2010 EVE

MY OLD FRIEND, THE POTATO CHIP:  WED 12.16.2010 EVE

    My brother told me that Wednesday afternoon supposed to have some new swell.  He suggested that I go to check it out so that we could tell if the next day would be good.  Rick called me in the afternoon and said his brother, Manny, was paddling out because it looked fun.  It was about 3:00 P.M.  I grabbed my gear and head out the door. 

    I took the short board that my brother gave me because I thought there would be some size.  When I got to El Porto it was exactly the opposite:  weak and crumbly.   Rick drove there straight from work, so he didn’t have a board.  I let him use my Merrick which left me with the potato chip.  I had to hear Rick’s lecture about how I need to ride a bigger board, but I explained how I only brought it because I thought the waves would be bigger.

    We exchanged greetings with Manny and his other friends as they were leaving.  We paddled out in front of 45th.  One thing I noticed immediately was how much easier it was to duck dive with that little board.  Sure, I was slower, but I think that on bigger days I could save myself from getting worked so much by rogue waves and white wash.  Rick paddled more south and did his thing.  I struggled to get into the flaccid waves.  I had to catch them late; my pop up was a little slow, but I still was able to get some rides.  It’s too bad that the surf was weak because I bogged out instantly once I got on the face.  I could be blamed for my lack of skill, but I felt that I could’ve got some nice rides if it was better out there.  I pumped as hard as I could, but I just didn’t have the flotation and lift that my Merrick would give me. 
    By the time we left the parking lot it was already dark.  Even though I had the wrong board for the session, it was nice getting the feel of that board.  I was sinking on it, felt too heavy for it, but I am definitely ready for another board.

BIG THURSDAY PT. I: THU 12/09/2010 MORN

    Thursday morning was highly anticipated.  My brother planned to drive up to L.A. to surf that day; he had the feeling that the swell would hit the South Bay better than the O.C.  I was supposed to meet with Shan and J that morning, but my bro showed up a little late.  It was about 8:30 A.M. when we pulled up to Hammerlands and checked it out from the Grand Ave. parking lot.  The tide was coming up, and we could see the waves jacking up from the backwash.  The left wasn’t breaking well:  it was clean on the outside, but it was really fast, and it obliterated to foam on the inside.  It appeared that the right going off of the jetty was better.  I suggested that we drive around and see if it’s better anywhere else. 

    We parked in the Porto lot to have a look.  There were some guys out there at the main peaks.  We watched a couple guys get barreled, but it was all kamikaze style because they got enveloped by the wave.  There were some shoulders that looked good, but they weren’t breaking in the same place, and there were enough guys out there to make it a little difficult. 

    It was 8:55 A.M. by the time we got to 26th St.  My brother has never surfed there before, but he said he could see the potential of that place.  It was too big for the sand bars.  There were mostly walls with a couple random and fast shoulders.  We turned around and headed back to Hammers.  We asked a guy who was leaving how it was.  He said, “It was strange.”  When my bro and I got to the water we could see that the waved were really “werbly” at the top of them, as if something was shaking the wave to create that effect.  When we made it to the other side of the jetty it looked like a swampy mess: the inside had a lot of white wash, the waves were breaking far out, and the conditions just weren’t clean at all.  It was about head high, maybe even a little overhead.  There was a group of surfers past the point catching some pretty long and mooshy rides off of the jetty.  Randy said that HB was all rights the day before, so he was desperate for some lefts.

    I explained to Randy how I was getting my ass worked on the inside lately, and that I didn’t look forward to the paddle out.  He taught me how to find the best place to paddle out, what to look for to tell that there’s a lull approaching, and when to paddle your ass off.  He pointed out a spot where a weak ass like myself would have the best chance.  And wouldn’t you know, it fuckin’ worked.  I paddled for dear life, and I saw to my right that I was way ahead of my brother. 

    Once we were out there I got a left, but it closed out really fast.  My brother eventually gave up and caught some rights near the point.  I hung out by the smoke stacks.  I got more waves but nothing noteworthy.  It was big, but it wasn’t a session to light a match and stomp my feet over.  I caught my last wave, got caught on the inside, and then I figured that I had enough for the morning.  We went to Seafood Town in Torrance and took advantage of their lunch specials.  By noon, beef chow fun filled my belly, and it was time for a nappy poo.