SHORE, FRI 20APRIL2012 MOR

Crew: Francis

Time: 0700-0800

Conditions: 2 FT, only breaking close to shore.

     I really want to go to HB this morning, but my 1000 dentist appointment forces me to stay local. Francis says he’s up to staying close to home too, so we decide to change things up and surf 26^th. After getting skunked there earlier in the week, there’s a good chance that we won’t get skunked twice in a row here. Francis is already in the water by the time I show up. The fog’s thick again; I can’t see what the lineup’s doing. Once I’m close enough. I can see some soft peaks breaking towards the outside by the lifeguard tower. The biggest pack of surfers this morning sits here. It looks rideable, but it’s hard to tell. South of 26^th looks the best, but no one’s sitting there. I trek north to look for Francis. I see him take a wave, bodyboard style. He gets up and waives me over. 

     I ask him if it was good earlier when the tide was lower. He says no. Waves break on the outside over here too, but they moosh out, reform, and break close to shore. Fooling myself, I try to catch them, scratching out every single time. Local veteran Don sits on the peak next to us. Even on the shitty days Don’s ripping it, but I watch him struggle, unable to drop-in as well. 

     So Francis and I work the inside. I don’t know how he does it, but he manages a crack off the lip on a couple while all my rides are straight. I tell Francis I’m paddling south to find a different peak. I score waves all to myself, but they are the same, inside closeouts, breaking over a couple feet of water. Now Don’s on the sand, watching the waves for a minute before he walks away and doesn’t look back. 

     I reunite with Francis to join him in the mediocre conditions. “It’s almost eight,” he says.

     “I know . . . are you staying?”

     “I don’t know. Are you?”

     I look back out towards the horizon, looking for any signs of improvement. There’s no Surf Syndrome today. It’s just not good. “I’ll stay out if you are.”

     Francis does the same and then turns to me and says, “I’mma go in.”

    

     He says hi to the old man who lives by the parking lot while I change. Before saying bye, we bring up the possibilities of surfing HB tomorrow morning but don’t commit. If I don’t surf somewhere else, I won’t surf at all tomorrow. Local is not good at the moment.

THE FOG, MON 16APRIL2012 MOR

Crew: Francis

Conditions: High tide, 1-2 FT, inconsistent, foggy.

     After Klaude said that 26^th has been looking good lately, I thought I’d give it a try. I let both Shan and Francis know that I’d be there. I sent out a final text, stating that I couldn’t see the conditions because of the fog.

     I already have a bad feeling because there’s no sign of surfer life, save the one guy that said hi to me as he walked down the hill with his board. Other than that, there is no rush of cars, filled parking lot, or the usual traffic of people checking it out. Looking down the hill, the fog is so thick that I can barely see the sand, and I’m too lazy to walk down for a recon, so why not just paddle out.

     The conditions are clean, and the fog is beige, reflecting off the sun and sand. Despite the perfect wind and glassiness, the waves are only breaking close to shore. North of 26^th, I can make out some of the regulars, Manny for sure, but even where they’re perching doesn’t look too great. The guy who said hi to me earlier paddles out in front of the tower, and I follow suit.

     It’s sad . . . I’m scratching out the whole time, chasing inside waves. Francis arrives, and there is still no sign of Shan. We are hoping that the conditions will improve with the lowering tide. More surfers come out, but everyone’s in the same predicament. Francis manages a decent wavecount, but I can’t really say how good his rides are. 

     No decent waves, no turns. Shan calls me on the way home and says he took a look at it, but he didn’t paddle out because it didn’t look motivating. If it was good, I would’ve rubbed it in, but . . . since he didn’t miss anything, I can’t blame him. It’s been a while since I’ve been able to say, “It was GOOOOOOOOOD.”

LOCAL FRUSTRATIONS, FRI 24FEB2012 MOR

Crew: Khang

Time: ?

Conditions: 3-4 ft, walled with occasional shoulders, inconsistent. 

     With everything that’s going on in my life I’m losing focus on my priorities, so I’ll try my best to remember this entry. Also, I need to get back on track. Life goes on.

     Francis told me he’d be surfing Friday morning as well as Khang. Right after I wake up, I get a call from Shan. “Let me know how it looks like when you get there,” he says. I’m not exactly the biggest fan of this approach to surfing. Nine times out of ten, most people that say this don’t end up paddling out. 

     It’s Friday, so parking local sucks because of the street cleaning. There's no parking in sight, so I go to my secret garden where I find one spot left. It’s a long walk, but it beats coughing up change for the meter.

     When I reach the sand, I don’t see Francis anywhere, but Khang is on the sand stretching by the tower. I try to sneak up on him, but my shadow alerts him. It’s mid tide, but it doesn’t look like it’s making a difference. 

     “It’s breaking like it’s high tide,” says Khang. 

     “Yeah, but there looks like there’s some fun ones out there.” We go through our warm up rituals. Once we get to the lineup, we can see 33^rd and Rosecrans get some nice rights. Most of the waves that come don’t have any shape where we’re at. Looking back on this session, I can’t remember one stand out wave that I had. 

     The break in front of the Marine tower looks like it’s working, but it’s so hard to know for sure. The waves always look better somewhere else down the beach, but Khang and I maintain our position. With the rising tide, the walls get more consistent, and anything with decent shape slows down. 

     Bobbing in the water and sitting on our boards, Khang looks at me and says, “We should definitely try HB next time.” 

     I call my last wave in, and Khang gets his before me. He actually gets a decent right. I see him from the back trimming down the line, wrapping it back around, and then redirecting towards the shore. My last wave never comes. Khang patiently waits on the sand, but eventually starts walking towards the showers. I see him and Francis talking. “Happy birthday,” I say to Francis.

     “Thanks, Matt. My birthday’s tomorrow, though.” 

     “Okay, well, I’ll give you one now and one later.” We tell him how the surf this morning isn’t that great, and that we’ll see him later tonight at his party.

     Back at the home, Lauren is packing up her belongings. It’s official. Her family and friends are coming over tomorrow to pick up her shit and take off. Even though we’re on good terms, I’m bitter. I can’t believe she’s leaving, walking away from all this. I remain tight lipped throughout the day. We already had our share of tears, and I know I’m tired of crying myself. 

 

     I have a decision to make. It’s Lauren’s last night, but Francis’ birthday is also tonight. I can hang out with Lauren her last night here, or I can stick with my commitments and go to my buddy’s birthday party that’s been planned weeks ago. I tell her that I need to at least show my face.

     “That’s fine,” she says. “It’s hard to pack when you’re here. You should go.”

     Nicole catered food for Frans, and there’s a nice showing at their place. Francis tells me that the surf was good by Marine, and that he had a peak with only three other guys. Figures. They have food catered from Rutt’s Hawaiian Restaurant as well as a guava cake from King’s Hawaiian Bakery. There is also a ton of beer and a couple pizzas. The vibe is good. Everyone’s talking story, and groups of people are clustered, having their own conversations while American Idol plays on the TV. I’m doing my best to be part of the festivities, but I feel like shit. I should be home, I’m thinking. I think about Lauren packing, how tomorrow the DRC is taking a trip for Sauce’s birthday down south, and how tonight is my last night being with her as a couple in our once-happy-home. I’m grieving amongst the smiling faces, drinking, and laughter; I can’t let go. I stay for a good two hours and head back. Lauren’s still packing. It’s hard to watch.

FRONTSIDE, MON 20FEB2012 MOR

Crew: Francis

Time: ?

Conditions: 4-5+ ft, high tide, offshore then switched to onshore, walled with occasional shoulders, semi-consistent.  

     Francis’ call wakes me up. He’s on his way to 26^th. “I just passed Grand. There’s some sets out there,” he says. I’m tired from sleeping late, but I grab my gear and head out the door. 

     I can’t find parking to save my life. After about fifteen minutes of driving around in circles, I finally park all the way by 15^th St. I debate on what board to take. The DMS is already laid out while my JS is in the bag. Since it’s mooshy, I go with more volume to paddle-in easier. It’s a long walk, but there seems to be scattered peaks everywhere. Surprisingly, it’s not that crowded either. I hump all the way to Marine and paddle out in a little empty spot in the water. I spot Francis at the main peak, but I wait for a wave to take me to him. There’s a little size this morning. It’s walled up, but there are occasional peaks that have makeable shoulders. I drop in on a steep left, but it closes out. I catch a lot of closeouts, but it feels good. A lot of guys are backing out or pass, but I’m actually enjoying how easy it is to catch boards on this wave. I get a left that opens up, and I get two decent carves on it. There’s that moment when I dump all the speed on the shoulder and shift my weight on the tail. Words can’t describe the feeling, it’s like I’m frozen in time. I shift my weight on the tail again to redirect down the line. It’s not flawless, smooth, but my transitions are getting faster. 

     I finally make my way to Francis. He asks me about the Wave House in San Diego for his birthday. I’m surprised at this because I’m not supposed to be aware of such an event, so I remain silent. He laughs and says, “It’s not a surprise, Matt.” To be on the safe side, I still shut my mouth. It makes the conversation between us awkward. 

     I get a couple more lefts, but not as good as the one from earlier. However, there’s a little progression here. I’m not getting spray like my backhand, but I’m drawing a highline, tagging the lip with my tail for baby-tosses of water. It’s the same way my backhand progressed. Taking words from Wagner, I say to Francis, “You see that monster out there?” There’s a bump in the surface on the outside. After a wave passes us he sees it. He paddles for the peak while I paddle for the shoulder. He’s too deep, I’m thinking. I’m scratching, just about to drop when I hear, “Wooooooh!” I look down, and I swear I have a bird’s eye view of Francis. He looks tiny down below, and he’s looking up at me. I pull out. His wave didn’t open up, but it was a juicy one that he straightened out on. 

     There’s another monster on the next set. I set myself up on the shoulder and start paddling. I’m caught off guard by the waves speed and power, and I’m a little late for it. As I’m sliding down the face is getting too vertical, so I step off the rail. I see the lip coming down and turning hollow as I plunge beneath. I’m embarrassed when I resurface. I remember seeing bobbing bodies down the line of that wave, all looking, all watching me eat shit. I smile and laugh it off, shaking water out of my ears. A guy paddles up to me a minute later and says, “Was that you that took that drop a minute ago?”

     “Yeah, that was me.”

     “Man, you look like you could’ve just made it if you held on a little longer. I had a perfect view in the barrel.” 

     I feel like an idiot. Did I bail out too early? “Yeah, it just got really vertical on me.”

     “Well . . . way to charge though!” 

     It’s almost 1100, and Francis and I need to leave. On my last wave I do the same thing. This one’s not as big, but I pop up a little too late and wipeout again. I blame it on switching the boards, but maybe it’s just me, probably surfing lazy. 

     We part ways, and I haven’t surfed since. Either way, that solid carve that I got off that one wave is still sticking with me as I write this. I can’t wait for another one.

BACK IN THE SADDLE, SAT 18FEB2012 MOR

Crew: Klaude, Khang, & Dais

Time: ?

Conditions: High tide, offshore, mooshy, slow, and inconsistent.

     It’s been over a week since I surfed which is an obvious rarity for me. Something in my heart is telling me to drive down south to surf Huntington, but I think about my buddies. I haven’t seen the fellas in a while, and as much as I’d like to score some good surf, I’d like to capitalize on how this art brings people together. Klaude gives me a call and says he’s heading down, so I hurry up and change to go down and meet him. 

     I can’t really tell what the surf is doing when I show up, but I see some guys on the inside catch some waves. Klaude’s not here yet, so I go to the sand. I try to embrace this moment. There’s a lot going on in my life, and I look to the ocean for some solace. I missed the cool brown sand in the morning, the way the cold stings my feet. I see PV in the distance, a picturesque South Bay scene. And then . . . there’s the crowd. It’s packed, the bad kind of packed where the surf is so slow that everyone is sitting and waiting. Everyone: longboarders, shortboarders, and SUPs. I try to pick a spot at the main peak, but it’s too thick. Even further north by 33^rd has a lot of heads. I walk south, half way between 26^th and Marine, and still find myself with little breathing room. Somehow, a wave comes to me. I drop in and start to pump. The left is so mooshy that I struggle for speed. Off of the lip, I shift my weight on the tail to attempt a carving arc, but I stall and the wave passes. Back at the lineup, a couple more waves come my way, but I have to pull out because someone’s already on them. 

     I spot Klaude. He’s paddling out in front of the 26^th St. tower, but I don’t feel like shouting over the crowd. I luck out on another left. It walls up on the inside, but I’m able to get a small turn off the lip before I kick out. It feels good. Little by little, my frontside is getting better. 

     Klaude’s talking to the Rastafarian longboarder when I paddle up. They’re in intense conversation, so I don’t butt in. I sit around waiting for a wave but nothing comes. When they’re done, Klaude gives me a juicy hug in the water. Other surfers look at us like we got something homo going on, but in retrospect, I haven’t seen Klaude in so long that it’s worth the strange stares. I also spot Khang and Dais on the sand, stretching. Once we’re all in the water, we do a little catching up. I don’t want to be a downer, so I try not to bring in too much of my personal life. 

     We’re hoping that things will improve with the lowering tide, but it seems like things slow down a little bit more. For a minute, Klaude and Dais get separated from Khang and me, so it’s just us. A left comes our way. I’m in position for it, but Khang’s on my inside. I watch him drop in, and then he disappears as the wave moves past. From there, I see a decent sized bucket get tossed out the back. To be honest, I’m jealous but at the same time happy. When he paddles back I say, “Man, you got some pretty good spray on that one. I had to double check to make sure that was you!” 

     Like clockwork, a right approaches, and it has good shape. When I bottom-turn I look over my shoulder and see the face. It has that gray, gloomy, classic South Bay color that reflects the usual overcast. I project up the face and get a smooth carve off of the lip. I do it so late that I’m surprised to be going back down the face, but on the second hit I stall on the lip and fall. I don’t know what happened, but my guess is that I was too far up on my board. Khang nods his head in approval as I paddle back and says, “Not bad. I had to double check to make sure that was you.”

     “Yeah . . . but I fell on the second turn.”

     “I know. I saw that.” He says that it’s a good sign on our improvement, how we can trade off waves and at least get a good turn. In the last year I think we’ve all come a long way. 

     Dais paddles up, and his facial features are looking chiseled like a Greek God. “Guy, you looking handsome,” I say. “You’ve been working out?”

     “Nah, I’ve been sick. Something’s been wrong with my stomach.”

     Okay, so I was “off” on that one, but if diarrhea is the secret to a nice jaw line then there’s nothing wrong with being on the gravy train now and then. 

     There’s no “wave of the day” portion for this write-up. All four of us spend the rest of the session scratching out on moosh burgers. It’s a bit frustrating. We gamble on different places to sit. Dais is all the way on the inside not doing much better than us. Klaude says he’s paddling in, so I say bye to Khang and Dais and catch a wave after him. 

     Back at Klaude’s van, he hands me a CD with photos of me surfing that his dad took on New Years. When I check them out at home, there’s a legit missed barrel shot. I just suck at reading barrels. It’s my curse. 

     (Klaude, thank you and your dad for the pics. I enjoyed them. It’s very selfless of you two to take these pics out of sheer love for the ocean. Thank you thank you.)

     Even though today’s session wasn’t a score, it was nice to see everyone in the water. Right now it’s my therapy.

 

DEJA VU, FRI 10FEB2012 MOR

Ports Mc'Gorts

Crew: Fransauce & Khang

Time: 0830-1030

Conditions: High tide, offshore, 5 ft, walled with some shoulders, inconsistent.

     I’ve been lying around here all day feeling like shit. Here we go. . . .

     My relationship with my girlfriend is now in its final stages. Still, I wake up to Rick’s call. He’s at the Manhattan Beach Starbucks, telling me that he’s going to check out Hermosa with Gary. He says that the swell at Porto is still macking and that it’s walled. 

     By the time I load up the car, Rick gives me another call. He’s at Knob Hill. “It’s only chest high he says. Go and check out Porto.” I’m perched by the rocks on the bike path at 45^th. The lots only a quarter full, and there are only a few heads in the lineup. Everyone popping-up is forced to kick-out or go straight; it’s just a little too walled. The shoulders only form when the wave is already half way to shore. 

     At 26^th I’m looking at the surf with local old-timer and Vietnam Vet Mike. It’s about a foot smaller, still a little walled, but it looks more manageable. I call Rick and tell him I’m gonna paddle out here. Khang pulls up just as Francis calls. I also send a courtesy text to Shan to let him know where we’re surfing. 

     I’m on the DMS board. I’m trying to adjust to this smaller board; it’s time. I’ve had a lot of time riding the JS since my brother bought it for me last Christmas. It’s a beginner shortboard, 6’3, narrow as hell, but with a little meat on it. The DMS is a 6’1 and much thinner. 

     Don and his league of extraordinary rippers own the main peak, so Khang and I sit just to their north. One of them gets a little cover-up, going left, riding the highline. I have to kick out on my first couple rides. I’m still getting my board wired, as I fail to adjust going backside, accidentally going over and out the back from the speed. I do get a decent left. It’s a really long ride, but it’s all pumping, fading out, keeping momentum, and taking it to shore. On the inside, I watch Khang get two turns, ending his left with a little wrap-around cutback. I acknowledge his ride, but he dismisses it; he wants a better one. 

     Francis is easy to spot, but he sits just north of 33^rd. For the whole session, we never get in reach of Frans; we just wave our arms to him the whole time. I do see him on some waves, so I understand that he doesn’t want to move. 

Wave of the Day:

     Khang and I have been watching Don’s marauders score nice lefts all morning. There’s that guy with the orange and white wetsuit. He’s a little older, but he throws-out heavy buckets on every one of his turns. Khang says, “Dude, those four guys are the ones that rip the most . . . and Randy.”

     “Yeah, that’ll be us one day.” I say this jokingly because there’s no guarantee that we’ll ever fill those shoes.

     “For sure.”

    

     Even though we’re not in prime position, a wall forms in the distance. Khang’s a little too deep, but I can make it to the shoulder. A surfer on my outside is positioning for it, watching, and hoping I don’t get in. 

     One good thing about the DMS is its length. Those couple inches make a difference. I don’t pop-up too far in front, and I find my back foot right on the tail where it needs to be. 

     I make my way to the open face, and the wave begins to stand up. It almost looks like there’s potential for some cover-up, but I’m already carve-committed. There’s a bit of a breakthrough here. Usually my forehand top-turns are flat, resulting in lost momentum. For the first time, I rebound off the lip with speed and find myself being projected back down the face. I pull it off again a second and a third time. I don’t really count the fourth turn because it was at the end of the ride and not as good as the last three, but I’m beyond stoked. I know this is a special moment. I yell out to myself with only the oncoming whitewash as my audience. It’s the best wave I’ve had at 26^th in a long, long time.

     It felt like I only had that inside, rear, rail section in the face of the wave, like I was surfing with less of the board. Maybe that was the key? I didn’t put emphasis on pushing the tail through the lip to generate spray, but these were my fasted, frontside turns ever. 

     Khang gives me a thumbs-up in the distance. I return a smile, approvingly nodding my head with my eyebrows raised. “Dude, that was a good wave,” he says. “You got like four turns.” We both catch a couple more waves. He gets his wave of the day, but I miss it. Paddling back towards the outside, we see a 26^th St. phenomenon. A huge wave rolls through the main break; it’s peaky. When it hits the sandbar, it turns hollow, and the lip starts throwing out. In the ten o’clock sun, we see sunlight refracting off the building shoulder, the transparency of the sun through the lip, and the illumination inside the hollow tube. It’s one of the cleanest barrels I’ve seen in the South Bay. Khang says, “That is hands-down the best wave I’ve ever seen here.” I don’t know what happened to Don and his band of thieves, but this wave goes unridden.

     Khang says he’s going for one more, and Francis is still in the distance, most likely scoring. I get a decent carve on another wave. It’s walled, and I only get one turn on it, but it’s a wide, C-like arc. I have another first time experience, actually feeling the fins on this turn. It’s hard to describe, but at the bottom of the carve, it feels like the fins skip underwater, like there is some kind of drag or they get caught. Time to look into fin technology perhaps?

     Khang gets his wave. I struggle to get another good one, so I catch a closeout and do the funky chicken for the locals on the strand. I catch Khang at the showers. Frans is still in the water. “We’re definitely getting better,” says Khang.  

     Back at the house, the day takes another turn. Lauren and I have a serious talk, discussing any possibilities to save our relationship. In the end, I’m not happy, but she is determined to move-out. March twenty-first would have made three years. She was the first woman I ever shared a home with, and it’s been heart wrenching to see our relationship disintegrate before my eyes. This little, one-bedroom apartment was once a happy home. I can imagine how hard it will be when her stuff is gone. To think I complained about her piles of disorganized clothes when I’d do anything to keep that pile here in this house. We had a nice life here in El Segundo, and what now? It’s back to the old me, I guess. I used to live in a shit hole, a studio no larger than my living room. It will probably be that all over again. I’ll move to a bad neighborhood where the rent is nice and cheap. I’ll put most of my shit in storage, only taking the bare necessities. I’ll probably be sleeping on my couch which will double as my bed. I’ll spend more time sleeping in my car overnight at different surf spots to escape from myself. I’ll be plagued with those dreams, dreams of us being together again, only to wake-up lonely as ever within my tight confines, while her fragrance still remains on my pillows. I’ll visit friends, seek consolation, hear the usual, “You’ll be all right; all you need is time.” I’ll say, “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know,” but then I’ll come home to a lonely cell. . . . It’s gonna be a rough journey ahead. I hope surfing can save my life.