A RETURN TO SANTA MONICA, FRI 23MAY2014

Loc: Santa Monica

Time: 0700-0800

Crew: Rick and Manny

Conditions: onshore, inconsistent, 1-3 FT

     When I had first started learning how to surf on a funboard, my training ground was at Bay Street in Santa Monica. At the time, it was the perfect wave. Not big and consistent like Porto, it was a spot where I could actually make it out. Somewhere along the journey of progression, Bay Street began to look small to me. Many dawn patrols there resulted in driving back to the El Porto lot, turning my quarters, that had the intention of serving Santa Monica, into traitors.

     So now Rick has us meeting his brother Manny at Santa Monica, in hopes that the surf here is picking up a little bit of the south-swell angle.

     I always have a little anxiety in surfing new or unfamiliar spots. Porto has its locals, and this place does too. Different cars, different faces. We receive some glares as we pull up in Rick’s van, but as soon as he steps out, one of the guys already there starts talking to him. Another guy, on foot on a dawn patrol, also stops to talk to Rick—old high school buddies. And then I realize just how much Rick truly is a Venice veteran. All over the South Bay, he knows everyone.

     We spot Manny in the crowded lineup. It’s not too crowded, but for the few peaks breaking it is. The light onshore wind puts a sheet of texture on the water. The peaks are long with mooshy shoulders slowly rolling to the shore in spilling whitewash. But some of the surfers shred the little shoulders. Rick leaves to Costa Rica tonight, so small or not, we’re paddling out.

     Once we do, the crowd leaves. Manny says that it was better earlier. The lowering tide isn’t helping. All my rides are closeouts. My Motorboat Too is no match for the mulchy surf. We’re done in an hour.

     Rick suggests some Mexican food for breakfast, so we all meet up at Gilbert’s El Indio on Pico Boulevard. It’s my first time here. I’d equate this place with the Mexican version of an American diner. There are pictures of customers pinned up on the wall. The booths are made of woodgrain. Best of all, the breakfast meals are seven bucks, and that’s with coffee or tea.

     “It’s cash only,” says Manny.

     I sweat, thinking about how I only have my credit card on me.

     “Don’t worry, Matt,” says Manny. “You’re not paying for anything. You just graduated.”

     “Yeah,” says Rick.

     And then they order a round of Bohemia beers . . . at 0830 in the morning. I can’t remember the last time I drank this early. 

BAY STREET, AN OLD FRIEND: FRI 10/28/2010

    I was on a mission all morning and part of the early afternoon to find a damn Halloween costume.  I ended up buying the Cobra Kai uniform (gi) from The Karate Kid.  I drove all over town for that.  It was 2:30 P.M. when I visited Lauren at work.  I had two options.  I could’ve headed back to El Segundo, worked out, surf for an hour, then came back to Santa Monica.  My other option was to just take a look at Bay street, and stay in Santa Monica until Lauren was off. 

    It’s been over a year since I surfed Bay St.  In fact, it was just a couple months short of two years.  I last surfed there for Jon’s farewell surf session in Dec. 2008. …  That’s a long fuckin’ time!  I parked right there on the hill by the meters.  I walked down to the lifeguard tower and peeped the scene.  It was sunny, a little choppy, there was some light wind, and the waves were similar to that morning, except it wasn’t as clean.  It was really consistent, though, and only a small group of long boarders were out.  I must’ve been suffering from surf fever because I saw one three foot left come through, right in front of me, with nobody on it.  Once I saw that, I turned my ass around and went to go change. 

    The endorphins fired off on full auto once my feet touched the water.  I forgot how beautiful Santa Monica is.  There is so much more to see than Porto:  hotels, people, the pier, and the mountains.  Also, my dumb ass got a little cocky when I saw all the long boarders, and I wanted to get in the water and show them how the west was won.  When I got in, a lot of them left, and there was one older guy and three kids that remained.  I caught some rides right away.  The lines were long and a little crumbly, and the shape wasn’t quite there to allow a long ride.  It was three o’clock, and I put two and a half hours on the meters.  On another note, God bless the meters over there.  At least it’s still twenty-five cents for fifteen minutes. 

    After the first forty five minutes I realized that I kind of bamboozled myself.  It wasn’t as good as it looked from the shore, but I tried to make the best of it.  Strangely, there were a lot of dolphins in the water.  I know that dolphins are a norm, but for some reason they are more brave at Santa Monica.  There were a school of about eight dolphins playing in the distance.  Soon enough, they were all around me.  I mean, literally, just a few feet away.  They were playing with the waves in my spot, swimming behind me, surfacing right next to me, and everything.  At first it was cool, then I got a little nervous, then my bitch ass curled my toes inward thinking that one of those bastards might nibble a toe off.  Of course, that whole thought was ridiculous.  Everyone from the shore, and even the other surfers in the water were tripping out.  Maybe I’m the Snow White of the ocean? 

    Just as I began to drift into a depression, I saw Shan paddling towards me.  My eyes lit up to see this handsome gentleman on his fiberglass stallion, approaching to embrace me in the water. …  Okay, that was a little homo.  Once we were out there together, the session naturally became better.  We were both racking up high wave counts, despite the lack of real shape.  Every once in a while a wave would open up.  Get this, my wave of the day wasn’t even three feet high.  It was a little left.  I paddled my ass off, got the slide, then I pumped my board hard and fast to go all the way down the line to shore.  It was fun.  Shan even saw it. 

    We left at about the same time.  The showers near the beach are being renovated, so you have to walk more north on the walk path to the far showers. 

    It was Shan’s first time there, surprisingly.  He said he would check it out more often, but I warned him … when it’s alright at Bay St., it’s usually better at Porto.  Either way, it was great surfing at an old familiar break.  There will always be a special place in my heart for Bay St.  It was the place that Jon, Cheryl, and I would go with our goofy long boards because we were too cowardly to surf at Porto.  We have history there.  DRC started there.