Shan and I planned to surf in the morning, but it rained pretty heavy the night before. We both agreed to give it until Wednesday to allow the water to clean up a bit. At about three in the afternoon, Rick and I planned to meet up at the El Porto lot to have a look at the water. I had to give him back his fish board and some other stuff that I'd been holding on to for him.
The surf looked messy, but from the lot it didn't look that big. It looked like four to five feet, really consistent, choppy, on shore, but there were still some rideable shoulders. "Let's paddle out, Matt!" said Rick.
"I don't know ... it rained pretty hard last night. Isn't the water probably nasty?"
"Don't worry, I've surfed with logs of shit floating by, and I've never gotten sick."
Fuckin' A. ... I haven't surfed with Rick in exactly eight days, and the last time I got my ass kicked. I took another look out. It didn't look that bad, I thought. I didn't even have my board, only Rick's 5'10' Zippy Fish. I figured that it's not every day that I get to surf with friends, so I suited up. We walked out in front of 45th. The tide was so low and drained, but the line up was still a far paddle away. Once my feet were wet and I was standing in the white water, that's when I knew that I was going to get my ass kicked. The sets were overheard, easy. The inside was brutal, and the white water was just non stop. I didn't have a good feeling at all, plus I was on a different board. If I was going to surf after taking a week off, and after getting my ass pulverized on my last session, I would prefer to surf cleaner conditions.
We both started off paddling together, then Rick was ahead of me, then he was wayyyy ahead of me, then he was gone. I ... I was stuck in the fucking inside section again. The walls of white wash were three to four feet, and I had the hardest time trying to punch through, especially on a board that felt like a cork. I retreated to the shallows and walked a little south to look for an easy channel. I wasn't alone, as there was another guy doing the same. As I walked out to brave the inside again, I saw Rick on this pretty sick left. He saw me. With both arms extended, he got a beautiful top turn and drew a wide arching line back into the pocket. He exhibited the happiness of a child out there. His ride ended about twenty feet in front of me.
"Did you see that?" he said.
"Yeah, that was nice!"
I tried to be stoked for him, but I was facing a damn battle of my own. I couldn't find no fucking easy channel. I was on, what seemed at the time, another hopeless paddle out. I got rocked by the white wash, pulled under, then I swallowed a huge gulp of El Porto's finest bacteria cocktail. There goes my health, I thought. I pictured brown fizzy water wreaking havoc to my immune system. Somehow, someway, a miracle happened, and there was a lull that let me through. It wasn't too crowded, but there were people out there. I was mad for being in the mix with others without my board. I felt that if I had my Merrick that I would be more comfortable, but I was on Rick's fish and felt like a barney to the tenth power; and I think everyone out there saw that.
Rick paddled up to me and said, "Woohoo! Matt, I've already gotten like six waves! I got this left that took me all the way to shore! You gotta catch them late, but the drops are kind of steep!" He was so stoked. ... I felt like shit because I was the complete polar opposite. I saw him mingling in the crowd, then he went out for more. Of course, he kept coming back to tell me how awesome the waves were. ... Fuck my ass.
I scratched out on a lot of waves, but the truth was that I passed on a lot of them, too. I felt awkward and a little scared. The waves were really unpredictable. They weren't punchy, but they had some size. Some of the sets randomly broke far on the outside, and I seemed to always be in the wrong spot, right in the impact zone. I paddled for a right, but by the time I popped up the section ran away. I drifted behind the line up, and I got caught on the inside again. The line up seemed so far away, as did the shore. I didn't have much time before the next set, but I seriously considered just paddling in and waiting on the sand. The sun had already set, and over an hour had passed without a wave for myself. I paddled back out.
When I got to the line up, I couldn't find Rick. I turned and saw him heading back to his truck. Fuckin' Rick. I was frustrated and pissed off. I cursed the crappy surf, then I cursed myself for not being able to hold my own. I saw an outside set coming. All I wanted was one fucking wave that I could claim for my own, so I could go back to my car without the feeling of utter defeat again. As the left came I felt that I was gonna be way too late for it. My instincts told me to paddle farther out to beat it. My heart pounded, my chinky eyes opened as wide as they could, and I puffed my cheeks as I exhaled hard. The peak of the wave was already peeling as I turned around, and I ended up being in the perfect spot right where the peak formed the shoulder. My main concern was sticking the drop because I was on an unfamiliar board. I popped up on what seemed to be a mountain of dark water; it was steep. The sun's orange haze was completely blocked out. I dropped in slow, then the momentum from the wave took over. I was going fast, the board began to skip from the speed, and all I could do was plant my feet the best that I could. I had no idea how big the wave was at first or how good it was. The wave was unrecognizable, it was literally like sliding down a rocky slope. The choppy water gave the texture big angular shapes. It was like the water was made out of a cut stone or gem; I was on a giant green emerald. There was no pumping or carving; I was a mere spectator on a device taking me on a tour of one of nature's wonders. It was almost like I was tow surfing, how the surf movies show the guy let go of the rope, and he's on that building section that seems to go on forever. The wave never closed, and I was on a long section at mid height. There was so much wave below me and so much above, I don't want to exaggerate on how big the wave was, but it had to be close to ten feet. I wanted to take it all the way to shore, but it finally walled up, and I stepped off the rail to end my ride.
I emerged from the white water reborn. I laughed. It was my turn. Now I was like a child. I had my warface on and let out a triumphant cry, still with no one to share it with. I ran up to Rick in the parking lot and told him about my last ride. He estimated the set waves to be two to three feet over head.
I was still humbled as I left, but my endorphins were still firing off from that last wave. I would have stay ... if that wave was a "bone" thrown by mother ocean for the beating that I've been taking ... it was worth it. Lesson learned, keep your board with you at all times.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Sunday, November 28, 2010
HERO TO ZERO, THE REALITY OF DEMORALIZATION: 11.28.2010 SUN
Everyone, yesterday morning, agreed to meet for a surf session today. I planned to be at Porto at first light, but I slept in until six in the morning. I checked my phone, and Shan text that he was awake. I suited up in my apartment and headed out. I could see that the surf was up as I approached Hammers. The swell looked messy; there were scattered peaks, the water seemed a little choppy, and the waves were about shoulder high. At 6:30 A.M. I scored free parking on 45th and sent out the mass text to everyone. Shan told me he was getting coffee and that he would be there soon. To my surprise, Christina had text me that she was already there in the lot. Only three marauders showed up. I met them in the parking lot as they sipped their hot coffee, still dressed. Someone called my name; it was Rick. That made four marauders. I wanted to check out the jetty, but Rick said he wanted to get the right handers in front of the tanks. I told him I’d meet him out there.
I did a light warm up on the sand. The sets were really consistent, and some of the sets seemed to last long. There was still no one in the water, except for a couple guys by Rosecrans. The El Porto lot was practically empty, with only a couple guys chit chatting by their cars, and some people watching by the rocks. The sun rose over the horizon, and the rain filled ocean reflected back a brownish tint. The ocean looked ominous again, like it did on Wednesday morning, but today seemed a little more brutal. The conditions were not clean, and just the chop with the size seemed a little daunting. Alone on the sand, I walked as far as I could on the inside to prep my paddle out. I was the lab mouse. If anyone was there watching, I would be the one to “test the waters” first. I only got worked a little bit before I chose to slide onto my board to paddle out. I was lucky that I only had to duck dive a couple waves in order to get to the line. Nervous energy filled my body. I, again, didn’t like the feeling of being out there alone. I passed on the first set that steam rolled through. I needed to catch my breath and get a feel for the waves and what they were doing. Another vicious right hand peak broke further north from where I was. I looked ahead, and bumps in the surface started to form. It was a little unpredictable again. The conditions made the waves seem bigger. Some of the head high waves didn’t seem to break until later, but watching them approach made me feel the necessity to get out of the way. I finally caught my breath and went for my first wave. I caught a right that jacked up at the last second. At least the waves weren’t punchy, but the drops were steep and a little technical. I slid down and couldn’t believe I was making the drop. I picked a simple line to keep me on the face before the wave closed out. There were a lot of close outs, but some waves opened up for a decent ride. I got a couple more before I got the shit scared out of me. As I popped up on another wave, my right foot got caught on my leash. As I got held down, the leash wrapped perfectly around my ankles; I was binded. I wanted to swim to the surface, but it was a scary feeling not being able to kick with my feet. I reached down to pull on my leash, but the force of the wave kept my leash outstretched. I thought to myself that I might be in a little situation. I felt for the bottom with my feet to see if I could push off. Thank goodness it was there. When I reached the surface I got some slack to free my legs. It was really sketch out there. As I duckdived a wave, I took a look at the ocean bottom. It wasn’t clear at all. So many disturbed and floating particles made the sun’s rays impenetrable. All I could see was my board, dark brown water, and endless blackness beyond. There was a dark murky world down there; it looked like death, and I didn’t want to be a part of it.
I paddled back to the line and tried feel comfortable. Shan, Christina, and Rick weren’t there yet; no one was out there. I saw Old Man Mark (Surfing Santa) and another guy watching me from the rocks. Right about then I caught my wave of the day. A left came through, and I was able to stay on the open face and keep ahead of the section. It, then, reformed towards the inside, and I changed direction going right. It wasn’t pretty, but I felt that I was at least trying to make the best of the situation despite my inexperience and nervousness in the lonely surf. I paddled back with ease. The ocean seemed calm for a moment. As I sat out there by myself I felt something special. No one else was there, barely anyone was out in the parking lot, and I had the break all to myself. I didn’t like being alone, but it felt like it took something special to be there: will, determination, dedication, courage, adversity, etc. I couldn’t help but toot my own horn. I would later find out that I tooted it too quick.
Rick was just to my south. He yelled, “You’re hands aren’t cold?”
“Not yet!” I replied. He had all of the gear: head warmer, booties, and gloves. We talked about the conditions as we scanned the horizon. More surfers were on the sand now, and they started popping up randomly in the line up. Dave Takanaka was out there, too. I didn’t even realize that there was a current dragging us south, and we were almost by 42nd already. I saw Shan and Christina in the line up. I was surprised that Christina was out there. When I was long boarding, I would’ve questioned my abilities to paddle out on a morning like this one, but there she was, the only chick out there. She said she was tired and she got worked on the inside. I told her bail out early on any waves she caught to avoid that. I got a couple more rides. The waves seemed to close out a little bit more. Shan and I paddled for this right together, I was on the inside, and I got the drop. It was like micro-Waimea style, with nothing but a big drop followed by an explosion of white water. I felt dominant in my power stance as I slid past a surfer duckdiving out of the way. My glory would end there.
I caught that wave farther than I intended, and this time I was the jerky on the inside getting worked. I let the waves crash over me without my board at first. When I began to paddle out again, it seemed that the waves never let up. I was duckdiving wave after wave, my face felt icy and cold from submerging so much. My duckdives got less and less ducky, then I was barely even able to penetrate the white wash. I finally made the decision to walk out and see if I could paddle out somewhere easier. I was way past the bathrooms; the current and rip pulled me so far from where I initially paddled out. I looked at the line up and could barely identify who was there because everything was so turbulent. I walked back south and paddled out there. I saw a guy catch a wave and wipe out right by me. I got worked all over again. It seemed that the white wash started in one area, and I was so close to getting past it. I was frustrated. I let out a loud “FUUUUUCK!” I turned to my left and saw that other surfer struggling right next to me. I finally got past the white water machine, my face numb, and my nostrils blowing like a frigid AC. I couldn’t even start celebrating because in front of me were the actual waves breaking that made all the white water. It was another “aww fuck.” Again, the waves just didn’t seem to let up. At first I thought it was just me that sucked ass, but the water just seemed so unrelenting and powerful; it was a combination of both. I saw Rick in front of me again, but I couldn’t reach him.
The bravado and manliness was no longer in me. I felt like I lost my balls. I staggered towards the shore frustrated, defeated, ashamed, unworthy, and beaten. I was back where I was the first time that I gave up. I turned and saw Christina getting out of the water. I stopped and waited, then I walked further on the shore, looking to see if I should try to paddle out again. It was past 8:00 A.M. The water definitely changed. Smaller, much more choppy, there was a stronger wind, and the inside was nothing but roaring white. Shan turned to me and said, “Rick is still out there.” Yes, yes he was still out there, and I didn’t even have a chance to say bye. I couldn’t hang with him, not with the big dogs today.
I drove my car into the lot and parked by my crew. We saw Klaude returning from the beach with his feet wet and sandy. “Where were you guys?” Klaude said.
We told him that we were done for the morning. Once we were all dressed it seemed that the ocean calmed down again. There was a welcoming channel by 45th that wasn’t challenging at all. The sets slowed down; the peaks looked amiable and fun. I felt like Mother Ocean was laughing at me, showing me who’s boss and who’s calling the shots, and that she was the real show while I was chancing on her mood every time I paddled out. I wanted to go back and redeem myself, but I was already dry, dressed, and my wetsuit lay cold and soaked in its tub.
Yup, hero to zero. I felt like a hero at first, but the ocean took all that away from me. I drove home ashamed of myself. I thought about what I could do to prevent that from happening again, or to get stronger to punch through to the line. I thought about some intense cardio training in addition to surfing. I felt like I didn’t deserve to call myself a surfer. I hated myself. I should be punished by having a match put out on my anus. Klaude stopped by after the session. He gave me a Power Balance Bracelet. It was a nice way to bring me back up a little after being demoralized. I’m going surfing again tomorrow, and I hope to redeem myself a little bit.
I did a light warm up on the sand. The sets were really consistent, and some of the sets seemed to last long. There was still no one in the water, except for a couple guys by Rosecrans. The El Porto lot was practically empty, with only a couple guys chit chatting by their cars, and some people watching by the rocks. The sun rose over the horizon, and the rain filled ocean reflected back a brownish tint. The ocean looked ominous again, like it did on Wednesday morning, but today seemed a little more brutal. The conditions were not clean, and just the chop with the size seemed a little daunting. Alone on the sand, I walked as far as I could on the inside to prep my paddle out. I was the lab mouse. If anyone was there watching, I would be the one to “test the waters” first. I only got worked a little bit before I chose to slide onto my board to paddle out. I was lucky that I only had to duck dive a couple waves in order to get to the line. Nervous energy filled my body. I, again, didn’t like the feeling of being out there alone. I passed on the first set that steam rolled through. I needed to catch my breath and get a feel for the waves and what they were doing. Another vicious right hand peak broke further north from where I was. I looked ahead, and bumps in the surface started to form. It was a little unpredictable again. The conditions made the waves seem bigger. Some of the head high waves didn’t seem to break until later, but watching them approach made me feel the necessity to get out of the way. I finally caught my breath and went for my first wave. I caught a right that jacked up at the last second. At least the waves weren’t punchy, but the drops were steep and a little technical. I slid down and couldn’t believe I was making the drop. I picked a simple line to keep me on the face before the wave closed out. There were a lot of close outs, but some waves opened up for a decent ride. I got a couple more before I got the shit scared out of me. As I popped up on another wave, my right foot got caught on my leash. As I got held down, the leash wrapped perfectly around my ankles; I was binded. I wanted to swim to the surface, but it was a scary feeling not being able to kick with my feet. I reached down to pull on my leash, but the force of the wave kept my leash outstretched. I thought to myself that I might be in a little situation. I felt for the bottom with my feet to see if I could push off. Thank goodness it was there. When I reached the surface I got some slack to free my legs. It was really sketch out there. As I duckdived a wave, I took a look at the ocean bottom. It wasn’t clear at all. So many disturbed and floating particles made the sun’s rays impenetrable. All I could see was my board, dark brown water, and endless blackness beyond. There was a dark murky world down there; it looked like death, and I didn’t want to be a part of it.
I paddled back to the line and tried feel comfortable. Shan, Christina, and Rick weren’t there yet; no one was out there. I saw Old Man Mark (Surfing Santa) and another guy watching me from the rocks. Right about then I caught my wave of the day. A left came through, and I was able to stay on the open face and keep ahead of the section. It, then, reformed towards the inside, and I changed direction going right. It wasn’t pretty, but I felt that I was at least trying to make the best of the situation despite my inexperience and nervousness in the lonely surf. I paddled back with ease. The ocean seemed calm for a moment. As I sat out there by myself I felt something special. No one else was there, barely anyone was out in the parking lot, and I had the break all to myself. I didn’t like being alone, but it felt like it took something special to be there: will, determination, dedication, courage, adversity, etc. I couldn’t help but toot my own horn. I would later find out that I tooted it too quick.
Rick was just to my south. He yelled, “You’re hands aren’t cold?”
“Not yet!” I replied. He had all of the gear: head warmer, booties, and gloves. We talked about the conditions as we scanned the horizon. More surfers were on the sand now, and they started popping up randomly in the line up. Dave Takanaka was out there, too. I didn’t even realize that there was a current dragging us south, and we were almost by 42nd already. I saw Shan and Christina in the line up. I was surprised that Christina was out there. When I was long boarding, I would’ve questioned my abilities to paddle out on a morning like this one, but there she was, the only chick out there. She said she was tired and she got worked on the inside. I told her bail out early on any waves she caught to avoid that. I got a couple more rides. The waves seemed to close out a little bit more. Shan and I paddled for this right together, I was on the inside, and I got the drop. It was like micro-Waimea style, with nothing but a big drop followed by an explosion of white water. I felt dominant in my power stance as I slid past a surfer duckdiving out of the way. My glory would end there.
I caught that wave farther than I intended, and this time I was the jerky on the inside getting worked. I let the waves crash over me without my board at first. When I began to paddle out again, it seemed that the waves never let up. I was duckdiving wave after wave, my face felt icy and cold from submerging so much. My duckdives got less and less ducky, then I was barely even able to penetrate the white wash. I finally made the decision to walk out and see if I could paddle out somewhere easier. I was way past the bathrooms; the current and rip pulled me so far from where I initially paddled out. I looked at the line up and could barely identify who was there because everything was so turbulent. I walked back south and paddled out there. I saw a guy catch a wave and wipe out right by me. I got worked all over again. It seemed that the white wash started in one area, and I was so close to getting past it. I was frustrated. I let out a loud “FUUUUUCK!” I turned to my left and saw that other surfer struggling right next to me. I finally got past the white water machine, my face numb, and my nostrils blowing like a frigid AC. I couldn’t even start celebrating because in front of me were the actual waves breaking that made all the white water. It was another “aww fuck.” Again, the waves just didn’t seem to let up. At first I thought it was just me that sucked ass, but the water just seemed so unrelenting and powerful; it was a combination of both. I saw Rick in front of me again, but I couldn’t reach him.
The bravado and manliness was no longer in me. I felt like I lost my balls. I staggered towards the shore frustrated, defeated, ashamed, unworthy, and beaten. I was back where I was the first time that I gave up. I turned and saw Christina getting out of the water. I stopped and waited, then I walked further on the shore, looking to see if I should try to paddle out again. It was past 8:00 A.M. The water definitely changed. Smaller, much more choppy, there was a stronger wind, and the inside was nothing but roaring white. Shan turned to me and said, “Rick is still out there.” Yes, yes he was still out there, and I didn’t even have a chance to say bye. I couldn’t hang with him, not with the big dogs today.
I drove my car into the lot and parked by my crew. We saw Klaude returning from the beach with his feet wet and sandy. “Where were you guys?” Klaude said.
We told him that we were done for the morning. Once we were all dressed it seemed that the ocean calmed down again. There was a welcoming channel by 45th that wasn’t challenging at all. The sets slowed down; the peaks looked amiable and fun. I felt like Mother Ocean was laughing at me, showing me who’s boss and who’s calling the shots, and that she was the real show while I was chancing on her mood every time I paddled out. I wanted to go back and redeem myself, but I was already dry, dressed, and my wetsuit lay cold and soaked in its tub.
Yup, hero to zero. I felt like a hero at first, but the ocean took all that away from me. I drove home ashamed of myself. I thought about what I could do to prevent that from happening again, or to get stronger to punch through to the line. I thought about some intense cardio training in addition to surfing. I felt like I didn’t deserve to call myself a surfer. I hated myself. I should be punished by having a match put out on my anus. Klaude stopped by after the session. He gave me a Power Balance Bracelet. It was a nice way to bring me back up a little after being demoralized. I’m going surfing again tomorrow, and I hope to redeem myself a little bit.
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