LIKE OLD TIMES: FRI 3.04.2011 MOR

CREW: Solo
FLAKES OF THE DAY: None
RAN INTO: Ray
TIME: 0715 - 0845, 1 hr. & 30 min.
CONDITIONS: Still overcast with a hint of light, chest to shoulder high, a little burgery, consistent with good surf only at main peaks, but still enough to go around.

    I got to Porto a little late, but I got a free parking spot on the hill at 45th. From that vantage point, I couldn’t really tell what the waves were doing, but I did see a lot of waves reforming on the inside and longboarders paddling about. High tide was a little close to 0830, so it was already getting a little “burgery” out there.

    I saw Ray in the lineup in front of 45th, battling it out with all the other heads out there. I made way to the tanks. I saw some clean lefts roll through 45th. It seemed that at least three surfers would try to go for the same wave each time. The longboarders were dominating, dropping in way early, ahead of anyone without enough board. There was an old guy on a longboard that I was sharing the peak with. I watched him paddle into waves that I had no chance of getting into, and he was going all the way to shore.

    I had to catch the waves late, but it was a brutal morning. I had at least three funky wipeouts which you wouldn’t expect on a mooshy day. For the life of me, I can’t remember any good waves that I got. I know I got one decent left, but I got a bunch of close outs, too. Ray paddled by and commented on the weird waves. I told him that it looked better than yesterday.

    This was one of those sessions where it seemed that everyone, except I, was getting fun waves. All I know is that when I got out of the water the parking lot was packed, and there were scattered peaks all over the place. It looked like old times, like the good old days when Porto seemed to always have some fun waves. It looked fun, just wasn’t my day.

A LOVE, HATE RELATIONSHIP: THU 3.03.2011 MOR

CREW: Solo
FLAKES OF THE DAY: J
RAN INTO: No one
TIME: 0700 - 0900, 2 hrs.
CONDITIONS: A little icy, slight off shore wind, cloudy with a few peaks from the sun, shoulder to chest high.

    Since I would be working this weekend, I had to take any opportunity to paddle out. J asked me to surf at Porto in the morning with him. I intended to go to HB or even Trestles, but surfline gave Porto a “green” rating, so I thought I’d chance it by staying local.

    I text J as I warmed up my car at 0615. He never responded, so I headed to Porto to take a look. It was extremely overcast, but there were actually waves. The tide was mid-high to high, and shitters had the best peaks. I watched 45th and the tanks for a while, but the peaks looked a little “lined,“ so I considered heading to Parks since there was still no sign of J.

    I got parking at the top of the hill. Porto, yes, it’s usually better than Parks, but fuck paying for metered parking. For me, surfing around 26th St. is a way of sticking the middle finger to the City of Manhattan Beach and their damn price hikes at the meters.

    I made my way down to the gray overcast that hovered over the whole South Bay. The usual suspects took hold of the main break, but there were scattered peaks that placed everyone at good intervals. I decided to paddle out closer to 30th St.

    The water seemed just as cold as the water during my last session in Del Mar. The ominous gloom enveloped me like a crystal ball; it didn’t feel welcoming. I felt as if I was a runaway that left a broken home--living on the streets, indulging in depraved vices--only to return to an angry, drunk, and abusive parent. That parent was the South Bay. Thoughts of the past beatings I’ve received by her hand flashed through my mind each time my fingers entered her icy surface.

    I paddled way past the line up to feel her energy. It’s something I usually do when I get to the line; I never go straight for a wave; I like to see what’s breaking where and take account of my surroundings.

    This entry is a late one, so my memory is a bit fuzzy on the rides that I got, but I believe my first one was a left. The waves seemed to close out pretty fast, and the good waves seemed to appear out of luck. My timing was good when I paddled into it, and I was surprised to have an open face. I hit the lip and attempted to do a top turn, but my rail wasn’t set into the wave, so my turn was flat. Despite the slashing movement of my upper torso and arms, there was only a hint of spray on the lip. After that ride I reached an epiphany on how important it is to dig the rail into the wave. That’s another reason why I’ve had problems with my front side hacks: I’ve been top turning with just the bottom surface of my board, that’s why I usually stall on the lip and bog out. The rail … the rail needs to be in the wave first. If you generate a powerful turn by pushing on the tail while the rail is set, then you’ll gouge the face open which will result in some kind of spray. Well, of course it’s easier said than done. I think my backside developed first because I got comfortable trimming all the way up and down on that side first.

    I lost a perfect right. It was from a bigger chest to shoulder high set, but as I bottomed turn to go up the face I couldn’t manipulate the rail, so my board (with the speed of the wave) drove me up and out the back. Some other guys around me saw that I wasted a perfect, open shoulder. Embarrassing.

    I did get one good right. It was another open shoulder, and this time I felt how smooth and flowing a backhand ride could be with use of the back half of the rail. Things as simple as shifting your back foot into the right places, tilting the board with your front foot, bending your knees, springing up as you bottom turn, and pushing the tail into the lip, can turn a wave ride into something more, more than just a ride but something more expressive, something like art.

    My wave count wasn’t high, but I was happy with the couple of gems that I discovered through the sifting of the South Bay norm. I’ve been cheating on my home break, driving long distances for a better wave. For that session she didn’t seek retribution or punishment. Instead, I got more of the silent treatment or “cold shoulder.” The truth was that it was one of the better sessions that I had while surfing local for a while. It’s not fair to compare her to the soft, perfect, and open faces down south. But she’s always there waiting on me when I return, and she’s ready to give me all that she can offer.

THE DEL MAR SHUFFLE: SUN 2.27.2011 MOR

CREW: Klaude, Christina, Rick, and Dave T.
FLAKES OF THE DAY: None
RAN INTO: No one
TIME: 0815 - 1115, 3 hrs.
CONDITIONS: Balls nipping cold, milk chocolate water, unpredictable, somewhat disorganized, random clean peaks anywhere from chest to head high, and strong offshore winds that weakened towards noon.


    I hadn’t surfed in over a week, eight days to be exact. There was the rain last weekend that put a damper on things, and it rained again this weekend. I struggled with my identity again. How was I to call myself a surfer when I wasn’t surfing? It’s like being a NASCAR driver without a car. I was losing myself; I have been losing myself. Unfortunately, the reality of school has dominated my life, coupled with the weather, I haven’t been in the water at all. J and I made an attempt on Friday, but it was blown out, small, and crumbly. I needed Sunday. The drive down south was not an option. It was supposed to culminate a whole week of dreaming of surf, watching surf porn, monitoring the opening of the ASP 2011 World Tour, and reading all my surf mags with the pondering of my own progression in mind.

    I assembled a ghastly crew: Klaude AKA The Japanese Wishbone and Christina AKA The Rail Grabbing Wrangler. Together, we would represent the DRC. Together, we would voyage on a quest for waves. Outside of our local element, we went on an expedition for waves with shape, open faces, and rides that would give us a story to tell, if not for anyone else, then for us in our own memories.

    0455, I ate some yogurt, took a vitamin, drank some OJ, and made a cup of coffee for the road. I packed some snacks. I learned from my staycation that there’s no need to take the whole damn kitchen with me. I took only what I needed, and I planned on devouring everything I packed.

    At 0545 Klaude and Chris showed up in the bang bus. I was a little skeptical about that day’s journey. I only took a carload of three because I wasn’t too comfortable about using the roof racks. We put Chris’s board on top with some Da Kine surfboard straps that my brother gave me. Klaude brought two of his fishes, and I only brought my 6’1 DMS to ensure everyone had enough room. The sun was already turning the eastern horizon to a light blue as we left. I remember how Shan and I left a little late when we went to Del Mar, and we were kind of leaving around the same time. I stressed the importance of leaving while the sky is dark during a surf trip. There is just something about seeing the night turn to dawn that invokes the feeling of purpose, traveling somewhere for something special, and increasing the anticipation and hopes for the day’s adventure. Even better, to share that experience with close friends is like putting a notch in the timeline, a notch where we can say, “Remember? We went here, there, we did that … that one fine day, all of us.” Even more significant than the surf, is the company you share that surf with.

    We were surprised to get the phone call from Rick. He and Dave were about fifteen minutes ahead of us on the 405 South. We watched the sun rise and marked its arrival. Some say that “the drive is half the fun,” and our surf bantering lived up to that. I felt the experience get a little foreshadowed when Rick called and told us the surf looked disorganized, and the water was really brown. I didn’t tell everyone else what I was feeling, but Rick said that he and Dave were gonna check out another spot, and when Rick is not happy with Del Mar then there must be something seriously wrong with the surf. A moment of silence followed. I had hoped to score. The dream of perfect rideable waves that I had all week began to wane.

    I gave my companions a verbal tour as I drove them through unfamiliar territory. Forty degrees, that’s what the thermometer read. We compared our “cold surf session” stories. I knew that my mine was on Christmas day with J, but a session at forty degrees would be close. The water was undeniably brown; our eyes fixed on it as we drove up. We walked out to have a look, and the sight was enough to be optimistic about. Sure, the water was brown, the offshore wind chill had us shaking in our sweaters, and the desolate beach break would make any surfer question at paddling out. However, in between the disorganization, there were some random clean peaks sprouting up in a couple different areas. It definitely wasn’t perfect, but it had to be better than El Porto and what the South Bay was doing. It was 0745, and we went back to the car to stall until 0810 when we were on the sand warming up. The beauty of it all, there were no meters, no crowd, no time constraint, and no need to rush; there was just us.

    Christina commented on the consistency. She was right. It was consistent, but I thought it was clean enough that she’d be able to make the paddle out. I watched Klaude bend over, doggy style, doing his yoga stretches. I took my first ritualistic wetsuit piss of the morning, then … we were off!

    I tried to time my paddle out between the sets. I initially walked up to knee deep water while Klaude and Chris walked past. I saw a set coming, so I backed up and waited a little while longer. When I finally paddled out I was surprised that the water didn’t feel as cold as the air; it was actually bearable. The water was really dark, though. Once my board or my hands got under the surface I couldn’t see them any more. It was not the day for an accidental Del Mar Martini.

    All three of us got to the line up, paddled, and waited. My shoulder muscles felt as if they were on fire; those paddling muscles haven’t been used in a while. Wave after wave came, but we were out of position, or the high tide just made them too fat to paddle into. It was a frustrating start. “I need to catch the first wave,” said Klaude.

“I was thinking the same thing,” I replied.

    We paddled around trying to pick different spots where we saw signs of a peak. I got the first wave, but it was just for the sake of catching something because there wasn’t any shape to it; I went straight. We went from being a team to switching to our own agendas. I was hungry for a real wave, Klaude was at fever-pitch for his first, and Chris was scratching out, too. Klaude had commented that Chris almost got one; I assumed she popped up too early. Chris got separated from us, and I saw her on the inside battling her way back to the line; it didn’t look good. Klaude and I focused on the horizon looking for any bump, and out of nowhere I got one of my potential waves of the day. In the past I’ve said something along the lines of, “Good waves punch differently,” or basically that after riding shitty ass waves, good waves can really kick your ass. Since the shape is good, they seem more dynamic and faster. For us “dump riders,” good waves aren’t a condition we are used to. The wave, it was a right, and I surprisingly had good timing on my pop up. I saw the section begin to feather out in front of me. I bottom turned half way up the face and tried to hack the lip to generate some spray. It wasn’t that strong of a hack, but I wanted to push out some water for Klaude to see. I did a couple pumps, set up for a deeper bottom turn, and got a clean hack off of the lip. As I looked towards the inside I saw Christina cheering me on. I put a hand up and let out a “woohoo!” as my ride ended. I asked Chris if she was okay, but I couldn’t hear anything over the white water. I paddled back to Klaude to celebrate my ride.

    I should say that I “tried” to paddle back to Klaude. This is the part of the story where I got my ass kicked. I don’t know what happened or how the water changed, but it took me forever to get back to the line. I have tons of experience with the “ground hog day effect” but not when the waves are good. Dumpy waves kicking your ass are not the same as head high, clean shoulders kicking your ass. Against my brother’s advice, I even ditched my board a couple times. I kept seeing Klaude sitting in the line up. His body never changed scale. He was so tiny in the distance. I felt like I had a mile to go through the impact zone before I finally got to him. When I reached the line I saw that he was way on the outside.

    Klaude said he didn’t see my wave, I wanted another, but it was a frustrating wait after that. We drifted south and saw that Chris had got out of the water, but we saw Rick and Dave warming up on the sand. My memory is a little sketch after that because I don’t remember any significant rides. I did see Klaude catch one. I thought it was a good ride, but he later told me that it wasn’t much. There were really good waves out there. We either weren’t in the right position, or … honestly … we weren’t skilled enough to catch them. I remember trying to paddle into a perfect left, right on the critical part of the peak where the lip was curling. I didn’t commit and tried to pop up too early; I missed it.

    Klaude paddled in for a break, and I was out there with Rick and Dave. Of course, Rick was tearing it up which only confirmed that my complaints were surfer related and had nothing to do with the conditions. Once again, experience prevailed. Dave, too, he was getting some nice ones. I suppose if I had a fatter board, it would’ve been easier, but … I’m sticking to my plan to get comfortable on a shortboard.

    It wasn’t until Klaude paddled back out that I finally got a wave worth remembering. I saw him on the inside for a while. He’s still recovering from his shoulder injury, so he’s going through the motions of getting back to his pre-injury surf shape. I’m not sure if this wave was better than the one Chris saw, but for me it was significant. I paddled into a left. The section was long, but holding, and it had a little shoulder at the end. I didn’t do any front side turns, but I trimmed down the line. It was about head high, and I saw that my wave was connecting with a right handed shoulder coming right for me. My instinct was to kick out, but I decided to try and rebound off of the incoming wave into the opposite direction. It wasn’t pretty, but I saw the crumbling foam as I climbed the face of the wave in front of me, then I turned 180 and started going right. I looked at Klaude and gave him a gesture with both of my arms apart as I stepped off the rail. Well, Klaude said he didn’t see that one either. Oh well. It’s always nice to have someone validate a stoked moment, but it’s hard to see everything that happens in the water.

    I got a couple more rides that were insignificant. Dave and Rick continued to rip while Klaude and I had front row seats to open shoulders without us on them. Dave and Rick left while Klaude and I floundered around trying to end the session right. It was 1115, and I caught a close out to shore. That was the right call, almost all my muscles were beginning to cramp up: forearms, triceps, hip flexors, etc. Klaude paddled in shortly after, and we took a hot man shower together in the bathroom.

    We were faced with the decision for sushi or to eat our snacks on the beach. We opted to check out San Onofre and eat over there. Rick and Dave followed suit with a six pack. The waves there looked softer, cleaner, and easer, and we discussed the possibility of doing our next trip there. I can’t say that the trip met all of our expectations, but I got a couple good rides ingrained in my mind, and those are worth a lot. There will be more trips to come. I expect Klaude’s conditioning to improve over time, and Chris’s consistency to speed her progression. Me, I’m just waiting for a free day in my schedule to get back out there. A line from Riding Giants: “Once you get bitten by the surf bug, you can never go back.”