CREW: Klaude, Dais, Francis, Cheryl, Christina, and Khang
FLAKES OF THE DAY: None
RAN INTO: Gary
TIME: 0700 - 00945, 2 hrs. & 45 min.
CONDITIONS: Light offshore, clean and pristine conditions, sunny, clear, blue skies, mid to high tide, lack of swell, burgery.
Klaude and I agreed to stay local due to our studies. I woke up a little later than planned, but still managed to score a free parking spot close to Rosecrans. Apparently, Dais, Klaude, and Khang were searching for parking too. I changed in the middle of the residential homes in the quiet morning hours when two surfers started yelling across the street in conversation. I cringed at this, and I felt bad for the people still sleeping in their homes all around us.
Time check 0650, I walked around the corner from my car and see my friends pouring out of Klaude’s van. What a coincidence, I thought. I got introduced to Khang for the first time. He just moved back to L.A. after some soul searching that he did in Texas. He had his green fish ready to make up for lost time.
When we got to the sand we didn’t even make it to 26th. Just north of it, there were a couple clean peaks that were working. We watched a couple clean shoulders roll by, and Khang let out a couple hoots of enthusiasm. There was no need to walk further.
I commented on how the conditions cleaned up compared to my previous sesh. The surf was not big that morning or even “good,” but the atmosphere was the epitome of a South Bay morning; it was summer.
As I paddled out I saw this guy on a Bonzer pumping down the line, going left. I turned to see who it was, and it was Gary. We exchanged greetings. He had already been there for an hour and said that the rising tide was killing it. I told the rest of the boys he was with us, but Khang was a little too far away for the introduction.
I got a couple waves, but they bogged out right after the drop in; they were barely three feet California scale. I think Dais got a wave, and we all cheered him on.
Gary turned to me and said, “Now that’s what I love to see, people that come out here to surf that are truly stoked for their friends to catch a wave.”
He then caught his last wave in, and it was just us slackers with the anonymous crowd. It got even more frustrating as the morning pressed on. Khang was in the thick of the crowd to our north, and Klaude and Dais waited for the inside waves. I thought about the rest of the crew that might be at 26th, so I paddled with the current until I noticed Christina in the water. She didn’t see me. I threw up my hand to get her attention, and that’s when I noticed Francis right in front of me. Soon we were all together, but I can’t say that we were trading off on waves. Cheryl showed up close to 0900 and joined us too.
The main peak had a lot of heads on it, and people were scattered all throughout the beach break. At the two hour and forty-five minute mark, I couldn’t take the cold any more, especially since the waves weren’t rolling in. Klaude and Francis opted for some body surfing while I rested by Christina. The beach was just starting to get packed, even the lifeguard juniors were out there training.
When Klaude was done body surfing, he had what looked like strawberry syrup dripping from the bottom of his nose and face. He said he hit the sand bottom on accident. He took it like a man, but I thought the blood was a little brutal. Everyone else paddled out again, but I had other obligations to tend to. The session wasn’t about good waves, it
Friday, May 6, 2011
I HAVE TO BE GRATEFUL: THU 4.28.2011 MOR
I HAVE TO BE GRATEFUL: THU 4.28.2011 MOR
CREW: Solo
FLAKES OF THE DAY: None
RAN INTO: No one
TIME: 0700 - 0800, 1 hr.
CONDITIONS: Early morning onshore wind with choppy and disorganized swell.
Something came over me, and I had to try to do a morning sesh to start the day. I filled up my water jugs and walked outside my apartment. I noticed that the leaves on the trees were already rustling about. I knew that meant bad news. Sure as hell, the American flag was blowing like a battle streamer at the lookout point. However, when I pulled into the Porto lot, things still looked doable. Despite the choppy conditions, I saw some crumbling three foot, right hand shoulders in front of the tanks. The lot wasn’t crowded yet, but I thought that Parks would be the call. I scored a free parking spot and walked out to take a look. The swell produced some surf, but the water was just too disorganized. There were some guys at the 26th St. peak, and they were cranking out a couple turns on the sloppy, chest high waves. They looked a little racy, but I was sold.
I made it to the water at about 0700. My paddle strength diminished since the last time I paddled out and from the lack of time I’ve had in the water. After duckdiving at least four waves, I finally made it to the line. It wasn’t a crowded morning. I could see people watching from the shore, wondering if it was worth it or not. There were more people debating on what to do than people in the water.
My first wave, a right, came pretty fast. But that was the problem, it was too fast. The sloppy right had me fighting for balance the whole time, and it closed out as soon as I got composure. My second wave was the same, another right. After that I got a couple close outs. It was an unpredictable and uneasy morning; there was no way in telling what the ocean was gonna do next. It wasn’t big, maybe chest high on the bigger sets, but some random rogue waves would break outside the line up. It was like there was no sweet spot: either you were too far out or too much in the inside.
I was just about ready to call it a morning, but I saw that I hadn’t even been out an hour yet, so I at least waited until 0800. My last wave looked like a close out, but it was a left that I took all the way to the inside.
I was pretty upset at the conditions. I saw Bruce with his binos and the rest of his crew hanging out at the meters. I changed, grabbed my camera, and caught a second look. For some reason, the wind switched from onshore to off, and the conditions started to clean up a little bit. Either way, I was done for the morning. Some guys were walking to the water, and they asked Bruce if he was going out.
Bruce replied, “I haven’t seen one good wave out there yet!”
I suppose he was right, but I do recall one significant thing. I recall the way that the sun lit up the sand at that very morning hour. The hues of dark blue, light blue, and carbonated white wash, combined with the cool morning air reminded me of something. Last year, during this exact time, I came home for my two weeks of leave from Iraq. The conditions were shitty then too, but I didn’t care. I precisely remember. I was just so glad to be home in the South Bay. The salt water air was no different one year ago. I leaned on the 26th St. railing, looked out at the ocean before me, and I thanked God that I was home.
CREW: Solo
FLAKES OF THE DAY: None
RAN INTO: No one
TIME: 0700 - 0800, 1 hr.
CONDITIONS: Early morning onshore wind with choppy and disorganized swell.
Something came over me, and I had to try to do a morning sesh to start the day. I filled up my water jugs and walked outside my apartment. I noticed that the leaves on the trees were already rustling about. I knew that meant bad news. Sure as hell, the American flag was blowing like a battle streamer at the lookout point. However, when I pulled into the Porto lot, things still looked doable. Despite the choppy conditions, I saw some crumbling three foot, right hand shoulders in front of the tanks. The lot wasn’t crowded yet, but I thought that Parks would be the call. I scored a free parking spot and walked out to take a look. The swell produced some surf, but the water was just too disorganized. There were some guys at the 26th St. peak, and they were cranking out a couple turns on the sloppy, chest high waves. They looked a little racy, but I was sold.
I made it to the water at about 0700. My paddle strength diminished since the last time I paddled out and from the lack of time I’ve had in the water. After duckdiving at least four waves, I finally made it to the line. It wasn’t a crowded morning. I could see people watching from the shore, wondering if it was worth it or not. There were more people debating on what to do than people in the water.
My first wave, a right, came pretty fast. But that was the problem, it was too fast. The sloppy right had me fighting for balance the whole time, and it closed out as soon as I got composure. My second wave was the same, another right. After that I got a couple close outs. It was an unpredictable and uneasy morning; there was no way in telling what the ocean was gonna do next. It wasn’t big, maybe chest high on the bigger sets, but some random rogue waves would break outside the line up. It was like there was no sweet spot: either you were too far out or too much in the inside.
I was just about ready to call it a morning, but I saw that I hadn’t even been out an hour yet, so I at least waited until 0800. My last wave looked like a close out, but it was a left that I took all the way to the inside.
I was pretty upset at the conditions. I saw Bruce with his binos and the rest of his crew hanging out at the meters. I changed, grabbed my camera, and caught a second look. For some reason, the wind switched from onshore to off, and the conditions started to clean up a little bit. Either way, I was done for the morning. Some guys were walking to the water, and they asked Bruce if he was going out.
Bruce replied, “I haven’t seen one good wave out there yet!”
I suppose he was right, but I do recall one significant thing. I recall the way that the sun lit up the sand at that very morning hour. The hues of dark blue, light blue, and carbonated white wash, combined with the cool morning air reminded me of something. Last year, during this exact time, I came home for my two weeks of leave from Iraq. The conditions were shitty then too, but I didn’t care. I precisely remember. I was just so glad to be home in the South Bay. The salt water air was no different one year ago. I leaned on the 26th St. railing, looked out at the ocean before me, and I thanked God that I was home.
Monday, April 25, 2011
MALIBU: FIRST IMPRESSIONS, SAT 4.23.2011 MORN
CREW: Klaude, Dais, Cheryl, Christina
FLAKES OF THE DAY: None
RAN INTO: None other than local hero Allen Sarlo
TIME: 0730 – 1030, 3 hrs.
CONDITIONS: Low tide, a little chilly, faint offshore, clean, pristine, glassy, 3 feet.
As I approach the end of this school semester, I am getting more and more swamped with work. I dedicated all day Friday to working on a research paper, so much that my back hurt from sitting in a chair so long. Saturday was dedicated for school but not without a much needed morning surf sesh.
The whole week, Christina tried to organize a DRC surf day followed up by a movie afterwards. I had to opt out for the movie, and I was an advocate for staying as close to El Segundo as possible. Klaude came up with the idea of surfing Malibu, everyone else agreed on that, so I thought I'd change things up a bit to check out something new.
Two weekends ago from that morning was the first time that I set eyes on Malibu. What does one think of at the thought of that place? Well, obviously, a lot of SoCal's surf history is rooted in Malibu, there are the stories of bad water quality, and also, the localism. If you disagree, feel free, but that's the “buzz” about Malibu that I've heard and continue to hear. And how can we forget that incident when the paparazzi got beaten up while filming Matthew McConaughey's surf session? Well, despite rumors, we all have our personal first impressions where we end up saying, “It wasn't that bad,” or, “Holy shit, I'm over it!”
I expected a large crowd, so I left my apartment at about 0600. I got past Manchester Blvd. until I realized I forgot my damn wetstuit; I had to bust a bitch. New time check, it was 0620 on my way to PCH. It was a nice morning drive, but gawd damn, you would have thought there was a tsunami from how fast people were driving and cutting cars off. It took away from the beautiful coastline PCH experience. I felt a shit coming on, so I pulled into the Mickey D's in Malibu. The manager was outside and opened the door for me. I rushed to the one bathroom stall, but someone was in it. Feeling guilty at using their restroom without being a customer, I got a McGriddles breakfast meal to go. When I got back to the shitter, a morning bicyclist walked out of the stall, sipping his coffee. I only do that at school and home, I thought. Could you imagine that guy, drinking his coffee while taking a shit?
The street parking next to the ocean was all taken, so I parked at the northernmost spot across the street. A broken bottle and fragments of glass were in the gutter. More shards of glass littered the sidewalk. I walked across the street to have a look. There was a crowd at Third Point. It looked pretty flat until thet sets came. Goodness, I saw the potential. Clean righthand waves formed out of the point. The rides were so long that the waves didn't end until the shore. Some guys at the point ended up falling off, which left the wave open for guys trying to get some scraps towards the inside. The main problem I saw was how many people the point had. Realistically, I didn't see myself paddling right into the “main pack” in unfamiliar territory. Another problem, there were only a couple peaks working, so the option of paddling somewhere else seemed dismal.
I suited up, and then everyone else except Cheryl arrived. While warming up on the sand I noticed that Christina didn't have her longboard. She said that she was ready to experiment with something smaller. We walked out north of Third Point; it was shallow. The rocks there are different than Trestles, just when you thought you were in deeper water, more big rocks were in your path. The air temp was cool but doable. We sat next to a couple old school longboarders that had the same idea of avoiding the crowd. They got waves while we waited . . . and waited . . . and waited. We saw the main pack at the point jockey for set waves, and then we'd see the lucky surfer go for his long exhiliarating ride. We chanced paddling closer to Second Point, but then we got entangled in the kelp. Wow, the kelp . . . it kept us from getting any waves right there. Some perfect little shoulders arrived, but we couldn't get any paddling momentum. The aqautic vines snagged onto our arms and board fins as we failed.
Klaude got frustrated and paddled just south of Second Point where the sections were pitchy and racy. Dais and I watched his glorious effort to paddle into waves as we watched the ocean's imitation of playing Dominoes with our friend and his Rising Sun board: “DOMINO, BITCH!” with a loud and emphatic “smack!” It wasn't just him. I had a memorable wipeout shortly after.
I got lucky and caught a clean little right. My main goal was to gain speed, for the rides were fast, and a top turn would've let the section run away. However, it was still fun. Drawing the highline on a smooth shoulder, while pumping backhand, was good practice. As that first ride ended I was towards the inside, just over the rocks, when I looked up and noticed a guy making his way out. It was Allen Sarlo. I couldn't help but get a little star struck when I saw him. I've seen him in Chasing the Lotus and other surf movies, and his name appears in anything “Dog Town” related.
I couldn't help it. I waited until he was closer and said, “Good morning, I've seen you in the movies, man. Right on!”
He smiled and let out a little laugh, and then I turned around to paddle back out. Cheryl showed up with her longboard and joined the rest of us. She paddled out quite a distance in her search. Christina went back to her car to switch boards.
Dais and Klaude were catching waves, but they seemed like short and fast rides. We kept trying to call waves for eachother and yelled words of encouragement like, “Paddle for your life, you saltwater bastard, you!” Okay, so we didn't say exactly that, but you get the gist. With few waves and the froth that exceeded them, we found ourselves scrapping over the same rides. Klaude and I were paddling greedily, thigh to thigh, on more than one occasion. He actually let me have one which was my longest wave. Once again, I drew the highline to gather speed, and for a moment I thought I would be able to wrap around the Third Point for an epic ride. Well, that was wishful thinking, as the wave closed over the rocks. I was lucky I didn't get hurt.
When I returned, Klaude said, “Damn, I would've given you so much shit if you didn't catch that one!” Thanks for the wave, KK.
As the tide filled in, more surfers arrived, and the chances at getting waves to ourselves dissipated. I turned around and saw Cheryl talking to Mr. Sarlo. She had no problem inserting herself among the wolves, and I even saw her returning, numerous times, after catching some longboard rides. Christina was somewhere near Cheryl. I told the fellas that I was done and paddled south of Third Point in hopes to catch “the last one.”
South of the point was a whole different story. I've never seen so many longboarders scattered over such a small area; they all waited for the leftovers. Every wave had a couple people on it, sometimes four going at the same time. Some people had etiquette to kickout after the drop in, some didn't. It was useless. I got to the shore when I saw Klaude walking out. He didn't look happy, as he made the universal sign for slitting a throat. He said that he and Dais got into a verbal altercation with some longboarders. Dais got out, and he gave us his story of what happened too. Fuck, well . . . what can you do? A lot of times we're on the spectator end of seeing such things. If you spend enough time in the water, eventually you'll get your serving of negative vibes as well.
My first impression: Malibu has good waves. The long rights kind of remind me of Trestles. But damn . . . too much crowd factor for me to handle. I'd like to see how that place gets when it's big. Maybe a weekday would be best to avoid weekend warriors. I still say I had a good session there. It's always good to check out new spots, and that's another one under my belt.
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