SUMMER IN THE SOUTH BAY, TUE 8.02.2011 MOR

Crew: Solo (0/4 showed up)

Time: 0700- 0945, 2 hrs. 7 45 min.

Conditions: Faint onshore wind, average consistency, 2-3 ft., warm, crowded.

     Low tide is around five in the morning, so I give it a good hour to rise a little. I hit the snooze button a couple times, and I get a text from Deathwish Dave. Last night he said he'd roll, but he says he just finished playing video games and is only going to bed now. It's 0539 in the morning. I eat a big bowl of cereal, drink some OJ, take my vitamins, kiss Lauren goodbye, and I'm off to Parks. Again, free parking is rampant. Gawd I love this spot. Fuck the meters. I look at the surf and give a meager report to Khang and Francis. Today I have the full 3/2 wetsuit on because my sleeveless 2/2 is still wet from last night. There aren't many people at at 0700, but Don's already in front of the tower ripping it up with a couple other local guys. I paddle out just south of them. I say good morning, and Don asks about my trip to Bali. Our conversation is cut short by an approaching set. We're both in position, but Don's on my inside. I let him take it without a paddle of my own. Gotta respect the locals.

     I look around for Francis and Khang. Other people near me give me that look like, “What are you looking at?” But I'm not looking at them; I'm trying to find my homeboys. The surf is far from perfect. A lot of waves come in doubled up, some close out, there are small unrideable waves with each lull, and some of the waves are weak. But some of the small waves reform on the inside with a nice shoulder, and some of the bigger waves actually hold shape. It's a picky morning, but there's enough action to keep me busy throughout the whole session.

     The sun makes everything warmer, and the lack of wind brings a heated discomfort in my fullsuit. Definitely a boardshort day, I'm thinking. The waves don't have that shape that make turns easy or plentiful. Instead, I practice going from top to bottom and walking the nose to see how far I can take it. I try to work on my front side turns, but I just can't gather enough speed. Either way, I'm actually on waves with shape, and there are a lot of them.

     I finally give up looking for my people. This session is a lethargic one. I miss a couple waves. I can't flip the switch and get aggressive. I don't know what it is, if my body needs some rest or if I need a break from surfing. Perhaps I ate too much? The line up gets a little more crowded. These last couple days I've noticed that people arrive at the beach late. By 0830 everyone is out there.

     I walk back to my car at 0900. On the way there I pass three chicks and a guy on their way to surf. They all got these flashy wetsuits on. The guy has a thin beard on his cheeks and wears a black wetsuit with green arms and legs. I do a double take. I swear this kid looks like Jeremy Flores. “Oh my God, look how small it is,” one of the girls says. Why the fuck would any pros be here though? It couldn't have been him.

     I change into my boardshorts and walk back to the line up. I was hot and steamy in my wetsuit, but now that I'm all dry, the idea of barebacking it is less appealing. I still paddle out and sit in my exact same spot. My exposed skin has me sliding all over my board, but I feel faster and looser without the wetsuit. I get three waves in a row, each one Immediately after returning to the line up. My arms are working much faster, more like propellers. Even the longboarders are watching me; I'm getting waves that they aren't even going for. They start off small but double up on the inside.

     My wave of the day is a left. It's barely three feet but breaks towards the outside. It's a fast drop, but the inside section is clean. The speed brings me towards the shoulder, so I do my novice cutback and redirect my board in the pocket. The section is still shouldery in front of me, so manage to pull off two top turns. I've been trying hard to work on this, as I'm going for as many lefts as I can. My top turns aren't clean yet, but I'm getting used to the feeling of my tail carving the lip a little. Top turns just feel so different on my forehand. The wave stands up and closes out, but I tuck myself into the face to get slotted when it does.

     Leaving the beach, it's a great feeling to walk away with that small accomplishment. Also, I think I found the problem with my duckdives. Today I gripped the rails lower than I usually do when I submerged my board. I was surprised to make it out the back. Now I can see why people use their knees. I've had wrong hand positioning after all this time.

     I had a good session, and even though everyone flaked it's okay. Two small victories, I'm stoked about them.

CLASSIC PORTO EVENINGS, MON 8.01.2011 EVE

Crew: Khang

Time: 1900-1945, 45 min.

Conditions: Windy, choppy, really consistent, 3 ft. +, sunny, and fun.

     In my fetal stages of surfing, I didn't even look at the forecast. There was a time when all that existed was El Porto. There was no thought of going down to Orange County, Oceanside, San Diego, or even Malibu. Porto, that was it. My friends would urge me to take a road trip somewhere, but I didn't. Porto was all that I needed. I progressed from my NSP with the lame ass flames painted on it, to my medium Becker board, and then finally to a beginner thruster. My surf roots are here. On many of those days after work, I'd drive straight to Porto, and I'd find the choppiest and blown out conditions possible. I never complained. It was all that I knew. I was so grateful just to get in the water. There was no bloodlust for a turn. I could catch a wave going straight with rideable shoulders peeling away from me in opposite directions. It didn't matter. There were those few, glassy evenings where the ocean looked like honey from the way it reflected off the sun. But most days were windy and choppy. Peaks would rise out of no where for a quick turn and slide situation. Those conditions are “Classic Porto” to me.

Surf or Clean?:

     How long has that shit stain been there, I'm thinking to myself when the phone rings. It's Khang. He says that he's at Porto, but it's windy and blown out. It's 1745. I tell him that I'll probably check it out at 1845, let the tide rise, and may be the wind will calm down a bit. I go back to scrubbing and head out the door just before seven.

     On my drive to Porto I look for any sign of wind. It doesn't look that bad. However, as I pull in to the Porto lot, it's pretty fucking windy. I spot Khang's van and park next to it. Well, I told him I'd be here, and it'll be a short session anyway. This time I don't forget my wetsuit. It looks so cold. The wind is making things brutal, and the inside is a stampede of white wash. He said he'd be in front of the bathrooms, but I can't make him out from the crowd. I make my way out to the line up, and the waves are much bigger than they look from the shore. I duckdive a couple rideable peaks. Oh yeah, there's potential. At the lineup I make out Khang. He's surfing next to someone. I don't know who it is, but I assume it's DK. I use my water, stealth tactics to catch him by surprise. He turns and sees me. The guy he's surfing with is named Jamar. He introduces us. Jamar's another local guy that Khang's seen surfing out here for the last couple years. I can't believe that I've never met either one of them on my own. And then again I was in Iraq for a year.

     Khang catches a wave, it's a right. He disappears and pops up above the lip. He comes back and catches a wave again. I see his face above the wave; he's focused. His eyes are wide open, and he's taking these choppy bastards for a good distance. The fucking guy's on point today. I try to get one for myself. I catch a right as well. It's an ugly wave, but it has a shoulder. I bottom turn, pump, and hack the lip. It's not a clean hack, but it's one of the better shoulders that I've had in a while. We three have this spot to ourselves, but Khang and Jamar are sitting right where the waves are breaking. I go a little south of them in hopes to catch one of my own, but all the rides are going to them. They trade off, one after another. I get another wave, but not as good as the first. It's a messy evening of surf, but despite the harsh conditions, these random three foot waves stand up out of nowhere, without warning, and right in front of us. The inside is a lot of work, there's a lot of duckdiving, but it's a welcomed change. A wave jacks up in front of me, I turn, paddle, and drop in. I see Khang paddling back out from the inside. Oh yeah, he's gonna see this, I think to myself. The lip turns rabid and vicious as I pop up. I'm pitched. I push my board to the side, and then I'm fucking air dropping. My goodness, it's such a good wipeout, if there is such a thing! I don't expect it. I resurface and see Khang. “Did you see that?” I ask.

     “Awwww yeah, dawg! That shit was craaaazy!” I should be embarrassed, but I'm not hurt . . . physically. Khang keeps catching more waves.

     “You're a fucking wave magnet!” I shout at him. The wind dies a little, but it's still hard to hear each other over the ocean's activity.

     “Yeah, I know! It's good right now, but I came earlier when it was shitty.” Well, he did, but he paid his dues appropriately and caught the window of good surf in return. I wish that I came earlier, but I actually was busy. We discuss tomorrow's plans. Khang says he's down for 26^th in the morning. Jamar says he's down too. I catch my last wave in. I don't mean for it to be my last wave, but I have five minutes left on the meter, and it's a long paddle back.

     I checked the surf cam before driving down, and it looked like shit. I drove down, and it looked like shit. I never would've expected for the surf to be this good, and I never would've known if I didn't paddle out. Sometimes you just have to do it, and when it's good, it's fucking sweeeet!

SHIVER ME TIMBERS, MON 8.01.2011 MOR

Classic Fransauce

Crew: Christina & Francis

Time: 0745-0945, 2 hrs.

Conditions: A little onshore wind, sunny, cool, inconsistent, weak, 2 feet.

     Francis ended up going to County Line yesterday, and he said he got skunked. That seems to be the theme as of late. I'm not venturing anywhere for a while. I think I'll stay local and play it safe. Maybe it's a better idea to sneak up on good surf instead of making it announced, but for now I'm saving money on gas.

     To my surprise, there's free parking everywhere. I guess the lack of swell has everyone elsewhere. I score a spot on 27^th on top of the lot. Francis and Christina drive by and park. I reach in my bag to prep my gear, but motherfucker, I forgot my fucking wetsuit at home. Shit. Is that payback for Klaude freezing his ass off on Saturday? I didn't enjoy watching him freeze, but I did shake my head at his decision not to bring his wetsuit. Oh well, it's my turn this time.

     I tell Francis how the waves were good yesterday, but this morning the waves are weak and a bit smaller. I touch the water. Cold. I paddle out and get fully submerged. Shock. The sun is burning through a small patch of clouds. It feels so good on my back, but the water's winning the war over my body temperature. I put my arms over my head to avoid them from chilling, but I know it's going to be rough.

     Christina's friend joins us. I forget his name, but he looks like a “Ned.” He looks like one of the cartoon characters from Phneas and Ferb. His head is shaped like the dude in the front of this picture. I'm not making fun of the guy, but it's just my first impression. Christina and Ned end up further South. Francis and I catch a couple waves here and there. He's catching much more than I. I do my best to stay busy. I'm fucking cold. Once I start shivering it's over. Francis says, “Do this.” He puts his hands together, curls his top knuckles down, and rubs his fingernails against each other.

     “This?” I mimic his action. “It's not working!” I can't remember shit from this session. My perspective is off. If you've ever watched footage from a bad camera that doesn't have image stabilization, that's what I see. I scan the horizon for waves, and everything is shaky. I like to interact with my friends when we surf, but I'm silent because I'm suffering.

     Francis sees me turning into ice. “Do this,” he says again. He does the same motion with his hands.

     “This?” I do it again. “You're fucking with me aren't you?”

     “No, the locals up north used to tell me to do that. It keeps your mind off the cold.” I hate being a pussy and freezing like this. It wouldn't be so bad without the wind. Maybe I'm still adjusting to being away from Bali conditions. 

 

     Christina returns to us, where she rightfully belongs, and says to me, “I'm surprised you lasted this long.” Well, not any more. I call the last wave in. Francis invites me over for Japanese food that Nicole just made, but I've cleared my schedule to clean my filthy apartment. Christina says she'll probably opt out of surfing tomorrow, and tells us about Power Yoga in Santa Monica. Maybe one day. As much as I want to say, “It was a great session, I'm glad I paddled out,” I can't. But I can say that I'm happy I got to see Francis. I haven't seen him in a while, and it's always good to surf with friends. At least people showed up. Our surf group is pretty strong right now. Hallelujah.