SHOULD‘VE BEEN HERE YESTERDAY, SUN 25SEPT2011 MOR

Crew: Klaude, Christina, Tom
Time: 0700-0900, 2 hrs.
Conditions: Light onshore wind, overcast, high tide, 3-4 feet, consistent, but walled.

    Yesterday, Klaude and Rick told me that they would be surfing at Parks. Last night I sent out a mass text. Cheryl couldn’t make it, but Christina said that she’d be there.
   
    It’s about 0530 when I roll out of bed. I eat a banana, drink some OJ, and take my vitamins. Sunrise is much later due to the fall season. As I pull out of my parking space at 0600, it’s still a dark morning. When I pull up to 26th there are a couple cars parking on the street. I swing around the metered lots, and all the spots are taken. I find an open space on Marine, but before I can change I feel a monstrous shit coming on. I walk up to the 76 gas station wondering if they’ll let me use their bathroom.

    “Is the restroom open?” I ask the lady that’s sweeping around the pumps.

    She‘s a little startled because Manhattan Beach still looks like a ghost town. “Yeah,” she replies.

    The door doesn’t lock, but I plant my ass on the seat any way. My mission is to push this brown guy out before the lady can ponder if I’m taking a shit or not. I’m successful, but when I flush the toilet the water swirls slowly as it rises. My eyes widen as the logs get higher and higher near the rim of the toilet. I have to flush three times before they reach their destiny. All I leave behind is a small nug which is better than toilet overflow.

    I get to the 26th St. tower a little before 0700. It’s just as overcast as yesterday. There aren’t many surfers out yet, so I take my time warming up. Unfortunately, there’s a little onshore wind which puts some texture on the water. There’s some size, but most of the waves are walled. It doesn’t look that good, especially with the tide coming up, but I hope for the best. I don’t see any of my buddies in the water, but I turn around to see Christina walking down from the bike path. She tells me that yesterday was a little bigger, and there were peaks everywhere. I’m hoping that it wasn’t as good as she says because I hate to think that I missed out.

    By the time I paddle out, more people start trickling into the lineup. The current pulls north, but I fight to maintain my position in front of the tower. I’m sitting in the saddle between two peaks, but I don’t feel like going where the main packs are. I pass on numerous waves because they seem to be closing out. The first wave I get is a closing right which lets my get one sloppy turn off the lip before it comes down. It’s a picky morning.

    For the life of me, I can’t remember this guy’s name. I’m horrible when it comes to names. I turn around to see if I recognize anyone on the sand or in the water, but I only see Christina who’s drifted further north. I let out a deep exhale and tell myself to just concentrate on the ocean. Just then, a guy next to me asks me something.

    “Hey, are you the guy that writes the blogs?” he says.

    I’m caught off guard. I’ve never seen him out here before. He’s a brown guy, just like me, he has long hair, and he’s on a longboard. I smile and reply, “Yeah, that’s me!”

    “Cool. Good stuff. Keep it up.”

    “Thank you, man. This is like, only the second time that this has happened to me.”

    “Really?”

    “How’d you come across my blog?”

    “Oh, I read a blog where there’s a link to yours. I read other ones too. Whiffle Boy’s stuff. . . .”

    “Yeah, he asked me if I was Donny Duckbutter at Porto once.”

    “You see him around?”

    “Yeah, every once in a while. He surfs Porto.”

    “I read his stuff, but he doesn’t write so much any more. I read your blog when you went to Bali. I usually read it when I‘m at work.”

    We exchange names. He’s from Marina Del Rey. I thank him for the compliment. It’s nice to know that there are a couple people out there that actually check my blog.

    I see Christina walking on the sand to come back by the tower. That’s about the time that I catch a fun left. On a steep drop, my front foot accidentally slides forward all the way to the nose. The angle I’m dropping in at is sharp, and I have my hand in the wave struggling to regain balance. With this odd stance, I’m slowing down my speed and going down the face as its slowly crumbling. It’s not a breakthrough wave, but I just appreciate how it feels different. On another wave I pull off an imitation floater. It’s a left, and as the section’s about to close, I climb the face, get on top of it, and come down with the lip while still keeping my nose down the line. It’s not a “real” floater, but it’s a good start.

    Christina paddles up. She’s exhausted and says that she’s spent a lot of time on the inside. I tell her to do her best to turtle dive. She leaves to put money in her meter. When she returns, Klaude is with her on the sand. As soon as he paddles out, I paddle up to him and his friend Josh. It looks like Klaude’s telling him that I’m paddling up.

    I say, “What’s up, Josh right?”

    He says, “Tom.”

    Klaude says, “What? Did you say Josh? Damn, Matt.”

    Jesus, I’m so bad with names. I apologize. Tom confirms that yesterday was a really good day here. As we’re being told this, Klaude splashes me with water. I know. I fucked up with yesterday‘s decision. Klaude drifts north with the main pack trying to score the right-hander. The right is actually working, but there are just more people than I feel like being around. Same goes with the left to my south. I hear other people talking in the lineup about how yesterday there were waves for everyone. One guy says, “I’ve never been so tired surfing here, just from going back and forth so much.” Another grom says to his friend, “I surfed three sessions yesterday.” Damn, I guess it really was good.

    After my second hour I’m tired. My right shoulder bugs me a little, not to the point of pain, but I know that I’m on the brink of it. I catch one in to be safe. Christina’s on the sand meditating. I say bye to her. I don’t get a chance to say bye to Klaude and Tom.

    I’ve been dying for some good waves. This weekend barely sustains me. Since I’m not working this week, I hope to drive down south to score some good, solo sessions.

LOOKING FOR WAVES IN ALL THE WRONG PLACES, SAT 24SEPT2011 MOR

LOC: County Line
Crew: Klaude
Time: 0800-1030, 2 hrs. & 30 min.
Conditions: Clean, glassy, no wind, overcast, inconsistent, long ass lulls, uncrowded, 1-3 feet.

    Yesterday Dais hit me up and said he, Khang, DK, and their homeboy Kataro were going to Trestles on Saturday. I initially told him that I’d go. Why not after all? I’m due up for Trestles. The last time I was there was during Al’s camping trip late last month. When I hit Klaude up, he said that he had to go to work, so he wouldn’t be able to go. Since he was staying back, I thought it would be a good call to gamble on a new secret spot south of Oxnard where I injured my shoulder. Klaude said he’d be happy to come along, so I told Dais that I catch them next time. However, this was a gamble. I made it clear; I couldn’t guarantee that it would be good.
   
    It’s 0515 when my alarm goes off. The plan is to pick up Klaude at 0545. I start the pot of coffee and pack my gear. As I pull up to Klaude’s, I notice that my tire pressure is low. My gas lamp is also on, and I doubt that we can make the sixty mile journey without sweating bullets the whole way. We load his gear, go to the gas station, fill up my tires, and Klaude tosses me some cash for gas.

    “Damn, looks like the swell is hitting the South Bay, “ says Klaude. 

    I’ve been so busy lately that I don’t really know what the swell is doing. We stick to the plan and head up north. It’s an empty Saturday morning. The cruise up PCH is too dark to see any surf. I’ve pacing our speed, as we keep passing CHP cars hiding in little cuts on the road; we see them. The morning is foreshadowed once the coast line becomes visible. Zumas to County Line looks flat as a pancake. We pull up to the secret spot which has a mountain of rocks blocking the water’s edge.

    “I don’t hear anything. That’s not good,” says Klaude. I step outside, and I’m in denial, trying not to let the silence in the air ruin my hopes. Once we climb over, we see that the high tide has brought the water all the way to the rocks. Waves are breaking, but they are really close to the jagged boulders. “Daaaaaaamn, skuuuuunked.”

    Fuck my life, I’m thinking. Klaude presents our second option of County Line. I’m usually stubborn in situations like these. Klaude takes a seat and as we wait for a miracle. I’m looking further north up the coast. Away from the rocks, some waves are breaking, but it’s mostly shore pound. In front of us, we see a set. There’s a fast peak working that looks rideable. “Break, break, breeeaaaaaak,” says Klaude. It breaks a little late, too close to the rocks. It’s too risky. This is a great spot. No one is here, and we can have this spot all to ourselves, but it’s not worth it. “County line?”

    “Yeah.” I’m still staring out at sea. “Let’s go.” Klaude heads back to the car and stands outside the door. I watch a little bit longer in futile hope. County Line it is.

    It’s about 0745 when we show up, and there aren’t many cars there yet. Another bad sign. Once we step up to the railing by the cliff, we see about four longboarders and two SUP boarders at the north point. The silence between us speaks volumes. We watch 1-2 foot, soft right-handers roll through. Towards the middle of the bay, there’s a fast peak that’s breaking close to the shore. Other than that, it’s pretty much a lake out there. We see some sets roll through that are just under three feet, but the lulls seem long. We are officially skunked.

    “What do you think?” asks Klaude.

    There’s another long pause. I’m still watching, looking, peering, and trying to transform this picture before us into something else. The waves are small, but the shape is clean. “I don’t know. There’s a little something out there.”

    “My concern is, are we going to be able to catch anything?” I see his point. The waves are small, and it’s definitely a longboard day. “26th, bro.”

    I still scan and watch for something. “You really don’t want to surf here, huh?”

    “I mean, c’mon. It has to be better than this. I mean, you’re driving, so . . . whatever you want to do.”

    The message is clear. It’s small here . . . tiny. But the thought of waking up around 0500 and driving all the way up here just to go back to the South Bay doesn’t sit well with me. It’s a selfish move, but I’m usually pretty stubborn and stick with my decisions for better or for worse. Sometimes, they work out, but sometimes I’m hating myself in the after math. Against my friend’s advice, I motion towards the call to stay.

    I take my time suiting up. Klaude’s faster than I. “I’ll meet you down there,” he says, and he takes off. I see another wave roll through. It’s barely three feet, but it’s so long and clean. It reminds me of Churches on a small day, not big but fun. Klaude and I paddle to the small pack of surfers by the point and wait for a wave. I stay south towards the outside, and a pretty, little three footer comes my way. I’m stoked; the wait isn’t long at all. The shoulder is so soft and clean, I’m looking down the line to set myself up. I bottom turn, top turn, but get stuck on the lip, and the wave passes me. Damn . . . I’m pretty rusty after a week of no surf and still rusty from my injury. I paddle up to Klaude with my post-wave grin.

    “Fuck, I had a good one, but I BLEW IT!” I say.

    “Yeah, there’s some nice ones out here.”

    I sit and wait for the next set. Two more waves come, and both of the longboarders I’m sitting with take them. After that, nothing comes for a long time. The lull is stagnant, silent, and frustrating. I look at Klaude, and he raises both of his arms to his sides with his arms out, the universal gesture for “where the fuck are the waves?” Some little waves come, but they’re too small for us to catch. A couple more people join our pack. Frustration mounts to anger and regret, not only for myself, but I’ve dragged Klaude down here too for some bad surf. I hate it when that happens. The tide drowns everything out in the first hour, and we don’t catch shit. Half way through the second hour, a couple more peaks start to sprout. Unfortunately, I’m working like a bad luck charm. Every time I paddle where the waves are breaking, they break where I just left. I’m lucky enough to catch a few, but the rides are short.

    Klaude gets a bad cramp and has to exit the water. Something happens after that where I get back-to-back waves. With the tide lowering, the conditions get a little better with more options. Klaude comes back to the lineup when I start getting some rides that go a little distance, but I struggle to crank out more than one turn.

    “You’re getting yours today,” Klaude says. At this point for me, I’m getting the day’s worth out of the session. I can comfortable walk away feeling satisfied that I’ve caught something. I think Klaude’s board may be a little too small for what’s on the menu, so I offer to swap. He grabs hold and mounts the JS. “It’s huge!” he says.

    “Yeah, but it worked in Bali.”

     I feel like as much criticism as I can get with that board, at least I’ll always be able to say that it worked for me during took my trip. Later I see Klaude returning from the inside saying that he finally caught one. I catch a couple on his advanced shortboard, but it feels like I’m sinking it when I’m on the wave, and my stance is too wide from the length change. We change back to our regular boards. Just as I’m returning to the lineup from the inside, I see Klaude all by himself as a set wave approaches him. I’m trying to get out of his way because I’ll be in his path in a couple seconds. He pops up on the shoulder, but for some reason he bogs out as the open, lonely section runs away from him. He’s not happy; I can relate. It’s one of those waves that you end up waiting for forever. And finally when it shows up it’s all yours. But for some reason or another, you blow it. For me, I’ve blown these kinds of waves because I’ve had too much time to think, and then my timing or positioning is off. I think most surfers are used to having that “other guy” to deal with, where you need to make an on-the-spot call on going for the wave. In this sense, time can be the enemy.

    I paddle up and try to find the right words. “We don’t really have the right boards for today,“ I say.
    “Nah, fuck that. . . . I should be catching them.”

  
It’s past 1000, and Klaude needs to get back to work. The tide approaches mid level, and the peak north of the point starts to get consistent, but we have to leave. On the inside, I catch an inside left that’s fast and racy. I actually get some decent frontside pumps before the wave closes out.

    “You’re pumping’s looking pretty good,” says Klaude.

    I smile at the thought, but then I realize that I missed an opportunity to do more. I could’ve attempted a couple floaters to make the section, but I still lack the talent to know what I should really be doing when the opportunity presents itself. It’s a reminder that I’ve still got a lot of work to do.

    It’s an easy ride back with minimum traffic. We actually reach a patch of sunlight near Malibu before it goes gray again. Malibu’s small, and Sunset isn’t breaking at all. Klaude gets a text from Christina. Apparently, she surfed 26th and it was really good. When I drop off Klaude, he grabs his things and throws them on the ground by his driveway. It’s out of character.     The day’s a gamble and a loss, and I’m the one that made the bad call not to come back to the South Bay to surf.
  

SMALL BUT CONSISTENT = FUN, SUN 18SEPT2011 MOR

Crew: Rick, Manny, Christina, Cheryl, Klaude
Time: 0800-0930, 1 hr. & 30 min.
Conditions: 2 feet, occasional 3, consistent, overcast then sunny, low to medium tide, cool, faint onshore wind.


    After Cosmic John’s bodywork, I slept like a baby last night. So much to the point that getting out of bed requires an hour’s worth of hitting the snooze button before I force myself up. Rick and Christina tex’d me an hour earlier, so now I’m behind the power curve. The guilt starts to build. I imagine Rick and all my buddies in the water, probably surfing for the past hour while I lie in my cozy bed smothered and warm. A quick brush of the teeth, refill of my hot water bottle, gathering of my gear, a kiss for Lauren, and I’m off.

    Driving up Grand Ave. I see a guy riding a bicycle with his surf board attached to it. It looks like Whiffle Boy. I want to honk and stop, but I don’t want to look like an idiot if it’s not him. Cars with surfboards strapped to the roof pass me in the opposite direction. This is not a good sign. The ocean from Vista Del Mar looks scant. The waves look small, dribbly, and weak, but I push-on to hope for the best. I see Rick’s truck parked on the street, and as I make my way to 26th I see Klaude walking out to the sand. I’m not the only one that was burnt out from yesterday. In the lot, Christina is zipping up her wetsuit. I park, change, wax my stick, and head out to the sand. Rick’s easy to spot a mile away because of his surfing style and bald head. Basically, the older, bald guy ripping on the gray fish is always Rick. I see Klaude next to him, but I can’t find Francis who said he’d be here early. It’s by no means a big day. The tide’s a little low, and guys are still standing up half way to the line up. But still, there are little peaks consistently making their way in. Not all of them hold shape. Some rides are short, but some waves actually go for some distance. I paddle out, saw what’s up to Rick, Manny, and Klaude. The lineup’s not completely packed, but there are enough heads that being aware is important. No wave goes unridden, and I back out on a couple waves to prevent snaking. Manny drops in on some guy on accident, Klaude drops in on me once or twice, and Christina is going on everything no matter who is on it! Two tiny groms, probably in elementary school, are long boarding. Within two strokes they’re in. One even calls Christina off on his wave and says, “I got it!” I think Christina is a little perturbed at this, but I think it was rightfully the kid’s wave. Rick and Manny leave minutes before Cheryl arrives.

    Some other high school kids are just ripping it right next to us. We get the backstage view of floaters and snaps. Every time I see this, I can only lament that I’m still not that good yet, even after my efforts to surf and my trip to Bali. Time, consistency, and patience. I need to get us to spots where we can have waves to ourselves so we can improve faster.

    Despite the rising tide, there’s a window where the surf gets really consistent. Sure, it’s not big, but even three footers begin to break towards the outside. I manage to get a good right, but I must still be rusty because I keep purling after my top turn. Klaude gets a nice wave, but after I duckdive out of his way I hear him yell in agony. I turn around to see if he’s okay, but I learn that he’s just pissed because his foot slipped off and he blew the wave.

    Cheryl gets a good amount of rides during her short session. The tear in her wetsuit is getting bigger, for every time she pops up you can see the crotch part of her bikini. It draws attention in a funny way. She locked her keys in her car, so she was stuck in the lot for 40 minutes waiting for AAA before she paddled out. Christina, when not awkwardly falling, makes the most of the crumbly waves and takes them all the way to shore. I’d like to stay, but I got an assload of homework.

    Back at the car, I get a text from Francis asking how the surf was. It turns out that he woke up late. Klaude and I meet him at Rutt’s Hawaiian Restaurant in Culver City for a local style breakfast.

Corned beef portions were a little small, as well as the scoops of rice. Not enough for $7.95, but it was sooo good because I was sooo hungry!

    The surf was small but consistent. It made me realize that whenever we make the decision to surf, most of the time we know when if it’s flat or dismal. But we still go because our friends are there, and we don’t want to miss out on good laughs with familiar faces. I’m also realizing how much I see my surfing family more than my close friends that I’ve known since my childhood. It doesn’t only bring us to the water, but it brings people together too, something not every hobby can attest to.

The King's Hawaiian French toast. Uber yum status.