WELCOME TO THE OFFSHORES, WED 02NOV2011 MOR

Surfing fuel. My girlfriend's homemade shrimp pasta from last night.

Crew: Francis & Shan

Time: 0700-1000, 3 hrs

Conditions: Clean, offshore wind, clear skies, 2-3 feet, a little inconsistent, racy long peaks but rideable.

            I an attempt to restore some lost balance in my life, I’ve made the reasonable commitment to exercise three times a week. Last night, I did a light shoulder work out. I had no idea of the impact it would have.

            

            My alarm goes off at 0545, but I snooze until 0600. It’s funny how I wake up early when I have to drive for surf. However, surfing local doesn’t mean that I get that much more sleep. I think I have to wake up almost just as early because I move at a sloth’s pace when surfing in the area. The need to paddle out at first light isn’t there as much. I throw on my wetsuit in my little apartment, grab my gear, and head out the door. I drive all the way down to the lifeguard station at 26^th. There’s no free parking there, but I stop to take a look at the waves. I can see that all the high schoolers are getting their morning sesh in. There seem to be scattered peaks that are working in front of the 26^th St. tower, so I circle around to find a place to park. 

            I’m surprised that 27^th St. is completely vacant, save for another car and my own. The thermometer is at 55 degrees. When I step outside, the offshore wind is a little strong and making the temp cooler than anticipated. I send out the mass text to let my weekday surf buddies know where I am.

             

            It’s just before 0700 when I’m in front of the tower. I haven’t seen a day this clean locally for a while. The offshore wind only puts tiny ripples in the water, but the held shape of the waves is a testament to the wind’s contribution. The cool morning air and clear skies feels like winter. Feelings of seasons past, those cold November and chilly December mornings come back to me. Soon it will be the holidays. I’ll never forget those sessions during the week when everyone is off. We all still meet, talking about what the plans are for the day, never passing the opportunity to surf even when family themes dominate the agenda. Christmas sessions, cold, ice-numbing, and chilly, there’s just a different flavor in the air during those times, and they’re right upon us. Crisp and brisk, I look forward to the paddle out.

            Directly in front of 26^th is a mass of groms and locals, but the kids are clearly dominating. I want none of it. I eye a left-hander just to the south and sit there with a couple fellows. Despite the clean conditions, the day is not necessarily perfect or a wave buffet. There are peaks, but a lot of them are long and racy. The bigger ones close out, but my optimism is still strong. The recent mornings of pulling up to Porto to crumbly, choppy conditions are still fresh, so I’m sure that some nice ones will roll through. 

            My first waves aren’t significant. I either trim before the wave closes or there’s nowhere to go. After paddling back to the lineup a couple times, my shoulders feel weak. I haven’t worked out in a while, and last night’s routine is letting me know that my muscles need rest. Also, I feel pretty winded. Am I that out of shape? At least I don’t get caught on the inside or get in anyone’s way. 

            Someone yells, “Matt!” I turn around, and it’s Francis. I usually spot my friends from the shore but not this time. We catch up, trade off on waves, and hoot each other on. As soon as the kids clear out, we head closer to the tower. Once there I can see Shan and Veronica on the sand. I wave at him frequently, while he looks right at me in confusion. I know it’s him because he has booties and gloves on. He doesn’t wave back until he’s walking out to deeper water.

            Francis decides to sit with the pack to catch the rights while Shan and I remain a little south. “It’s a good wave but too crowded over there,” says Shan. My sentiments exactly. There are random pulses in the ocean. I haven’t seen good, three-wave sets in a while; these pulses come in one or two waves. Even though some are closing out, some hold. I manage to get my wave of the day. It’s about a three foot left. It’s racy, so I pump to the shoulder and get my first top turn. It’s not as clean as the turns from HB, but it’s still good practice. I pump further down the line and get one more arc at mid-face before the ride ends. 

            I have other opportunities to duplicate the ride, but my timing is off. I either scratch out, paddle too deep, or paddle too far inside. I haven’t had this many wipeouts in one session since the morning we met Clay Marzo and Cosmic John at Newport. Francis ventures from the crowd and back to us. Another pulse produces a single left that forms in the distance. Francis and another guy have the peak, but the other guy is too deep. Francis takes this wave all the way to shore, leaving Shan and I, and three other guys, commenting on how good a wave that was. 

            Lately, I’ve been pulling a lot of multi hour sessions, somewhere around three. On this morning, the three hours goes by fast. By 1000, we each leave the water separately. I say bye to Shan on the way up the street, and Francis drives by my car for a quick chat before he leaves. Looking down at the ocean, the wind is still offshore with plenty of waves to be had. I hope we have more offshore days like this to come. 

GOOD THINGS DON’T LAST LONG, SAT 29OCT2011 MOR

 

Location: South Huntington

Crew: Khang, Dais, & Klaude

Time: 0700-1030, 3 hrs & 30 min

Conditions: Clean, light offshore, clear skies, 1-3 feet, weak, crowded, inconsistent, long lulls with random pulses.

            This is my sixteenth surf session for this month, and I’m still chasing surf like I barely get it. I think I should take a break come Sunday and Monday. Of course, I say that now . . . and next thing you now I’m in the water again. I need to do my homework.

            Last night I asked Klaude where he’s surfing on Saturday. He said he had to stay local, but that Khang and Dais would be heading to HB. I hit up Khang and learned that they’d be hitting the road at 0630. In hopes of reduplicating yesterday’s score, I have to be there at first light.

            It’s 0500 again, and I hit the snooze button until it’s 0530. Fuck, I’m late. Lauren doesn’t move as I propel my body upright. I went to bed around one in the morning, but I still muster the energy to get things going. I’m rushing again like I’m behind schedule. I meant to be on the road by now. 

            When I’m on the road I get a phone call from Klaude. “Where are you?” he asks.

            “Man, I’m by Carson right now. What’s up, I thought you were surfing local?”

            “I was, mannnn. I’m at 26^th right now.”

            “How’s it look?”

            “It’s dark. I can’t really see that well, but it looks baaaaaad. I can tell from the whitewash. No one’s here too. I was sooo looking forward to surfing today!”

            “You should call Khang and see if you can ride with those guys,” I say. I go to the same parking spot and score on a space that some guy in a truck can’t fit into. I look in my rear view mirror happy to see that the sun hasn’t risen yet. I walk along PCH to my destination, and I can already see that the river jetties are smaller than yesterday. Once I’m on the sand, I see that my spot isn’t doing much either. It’s looking a little laky and weak at this point. Oh well, I made it out here; time to surf it.

            It’s barely past 0700 when I paddle out. Surprisingly, there aren’t many heads in the water. I hope it will stay like this, but HB is the spot with the best surf today, so I expect more people to show. Even though the crowd is thin, I really don’t want to be next to anyone. I sit at an empty spot and catch some dismal rides. I paddle south and invade a bearded guy’s territory. After he catches a wave, I move into his spot and catch the second one. I paddle further south for some isolation and score waves to myself. It’s about a foot smaller than yesterday and less punchy. I’m not generating the speed I need, so I’m mostly trimming and pumping. A long lull occurs, and I view my surroundings. Besides the river jetties, everyone is sitting just like me. Yeah, it’s gonna be one of those sessions. However, In between these lulls there are random sets that give some fun, little rides. I catch a couple waves back-to-back, but it unfortunately attracts a group of surfers on the sand and to my north. Now I’m surrounded. I keep looking around for the fellas, and it’s not until I see a longhaired guy on the sand that I spot Khang. They are sitting where I was earlier, and I want to tell them it’s better where I’m at. I paddle just within yards reach of them, but they can’t see my face because of the glare. It’s not until Dais returns from a ride that he sees me and says wassup. 

            I tell them it’s better where I was, but . . . it doesn’t really matter on a day like this I suppose. The lulls here are even longer, and I feel bad the guys came out to these present conditions. Again though, some random pulses come through, and we’re all scrambling to get some of it. I take a closeout going right. I try to pull a Francis and go for a backhand pinch in the tube, but instead the lip crashes right on top of me. It gives Klaude a good laugh. Oh well.

            Klaude has the right board for today, which is Rick’s Zippy Fish. Every time I think he’s gonna scratch out, he gets the slide. Today’s just not a day for turns, at least for me. One thing that kills my session is this kid that gets in my way. I’m in perfect position for a right. I have no idea what he’s doing, but he turns and sits right where I’m dropping in. He lets out a worrisome, “Whooooa!” because I’m about to drive into him. I have to slide off my board. “Which way were you going?” he asks.

            “Right,” I say with a pissed off look on my face. He says something after, but I don’t comprehend. He takes the situation like it’s no big deal. I carry this negative energy with me for about a half-hour. I want to kill him, but I want to give him the benefit of the doubt. It ruins my energy in the lineup. I remain quiet for a while. I’m not a tough guy, but I can see myself just taking him to the sand. And for what, I think to myself. I don’t want that bad karma. I think about my life and all the good things in it. I let it go as the next pulse comes by which leads to more rides. 

            It’s play time again. I watch Khang on a left. Dais paddles into it too but falls. When he’s next to me he says, “My hair got in the way when I popped up!” He mimics the motion with his hand, indicating his hair was between his palm and board.

“It’s a small price to pay for looking sexy,” I say. No sooner than we complain about the conditions, another pulse comes to eradicate it. Small, fun, and enough to say that today was worth it, we finally leave around 1030. 

            We stop in Fountain Valley for some Vietnamese food. I order the chicken pho which is only a whopping $3.50. I want to eat more, but I’m ashamed to say that I have no cash, and I don’t want to make splitting the bill difficult. If I had more cash I would have easily ate at least $15 worth of food. Klaude rides back with me because he parked by my apartment. Klaude says that Dave’s in town tomorrow, and he wants to surf. We don’t commit but say we’ll talk about it later. By tomorrow the swell will taper off even more to the point of an all out “lay day” for most surfers. Good things don’t last long. Bring on the next swell, please.

DEDICATION, FRI 28OCT2011 MOR

Location: South Huntington

Crew: Francis

Time: 0640-0940, 3 hrs

Conditions: Clean, windless, clear skies, 3-4 feet, crowded.

            There are two types of people in this world. Those who surf and those who don’t.

            I wish I could surf on Thursdays, but I have school, and there is a need for some kind of balance to do the other things in my life that are necessary. Everything can’t be about surfing; I’m learning that. Sometimes I obsess about surfing so much that I hate everything else that occupies my time as if I’m losing my sense of agency. I’ve been down that road. It leads to late nights doing assignments that are due in a couple hours. Also, I haven’t been exercising much. I don’t want to be buff, but my body has worn down to a scant set of twigs, steadily losing muscle since Bali. I couple pounds less, and I’ll be back at basic training weight, Fort Knox style. I haven’t been this light in years. I feel lost in class; I can’t relate to anyone. My neck tan is ridiculous.

            I don’t have class on Fridays, and I’ve been itching to immerse myself in this swell before it makes its way out. I hit up Khang on Thursday night, but he opts to hit the gym instead. Once again, balance. Francis asks me if I’m surfing, but I tell him that I’m heading to HB at O-dark-thirty. It’s imperative because of the high tide. I make the suggestion that he might be able to get a quick session there and still make it to work. He says he’ll meet me at my house to convoy south.

            It’s 0500 when I hit the snooze button. I’m tired. A couple more minutes. A couple seconds later I’m awakened by Francis’s phone call. “Hey, what time were you going to leave?” he asks.

            “Ummmmm.” I scratch my head in discombobulation. I look at the clock. “About five-forty-five, no later than.”

            “Oh, okay. I’m already packed.”

            “Okay, yeah, just come down.” 

            I thrust myself out of bed, rush to grab my gear, make some coffee, and head out the door. To my surprise, Francis is already parked and waiting. This catches me off guard. I hate waiting on people, so you can imagine how much I hate myself when others wait on me. “Hey, I’m gonna run to my car. Follow me!” I say. I run up the hill and lead the way. It’s just past 0530, and I’m still wiping away eye boogers as I try to drive straight. Once we reach HB, I get a call from Manny (Rick’s bro) asking if I’m surfing HB. “I’m already here,” I say.

            “What, you’re already there? Man, I’m just leaving. I won’t be there until seven.” 

            Manny gives me intel on where to find good parking, and we agree to meet north of the river jetties. As soon as I park, I move in my car, sloth-like, putting together my essentials. When I step out and open my rear hatch, Francis shows up already dressed in his wetsuit, board in hand. What the fuck!? This guy’s making me look really bad at this point. “Sorry, bro,” I say. “Fuck, you already have your wetsuit on, huh?”

            “Yeah. No worries. Just take your time.”

            He warms up while I fumble with my sunblock, board, keys, and then we finally begin our trek. I’ve never parked here before, and there are already surfers leaving and returning to their cars to see the surf. It’s a cold morning, somewhere in the mid to high fifties, and the sun is still way below the horizon. The sand’s so cold it hurts our feet. “My feet are numb,” says Francis. He’s right. Our feet are beyond pain at this point. At the first river mouth we wade through it, but it gets too deep, and we have to paddle. We are now jogging. Actually . . . the energy this morning is soooo rushed. I have no idea why. There’s just something in the air, and the funny thing is that it’s not just us. Surfers are going in every direction, passing each other on their way to their picks of the morning. We have to paddle across the second jetty. A crowd of groms look out at the surf. The river jetties are really consistent at this dark hour, and guys are already in the lineup. Our jog slows to a trot and then to a power walk as we escape the main body. After Wednesday’s wind, this morning is a godsend. There’s not one hint of breeze, and the water surface is only jostled by the breaking waves. We choose our spot. Francis leads the way, as he should since he doesn’t have much time. “Look, there’s a right!” he says as we duck dive a wave. There’s only one other guy by us. I’ve never surfed this far south in HB, so I’m not sure where to sit. The anticipation is killing us. Here we are, the conditions we’ve been waiting for are here, but this lull that’s only been seconds feels like an eternity; we need waves now! 

            Today has to be good. I know it, Francis knows it, we feel it in our surroundings. To our north, Dolphins play in the breaking waves, jumping towards shore. A small trace of clouds that look more like smoke are over the horizon. The hidden sun gives a deep orange glow over the skyline. At this very moment, this sunrise easily substitutes as a significant sunset, captivating and breathtaking in view. The cool water and light hum of the early morning gives a certain feeling: it’s so rare to be out here, in the ocean with the waves on so beautiful a day; thank God we’re alive. 

            Anxious as ever, we watch the river jetties and waves breaking to our north. Some waves come, but the shape isn’t at the morning’s potential. I want first blood so bad, but Francis, well deserved, gets a clean three-foot right to start things off. I see his wet, black hair over the lip going the distance. Good for him. The orange eye gives its first peek as I paddle into my first left. Yes, LEFTS, thank you! The tide is actually on the lower side, so the rides aren’t long but still clean and rippable. It’s not a wave buffet; it’s paced with short lulls. I don’t have a standout wave to describe, but I can say that I had a full morning of practicing my frontside turns. Lovely and fast, I gain enough speed to build up some energy. I connect my bottom turns with solid top turns after. None of my waves exceed two turns, but it’s exactly what I need, this form of repetition to make the action stable and concrete into second hand nature . . . eventually it will. I just love the feeling of speed, going up the face over the shoulder, shifting my weight to the tail, and then getting that nice sweeping arch; Oh my god, I live for this. Over and over as much as I can until the tide and crowd increases.

            If I’m stoked, then I can only imagine how Francis feels. He’s my role model of the morning, getting more rides than I. We’re greedy; we can’t help it. Why the hell are we paddling for the same waves, damn near calf to calf?  It’s playful, we kids, at least this morning we are during this grip of excitement. Some of the four foot waves are on the walled side. I watch Francis go on this closeout going left. Backside, he grabs rail and tucks inside the pocket while he’s dropping in. It’s so graceful. With a camera shot at the right moment, it would look legit before the wall comes down. 

            Now the sun is up and the word must be out, for surfers keep lining the beaches and entering the ocean. Every time I catch a right, I’m blinded by the sun. The water’s so calm that it’s like one huge mirror reflecting silverish gold. I get one right that I think is closing but is actually holding. I can’t see shit, so I look towards the shore and get two top turns based on feeling. A wonderful inconvenience perhaps? It’s harder to catch waves now with the crowds. It’s almost eight, and Francis says, “In about ten minutes I’m gonna go in.”

I hate to admit that my personality is that of an accommodator. I really want him to end his session on a good note especially since he went out of his way to come out before work. A good bump forms in the distance. It’s peaky, and I know it’s gonna be good. I turn around to Francis who’s more on the inside. “Francis,” I say, motioning towards the forming wave.

“You don’t want it?”

“It’s yours.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Go.”

I have prime position. Some other guys towards the shoulder want it, but Francis turns and gains priority. In my book, it’s the wave of the day. Just this gorgeous, open, four foot face, peaky and lined up all the way to shore. I’m glad he scored. 

Minutes later, from the inside, he signals that he’s out. I throw him a goodbye shaka and surf the rest of the session with strangers. I try to find Manny in the crowd, but the black suits and wet heads look indistinguishable as far as I can see. A guy next to me says, “It was better yesterday. Bigger, and half the crowd compared to today. That’s why everyone’s out here.” It makes sense. Despite the rising tide and mid morning there’s still no wind, and HB is still pumping out waves. I paddle further north to a working sandbar among new strangers. I try to stay to their outside, but I actually catch waves at the peak, thus eliminating their chances to get rides. I only do this for about twenty minutes, as I feel guilty for having an effect on their wave count. It’s just past 0900 when I paddle to an empty spot. It’s not breaking, but the early session is taking its toll; I’m fuckin’ tired. 

My trek back takes a while. I walk PCH because I don’t feel like paddling through the river mouths again especially with the higher tide. I catch myself falling asleep at the wheel during my drive home. I’m so hungry that I want to pull over and eat or grab a coffee, but I’m such a cheap bastard. As soon as I get home I cook up some ground meat, cook some black beans, chop some cilantro and onions, and devour eight tacos while watching TV. Exhausted on my couch, I’m enjoying this lazy Friday. It’s the session I’ve been waiting for.