THE ONLY THING MISSING WAS SNOW, SUN 06NOV2011 MOR

Crew: Rick and the WHC, Christina, Klaude, Khang, and Shan

Time: 0630-0945, 3 hrs & 15 min

Conditions: Rain, dark sky to light and then rain again, consistent, crowded, anywhere from 3-5 feet, and freezing.

            As Klaude says, “Saturday is for travel, Sunday is for staying local.” On Saturday night I sent texts out to the girls who I haven’t surfed with in a while. Christina and Cheryl said that they’d show up. Shan even text me and suggested an early sesh because of the time change. It made sense. The plan was to get up super early before anyone else, score a good parking spot, and try to paddle out before 0600.

            Waking up at 0515, I’m alarmed by a certain text. It’s from Christina: “It’s raining . . . are you still going to surf?” 

Raining . . . what? I look outside my window. The street’s dry as a bone. “Not raining in El Segundo,” I reply. I’m delayed now. I pull up the weather forecast, and learn that rain is expected. I had no idea. I brew up some tea and grab my thickest wetsuit that’s 3.5/2.5, but it’s still wet. I open the closet and whip out the Hurley 3/2. I anticipate the morning chill. 

Donning my wetsuit, I head out just before 0600, and water starts tapping my windshield just as I drive off. I arrive too late; there’s no free parking anywhere. There’s a line of cars waiting for the lot to unlock. I can’t really tell what the surf is doing, but I see a couple peaks working. I drive round and round, Marine to Rosecrans and find nothing. For the first time, I venture east of Highland Ave. and park all the way at the top of the hill. It’s not close to the ocean, but it beats paying a quarter for every ten minutes. I text Rick and he’s already suiting up. 

The view outside my window is dismal. Clouds are blowing in, the ground is wet, and the offshore wind makes everything sway. The sun is rising; I’ve never had this view from atop this hill. It’s gorgeous, but it makes me cold at the same time. It’s so bitter.  . . . It’s winter.

I’m in my Hurley disco wetsuit, the 3/2. I’ve never owned a 4/3 before. I don’t know how I survived last winter because all my wetsuits had holes in them. Thinking back, I think I pulled a lot of short sessions. 

Walking down the hill, it’s extremely overcast, but there’s a patch of clear sky where the sun is, so things might clear up. It’s an isolated walk down; no other surfers join me in the trek to the water. As I cross Highland Ave., I see something that I’ve never seen on a South Bay morning: a rainbow. It’s so feint. I take a picture. As the sun rises a bit more the rainbow becomes more apparent. I can’t stop taking pics of it; it’s beautiful. 

Once near the lots I see Dave T., Manny A., and Jimmy B. As we walk out to the tower, we already spot Rick in the lineup. The crowd isn’t too thick yet, and there are some decent waves despite the high tide. I do a light warm up and make my way out. The water’s cold, but I can manage. What’s worse is that the water smells like shit, literally. I try to put that in the back of my mind. After all, everyone out here is taking shit-water in their sinuses as well, why can’t I? Just don’t drink it. 

I can only imagine how good yesterday was if today is this good. Waves are forcing themselves to break, even with the high tide. Solid peaks with four foot faces roll through, and they open up all the way to shore. Usually I get some form of wave anxiety because of the over excitement, but since I’m local, I’m calm in waiting. My best waves are just before 0700. I get a steep, fast, right hander that I get three turns on. My first top turn hooks, and the speed still propels me. I stall on the last turn, but I’m already on the shore anyway. My second wave is a left. The whole time I’m fighting to get to the open face, and I end it on a small carve and slight tail drift. I’ll keep these waves brief, as they are not what “makes” the session.

Christina paddles up to me on her Becker board and says, “I haven’t been in the water for a while. I have to catch one today.” Rick surfs by us as we exchange small talk between waves. I’m a little bummed that no one else made it out. I’m sure Cheryl and Klaude saw the rain and went back to bed. The crowd thickens a bit, and it gets harder to catch waves without someone on them already. The morning drizzle starts to pick up to a steady consistency, and that’s about when I see Khang and Klaude warming up on the sand. 

It gets so crowded that it’s hard to keep track of everyone. Even Manny drifts to where I am before heading back south almost a hundred yards away. I can’t tell if everyone else is getting waves, but the rain starts coming down in a torrential down pour. Surf scenes are usually mellow, but this is more like a battle—chaos in the water. And still, despite these conditions it’s crowded. How could it be this stormy with offshore winds and clean surf? The DRC huddles for a moment. I overhear Khang and Christina talking. She’s stoked. “It was my best wave ever!” she says.

“Yeah,” says Khang. “It was one of those waves that just like . . . opens up everything for you, like you know you can do more.” I know what he means. I wish I could’ve seen her wave, but I’m glad that she got a good one. Water splashes all around us, the current pulls us north, and there’s nothing but darkness in the horizon ahead of us. The darker shadows formed in the pockets of the forming waves add to the eeriness of it all. It’s like we’re in some kind of time warp. With the clocks back an hour, lack of sun, and blanketed darkness, it could almost be any time of the day, even sunset and it would be hard to tell. I see Klaude in front of me. He holds out his hands as the rain falls upon them. He looks back at me. We both know what we’re thinking. How remarkable to be out here surfing on a day like this. This will be a hard one to explain to anyone not here. Madness and beauty combined into one with surf piled on top of it; it’s unbelievable. This is a morning where one belongs sitting at home in front of the TV, wrapped up in blankets with pajamas on, and with a hot chocolate in hand while the sound of rain and wind pelts and roars outside the window. Not us . . . we’re at the motherfuckin’ beach!

Even though my waves of the day are done, we are all still catching some. Wave of the day goes to Klaude. A plus-sized wave rolls through. I’m too deep in the peak to go, but I see Klaude paddle for a late take off on his fish. He disappears then skirts the highline before reentering. He takes it all the way to shore. It looked like a critical drop, and he managed it on the fish. It’s clutch. 

After 0900 we spot Shan in the water. By the time he paddles up, most of the crowd leaves. By now I’m shivering my ass off. The rest of the crew leave before us, and goodbyes are exchanged through distant waives. The sky clears over Santa Monica, and we can see bright white clouds mixed with patches of blue. The offshore wind gets strong, and the shape becomes long and racy. Shan and I catch one in to end the morning. 

I’m home by 1000, but it feels much later. I take a long, scalding hot shower followed by breakfast and a long power nap. When I wake, it’s a clear day with nothing but blue skies, almost like this morning never happened. But it did happen, and those that never made it out will never know nor understand. It was more than a session. All of us out there together, it was like we were a part of something. Long live the DRC.

SOUTHERN GAMBLE (double sesh), SAT 05NOV2011 NOON

Location: Churches

Crew: Klaude

Time: 1330-1630, 2 hrs & 30 min

Conditions: Calm wind, 3 feet with occasional 4, clean, low tide, consistent.

            After engorging ourselves, we head straight back to where we parked earlier. There’s an open spot, but some guy has his board and board bag lying in the middle of it. I turn on my signal and wait. It seems rude of myself, but the guy hurries to put his stuff away. I thank him as we pull in. What a difference a couple hours can make. The tide is low, exposing the shallow cobblestones that were submerged in the morning. Also, the wind has died, and the peaks are lining up much cleaner in front of Churches. Though a little smaller, it looks more fun. The guys parked next to us can tell we’re stoked, and they say, “It’s only gonna get better.” It’s a nice way to start the afternoon energy. Rick calls, we give him the update, and he tells us to hurry and get out there. The only problem is that my stomach is so full from those pancakes and potatoes. We take our time. While suiting up, a longboarder chick that’s packing up to leave starts talking to Klaude. I go into automatic non-cockblock mode and lurk in the shadows while they converse. Eavesdropping on the whole conversation, I smear sunblock all over my face and neck; some even gets on my chest. 

            Klaude wants to paddle out right at Churches. It’s probably the best option, but I am adamant on at least looking elsewhere to escape the crowd. We end up just south of Middles at the edge of Churches. The lineup is empty, and the prospects look promising. On the paddle out, I turn and go on a small little left. No turns, but it’s a fun little corner to start things off right. Once we reach the line, we learn that it’s a little bigger than we thought. Some plus sized waves break towards the outside leaving us out of position. It’s so odd. Trestles isn’t acting like its usual self. Some waves are actually fast with steep drops. 

            For the first part of the session, I can’t recall any standout waves for myself. All I know is that we must have sold the spot, because at least six people paddle out to crowd our empty peak. There’s this old guy probably in his fifties, bald, but fucking ripping. The problem with him is that he’s fuckin’ greedy. It’s not just Klaude and I, but barely anyone else is catching waves because of him. At the same time, how can you not respect an old dude that rips . . . more than you do? I paddle further north to get some breathing room. I keep looking back at Klaude, who’s switched to Rick’s Zippy Fish, to see if he’s catching. Half the time I can’t find him, so I know he must be catching a lot. At my new spot, I get back-to-back waves. Most importantly, I finally get a really good left. The ride doesn’t look like much, but I negotiate around the white wash, bottom turn, shift my weight to the tail, and get a little arc off the top. When I redirect down the line, my board feels bouncy and responsive; my feet are where they need to be. I pump, feeling the board come up under my legs as my knees adjust. I get one last turn at mid-face and feel my tail drift a little as my ride ends. Fuckin’ A, this whole day that’s all I wanted. Well . . . I would’ve welcomed an all day buffet of lefts like this, but I have to be thankful for what’s been given. The whole day, everything, this wave gives me the opportunity to do some front side work; I am satisfied. 

            Around 1600, the onshore wind turns on which makes the peaks long and racy. I see Klaude on the sand, so I catch a closeout in. He says, “Man . . . I’m so tired. I caught so many waves. My triceps even started cramping, that’s the only reason I got out.” There’s no doubt that Klaude got more than his fair share today, and my morning pessimism is erased by the afternoon surf. On the way home, we stop for some Jamba Juice and exit the 105 into El Segundo while the last remnants of light fade away. It’s a day of mixed feelings and emotions capitalized on unexpected good conditions in the end. It’s what gambles are all about. 

SOUTHERN GAMBLE, SAT 05NOV2011 MOR

Location: Churches

Crew: Klaude

Time: 0815-1100, 2 hrs & 45 min

Conditions: Offshore, clean, high tide, 4 ft with occasional 5, air temp in the mid 40s, moosdhy, sunny, crowded enough.

            I’ve been waiting for an opportunity to head down south to score at this fickle, empty break that I rarely go to. What I love about this place is that there’s barely anyone there, and a crowded day has no more than ten heads. Even though the swell is forcasted stronger in the South Bay, O-side was barely a foot less in size, so the decision in my head was made: gamble on a smaller wave with fewer people. I’ve had this discussion already before. Sometimes we find good waves, but what’s the worth if you have to compete with the whole community for them? 

            Klaude and I went through the roster to see who was game. Francis went up north to check out the Rip Curl event in San Fran, Dais had plans, Khang had to stay local, and Rick already committed to overtime on Saturday. 

            Klaude pulls up at 0530, right on time. We bring two boards each, minimum gear, and load up the vehicle to hit the road in total darkness. We’re making good time. We catch up on the week’s events while gaining some miles. The sun is barely peeking over the horizon as we reach O-side. According to my car temp gauge it’s 46 degrees. We step out and are blasted by some strong offshore winds. Of course, they may not be that strong, but it’s just so cold. A car load of three surfers pull up just before us, and we perch right next to them on the sand for a look. We give our morning greetings as offerings of peace. 

          What I see is a goldmine. I’ve never seen this spot break so big and consistent. Thank god it’s not flat like the last time I was here. Consistent waves are coming in at an easy five feet, bigger than expected. The peaks are scattered everywhere, and the conditions are clean. 

          I’m stoked, sounding like a teenage adolescent every time I point and call out a wave right in front of us. There’s a wet surfer back on the sand talking to someone with a purple body board; he couldn’t make it out. The guys next to us ask if we’re gonna do it. I say, “Yeah, why not? There’s waves. You can surf here where there’s no one or you can go to Trestles where there’s a hundred people.” I ask Klaude what he thinks, and his outlook isn’t as positive. I can see why. It’s almost “too consistent.” The waves are breaking right on top of each other, one by one with barely a lull. And of course, the other guy couldn’t make it out. However, what I see is an empty lineup. The peaks are rideable, and since I’ve been dying to practice my front-side turns on some lefts, I can have all the lefts I want to myself. The paddle out looks challenging, but if I ever want to surf Bali again or anywhere that has pumping surf, this is good “training.” 

            Last time Klaude and I took a trip like this, we went to South Oxnard. I called all the shots that day, forcing Klaude to surf where I wanted to. To be fair, I asked him to make the call. He opted for Trestles instead. My heart was broken as we drove away. Goodbye, empty lefts. 

            I finally get over it. Trestles could be good too, and Klaude rarely has opportunities to come down south, so why not go to a more mellow, enjoyable spot? As we pull up to Churches, we’re in for another surprise. 

           The surf is pumping here too. It’s not as gnarly, but an easy four feet on the face, and it’s consistent. We can hardly contain ourselves as we get our equipment. I say, “Klaude, I need you to do me a favor.”

            “What?”

            “I need you to tell me to slow down.”

            “Slow down.”

            We can’t decide where to paddle out, especially since the surf in front of us is going off. We venture closer to Middles, but . . . the peaks there aren’t as good. Another shocker is that Lower’s isn’t going off. I don’t know what causes Lower’s to shut down, maybe it’s the direction of the swell combined with the tide, not enough south swell perhaps? It’s back to Churches. 

            I take out my chippy DMS because there is size to work with. We paddle out just south of the main pack. Some big, clean, lined up waves come, but there are always people already on the wave. It just comes with the territory with surfing a crowded spot. There are some longboard chicks just killing it. I pull out on a wave that one of them is on, but her bottom turn is too slow, and she gets broadsided by the lip. I could’ve had that. I hear my brother’s lesson in the back of my mind: never pull out. I’m always so worried of causing an accident. I give up the main peak even though it is breaking better here. I go all the way to the top of the wave where Churches gives a little left to find that the conditions aren’t as pristine as I thought. Because of the tide, the waves are really mooshy. My board is too small, as I scratch out on numerous waves. Before I catch a real wave, I wipeout on a couple at first. I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately, but I’ve been eating shit. I think the last good session I had was at HB a couple weeks ago. I catch a wave that only has a pocket to ride while everything else flattens out. I catch it all the way to shore and switch boards. So I’m at the starting line all over again, and I try to find Klaude to let him know where I am. He’s sitting towards the inside of the crowd, and I see him looking around for me. As I near, an outside wave approaches, I’m the only one in position, and it’s a left. As I’m dropping into it, Klaude is right in front of me. I’m sure that he sees me because I damn near run him over before he duckdives. Unfortunately, the wave doesn’t open up at all, and I end up in the white wash. Today isn’t an easy day. The high tide makes the paddle out further, and the inside is really consistent; it’s a lot of work. I go back to my spot and get my wave of the day. It’s actually pretty sad because I only get one turn on it, and that’s the best I can do all morning. It’s a right that lines up for a long ride. I drop in, bottom turn, and manage to hook my top turn. It feels great that I’m not just cracking the lip on my back hand, but my rotation is going a little further. My main problem is that I tend to stall right after. I manage to down turn and redirect at mid face, but the wave is so mooshy that I don’t compensate for it, and I go right over it as it peels away. It dumps me out near Klaude, and he’s surprised to see me. I explain that I almost ran him over earlier, but he doesn’t recollect. 

            Klaude and I are separated almost the whole session. Finally, the window closes, and the wind turns strong on shore. The conditions get choppy and the waves shut down. The prime peak is working, but there are a lot of guys there.

            Changing out of our wetsuits back at the car, Klaude is pretty satisfied with the morning. For me . . . well, I don’t know. I suppose if I was really good I could just maneuver through the crowd and compete for a wave, but it’s just my lens; I hate crowds and don’t do well around them. At the same time, I know how ridiculous of a notion that is. Am I not part of the crowd adding to the masses as well? We receive the reports from Dais, Khang, and Rick that Porto was firing. Sometimes I wonder if I take my surfing too seriously; I have issues. It’s not that Churches was bad. Klaude sat in the right spot, and I just wanted some space to myself, sacrificing better shape to be alone but didn’t really score. That’s what I tell myself. It’s not the spot, it’s me. 

           

Fueling Up:

            I take Klaude to Pipe’s Café in San Clemente, a spot that Al showed me when he was in town. Klaude agrees that the atmosphere hadsa nice surf theme. After all, who can argue with Innersections playing on the big screen TV. Like clockwork, Marzo’s section begins as we approach the register. Klaude orders two meals: Quesadillas and a sandwich. I stick to my big breakfast of pancakes, bacon, eggs, and potatoes. It’s on this time here that I realize the food actually isn’t that great; it’s just the atmosphere that I love so much. We over eat and get ready for the next go out.