SURF VS SCHOOL PT 2 (double sesh), THU 24NOV2011

A Thanksgiving sunset

Crew: solo

Time: 1500-1645, 1 hr & 45 min

Conditions: 3-4 ft, walled-up on the bigger sets, mostly close outs with occasional shoulders, negative tide, drained out, onshore wind, nice weather, and EMPTY.

            After the morning session I came home, showered up, and got ready to face Lauren’s family to be the “monkey in the middle.” I figured that as long as I ate as much food as possible, complimented her mom’s cooking, and didn’t stray from using utensils that I’d be all right.  I was dressed and ready to go, and then Lauren told me that her parents wanted her to spend the night, especially since her sisters came home from college. The original plan was to do an early Thanksgiving at Lauren’s and then go to my sister’s house in the evening. Since she wouldn’t be accompanying me I told her that I wasn’t going. This hurt a bit. She left the house, and with a turkey sized appetite I was stuck eating dry spaghetti from four days ago. A nappy-poo ensued. 

            At around 1400 I figured that I’d better work up another appetite, so I packed up and headed back to the beach. The drive down Vista Del Mar wasn’t positive. I didn’t see anything happening at Hammers. I cruised through the Porto lot. A couple guys were out, but it wasn’t until I got to the end of the lot that I saw some waves. It was hard to tell if it was rideable or not. The tide was completely drained and shallow, and there were still four-foot sets rolling through. The waves broke close to shore with long peaks, but some of them tapered off sharply at the end producing a small shoulder. Rideable? There were only a few heads out there. I watched a couple guys go, but they kept getting caught behind the sections. 

            I knew I had to paddle out regardless. I was adamant on being famished before the big meal; that’s what’s so awesome about surfing: driving yourself to the point of famine and exhaustion, and then that first bite of food you get tastes soooooo gooooooood. 

            I went to Parks . . . no one out, but there weren’t any waves there. I found an open spot on Rosecrans. I really missed Lauren, though. I felt guilty—selfish. I pictured her with her family. She said her mom made extra food for me. And there I was, alone, on a day for families by myself pulling a solo evening sesh. Maybe I’m an asshole. . . .

            I didn’t expect much. This was a paddle-out just to burn calories. I only went a little north of Rosecrans where I spotted two guys. It was a little sketchy walking out. The waves were a solid four feet and bigger on the plus sets, fast, walled, and breaking close to shore. I stood in the shallows for a while waiting for the lull. I finally chanced it and only had to duckdive one wave. 

            It was an exclusive group. Even in front of the snack stand, there were only a couple guys. We were the only antisocial degenerates out there. For shits-and-giggles I paddled into a couple closeouts, no biggie. The peaks consistently broke in the same spots, and I sat on the left. The next one that rolled through was walled, but it had that taper I was talking about earlier. I was so far on the shoulder that I thought I was going to scratch-out, but it jacked up fast, and next think I knew I was propelled down the line with speed. The section was racy but makeable. I pumped three times but lost balance right before I got to the open face. I blew it, but that didn’t matter; there were rides.

            Since my forehand turns still suck, fast waves are good for me right now; the momentum keeps me from bogging out. On the next left I made sure to keep my balance. I pumped, got to the open face, and got two turns. I felt good, especially seeing that the guys around me couldn’t make the sections. I must’ve been doing something right. 

            The shore pound on the bigger sets was brutal. Another guy tried to join us but got caught inside for a while, on such a short paddle out to the lineup. I eventually drifted to the next peak and started catching rights as well, getting two turns, maybe three on a couple. I love surfing with friends, but I enjoy my solo sessions too. They’re all business. Not too much talk, just silence, reflecting, awareness, and existing. Each ride becomes more personal, etched and ingrained only for yourself to recollect. 

            The lulls were short with plenty of waves to go around, but the wave of the day didn’t go to me. One guy took off deep on a right; I didn’t think he would make it, but he got so much speed that he flailed his arms, unbalanced, until he got to the shoulder. Another guy and I hooted him on. We acknowledged his ride when he paddled back. 

            My last wave was another right, fast but still keeping me on the shoulder with each turn. I got to the shallow water again with a satisfied grin, not as hungry as I was in the morning but still ready to do some damage. 

            Changing at my car, the surfer with the wave of the day was walking up the hill. I didn’t expect a greeting, as my view on people is cold any way. The guy ended up talking to me, introduced himself as Elian, shook my hand, and wished me well. What a cool guy. 

             I drove to the valley with salt water still trapped in my sinuses. It was a small gathering of family and friends, a modest celebration. I got to see my cousin from Maui that I haven’t seen in months. Turkey was followed by Kahlua cream pie and ice cream, and then my brother-in-law whipped out the PS3 for some Modern Warfare 3. I missed Lauren, but I made the best of the day: double sesh followed by a feast. Bring on Christmas.

SURF VS SCHOOL PT 1, THU 24NOV2011

Crew: Francis, Christina, Klaude, Dais, Khang, Tom, Cheryl

Time: 0615-0930, 3 hrs & 15 min

Conditions: 3-4 ft, occasional close outs on bigger sets, extreme high tide, nice weather, and crowded.

Pre Blog:

            I’m catching up on documenting my sessions a week late. School is kicking my ass, but it’s really all my fault. Too much surf, not enough studying, poor balance, and you end up with a traffic jam of assignments right before finals. These entries will be short, as my memory has severely faded. 

Thanksgiving Sesh:

            I can’t remember if I surfed the day before, but if my memory serves me right, Wednesday must have been small or something like that. Thursday’s forecast had a horrible window. The high tide was just under seven feet, and the mid tide window was already closed at first light. The night prior, I sent out the mass text for the holiday text. Rick said, “It shouldn’t be that crowded; everyone should be out of town.” I wasn’t so optimistic.

            I arrived before first light and snagged a free spot on the hill. Francis drove up and stopped to chat, but I told him that I was taking my time since it was still dark. We walked down the hill together at about 0600. I love being there that early in the morning—first dibs. The ocean was still dark, but three guys were already in the lineup: Don, his friend whose name I don’t know, and another local guy. The tide was rising, but it was still low enough to produce some good peaks. “I’ll see you out there!” said Francis. He didn’t waste any time. I didn’t feel too rushed being that it was still dark, so I warmed up for a couple minutes before I followed suit. 

            It was promising. I wondered if Rick was right. There we were, just five guys with the lineup all to ourselves. My first couple waves weren’t good. I ate shit on a left, and I fell on my top-turn going right. “How was that?” asked Francis.

            “Eh . . . it was all right. I could’ve rode it better.” 

            I’ve been in a weird surf funk lately. Everyone else got rides, but nothing of significance happened in my surf world. In the horizon a juicy left formed. It was a plus set, but it actually had shape and lined up well. A local guy was in Francis’ inside, but he looked Francis dead in the eyes, signaling that he wasn’t going to go. Francis turned, saw me, and perhaps felt my desperation. “Go, Matt!” he said. 

            Fuckin’ thank you! Being in a good spot, I turned and dropped in with ease. My turns felt rusty, and I didn’t have a smooth bottom to top transition, but I still managed to take the wave a distance. It wasn’t a good performance on my part, but the wave itself was nice. 

            From the lineup, Francis and I looked towards the sand and saw some longboarders warming up, looking, and pointing in our direction. It was barely forty-five minutes from when we paddled out, and the break was already getting crowded. 

            Christina showed up next. When the sun came up, Khang, Dais, Klaude, and Tom arrived. I think Francis was gone by this time because he had to work (super heroes don’t get holidays off). The typical Thanksgiving convo started. Some of us had simple plans to go home and eat with family. Dais, Tom, and I had to go over our girlfriends’ families’ homes. 

            I expected for the conditions to get worse as the tide rose, but there were still waves to be had with unexpected rogue sets in the mix. The main problem was the crowd; so many people! We were dropping in on each other too. I know for sure on one wave I saw Dais drop in on Klaude. I had a hell of a frustrating session. Either I was the problem or the waves were. I had the hardest time sticking single turns or my waves were too racy. 

            However, I do remember the wave of the day clearly. It was a good right that rolled through. I thought that Klaude was too deep for it when he disappeared, but as the wave peeled away I saw him over the back on his top turn. He hit the lip and got a small bucket-toss. He kept going and got at least one more turn on the inside before the ride ended. Of course, I was jealous. I wanted a ride like that, but more importantly, it’s nice to see the fruits of our consistency. None of us can do airs; that’s for sure. Francis is the only one out of us that gets barreled, but at least most of us are starting to get our turns down; that’s progress.

            It was nearing 0930, and I had leave to start the day’s festivities. Local veteran Bruce was sitting outside when a right formed, but he didn’t go. Khang was on my inside, and we were both paddling for it. Rightfully, Khang had priority, so I said, “Go for it!”

            “Go, Matt!”

            Damn, is it Christmas already? What generosity. I really don’t know why he didn’t go. He was a little deep, but he could’ve made it. Either way, thank you, Khang! Dais was paddling over the shoulder as I slid down the face. He hooted me as we passed each other. It was a frustrating sesh, and as I bottom turned I made a conscious effort not to blow this one. I managed a steep, vertical climb back up the face, snapped the top, and re-entered just as fast. FINALLY. The rest of the wave didn’t line up immaculately, but that first turn followed by a sloppy second was more than enough to sustain me; really, it was all about that snap. Back in shallow water I turned to find Dais’ gaze one me. He threw both of his hands up with fingers outstretched—10. Every surfer aims to end his session with a good wave. This one sent me back up the hill with a smile. Even better, I had worked up an appetite that would make any girlfriend’s mother proud; it was turkey time!

A CLASSIC NOVEMBER IN THE SOUTH BAY, MON 21NOV2011

Crew: Francis

Time: 0830-1130, 3 hrs

Conditions: 4 ft with occasional 5, fast, racy, some closeouts, but some good shape too. Offshore to glassy for the whole session. Sunny, beautiful early winter morning.

            Last week I paid the price for my San Fran staycation; I was behind in homework. Also, I had military obligations this past weekend, so I had to get even more stuff done too. Finally, after returning from training up north and putting a cap on a long week from last Sunday to this Sunday . . . I can surf. 

            The surf forecast looked good for the local breaks. However, it rained hard up north on Sunday, and I heard that El Segundo was hit hard too. I expected Manhattan Beach to be a septic tank. But as my surf mentor Rick said about tampon flavored water, “Only paddle out if there are waves.”

            I wake up to take my niece to school. Looking at my phone I see that I missed a text from Francis: “We go surf tomorrow?!” I’m surprised at his message. It rained really hard, and I didn’t expect that anyone else would want to risk swimming in oil and dog shit. After I make my delivery I head down to Parks. It’s a sunny morning, the flags are blowing offshore, and I see heads in the water as I park up the hill. I’m unaware on what the swell is doing at first, but once I’m half way into my wetsuit, I see a set come in. The waves don’t appear to have shape and close out, but what sticks out most are the three horizontal lines that indicate the wave size for the morning; it’s going to be good.          

            Francis drives up, and I tell him that I’ll meet him at the tower. The sand is still wet from yesterday’s rain, but the scenery is pure, classic South Bay. It’s sunny, the sky’s a radiant blue, a few seagulls soar overhead, Palos Verdes is clear in the distance, the beige sand is bright under the sun, and the offshore wind is so light that the air is calm. Now that I’m closer, I can see that the waves don’t have the best shape, but out of the fast, racy rides I can make out some shoulders that look rideable. Either way, it looks consistent, there’s size, and there’s potential. Francis comes down to join me. He tells me that Sunday’s surf sucked, but that they went to a local surf shop for fifty percent off on gear through a hook-up. 

            I haven’t surfed in over a week, so to be honest, I’m a little nervous at how rusty I might be. Surprisingly, I make it to the lineup with dry hair. I paddle for my first wave but back out when I see that it’s closing. Francis draws first blood while I sit and remain picky for something with shape. For nearly the first hour, I don’t catch anything with significance. I eat shit on a couple waves, manage to get a weak top turn on a right, and most of my rides are closeouts.

            With the tide dropping, the second hour gets fun. Occasional peaks roll through with good definition and shape, some as big as five feet. I get my wave of the day in the form of a left, and just like I’ve been working on lately, the recipe follows: drop in, make the section, bottom turn, out stretch arms, rotate trunk downwards, shift weight on board to set inside rail and push on tail, carving arc on the face, redirect board, pump, and try again. I recently read a Trans World Surf article that states “backside top turns are more powerful,” so even though I’m not getting the front side spray that I’d like, I’m really happy that I can now claim to have a forehand turn, which turns my one-trick pony into a two-trick pony. 

            On one of my paddles back out, I duckdive a wave and see that the sand is only a few feet below me. The wave yanks my board as I hold on, and when I resurface my rail hits me in the chin. I’m a little rattled and humbled. There is less thought about the next couple waves that I pass up; I do it gladly. The inside is getting a little dangerous. The decent size and low tide is creating punchy and drained out surf. I get mostly rights this morning, but I only stick two landings after my top turns. On all the others, the waves get so vertical on my down turns that I keep purling on the reentry. On one purl, I slam into the water as if diving headfirst, ramming my shoulder square into the sand bottom. Despite the inability to finish the rides, they seem like critical, last second heroics. On one wave especially, I climb the face as the wave stands up, crack the lip, and ditch my board right before the pitch. I resurface feeling triumphant, but over the back I see Francis getting barreled for about four seconds. He’s caving it, hunkered down in the little hollow slot. He takes it until he gets pinched. “I saw that!” I say to him as he resurfaces. 

            Francis’ barrel shows me the day’s potential. I catch a big left, drop in, fade out, but the curtain’s already come down. I drop in on my next right, grab rail, and tuck in close to the face, but the wave isn’t even going hollow yet. I’m forcing it! I paddle back to Francis, and he tells me that since it’s beach break I need to paddle in at the peak. After a couple more failed attempts, I conclude that “forcing a barrel” is not the way to get barreled. Francis has clocked in most of his surf time on Oahu; he just knows what to do and has the experience. I can’t “force” that. 

            Every time we think about leaving, another good wave comes. Once we’re into the third hour, Francis says that he’s gonna call it. “One more wave!” I tell him. Lately, my “last waves” have been fifteen minute windows of terrible shape or straight lulls. The next set comes right away, and the first wave is a nice, peaky left. As I’m bottom turning I can see that this little four footer has a little slot in it, but I’m already committed to setting up for a carve. The feeling is becoming familiar. Off the top of the shoulder, I’m arcing back down with my heel on the tail, twisting my torso, and coming down the face with speed. These used to be half ass turns, but they feel so much smoother now. I rarely end a session with a wave like this, so I get to the sand stoked and smiling with no complaints.

           

            The waves weren’t perfect today, but the good waves that did come through made the session worthwhile, especially combined with the offshore conditions. Last Wednesday my girlfriend came home from work and saw how stressed out I was. She said, “I’ve noticed you study better on the days that you surf.” This type of balance is necessary.