GOOD THINGS HAPPEN . . . , WED 21DEC2011

Crew: Khang, Francis, Dave, & Ryan

Ran into: Jack & Jimmy B.

Time: 0815-1030

Conditions: Sunny, warm, offshore, 3-4 ft, fast, walled, mid-low tide, hollow closeouts with occasional corners.

            With the old, walled-up swell making its exit and the new swell arriving, I hoped that today’s shape would improve somewhat. It was an easy decision to make—stay local. While there’s surf predicted in the South Bay, I may as well stay around here instead of wasting gas at the chance of getting skunked. The same crew from yesterday was down, but this morning we’d also have the edition of Deathwish Dave. 

            I told Ryan last night that I’d pick him up by 0730, but I wake up at 0715 and hit the snooze button a couple times. I shoot him the text that I’m running late. When I pull up to Natasha’s, he’s barely waking up and starts rushing to grab his gear. I tell him to take his time. Right now everything is chill: no school, no work, no rush. Driving by the jetty the surf looks small, but as soon as we get to Parks we see some closeouts, but the inside has some better shape. After circling around once, we find free parking on Highland Ave. Dave drives by and honks as we change. There’s a high feeling of optimism in the air. I’m hoping for the best; there’s no way that I’ll go five in a row without a good surf. It’s not possible; today has to be the day!

            From the sand I can tell that the conditions aren’t ideal, but I can already see the new swell trying to work its way against the walls from what’s fading. Ryan hits the water first and finds Francis. It’s a crowded morning, crowded enough to pass as a weekend almost. Since we’re late, or what I like to call “the second shift,” the local rippers (Don, Roy, and those other long-haired killers) are going for their “last ones.” I get to the lineup, say wassup to Francis, and immediately go for the first wave that comes my way. It’s a wall, but I get hung up on top, and the water gives-way as my board and I participate in the violent explosion. I wipeout a second time, crushed by the lip at mid face while going left. For some reason I’m still smiling. I laugh, and tell Khang that I’m eating shit. During my debacle he paddled out undetected. “Yeah, I saw that!” He says. He also tells me that he got really nauseas last night and then felt a bruise on his cranium from yesterday’s accident.  It just goes to show how dangerous head trauma can be out here. If it doesn’t affect you right away, you can have late concussion-like symptoms. 

            There’s a current pulling south this morning, but we have an area all to ourselves. I see Jimmy B. and Jack from the WHC. They ask me how Trestles was, and I tell them that the south wind was on it. They’re surprised that I didn’t score. 

            By now I’m complaining to Khang that I can’t get a wave with turns. Just then, a long peak forms in the distance, and I’m in position to chase the shoulder. It’s the occasional corner that I’ve been hoping for. It looks barely two-feet high, but it jacks up once I drop in. Finally, a wave that’s lined up and gradually building. A couple pumps get me to the open shoulder. My first top turn lacks speed, so I don’t get any arch off the tail. I pump harder for momentum on my second attempt and get a good frontside carve half way down the face. Stoked, I look back for recognition from Khang, ignoring the remnants of the ride. I have a girly moment, self celebrating with a smile, laugh, and a loud “Wooooh!” all to myself in thigh deep water. Back at the lineup I know that my day is made. It doesn’t matter what happens now; I got the best ride I’ve had since Thanksgiving! 

            The crowd thickens around us. Dave joins the group, but he’s nursing his left shoulder. He says he hurt it during his last session. Most of us are catching closeouts. Ryan doesn’t look as stoked; it may be from the slight drop in size compared to yesterday. The smaller waves have the best shape. They look small but stand up towards the inside, nice and fast. I manage a couple other rides with shape but not many. Dave . . . he really lives up to his alias Deathwish. Man, with the combined swells, some waves double up, connect sections on the inside, and turn bottomless over the drained tide. Dave paddles into this double up; he has it. But it connects with another section that’s walled up. He tries to shift to the tail but ends up airdropping, chomped by a heavy dumpster. Ballsy . . . that’s what I tell him when he resurfaces. 

            God damn, wave of the day here. Francis and Khang just caught a wave. The next one has better shape, and again, I’m right by the shoulder, or I thought I was right by the shoulder. As I’m popping up I realize I’m a little too deep. All I know is that I’m going left, but I see the lip throwing-out as I’m dropping in. I crouch as low as I can, grab my rail, and set my line tight to the curl. I hear Khang say, “Yeah, Matt!” Looking down the line I see the cylindrical shape of the tube with the lip going over. I’m not in there long, but it’s long enough. Not full-on, but semi barrel. Jesus . . . after weeks of seeing my friends get some cover up, I’m finally graced with a little shampoo action myself. I let myself get pinched because I’m on the verge of colliding with Sauce and Khang. I resurface trying to compute what just happened as the fellas are pumping me up, enriching my moment. I must say . . . I would’ve enjoyed it if I was alone, but to share it friends made it mean much more. 

            Still, it’s dangerous out here. I catch a nasty closeout, it’s hollow, I’m inside, and I see an eternal lip folding over before I’m enveloped. It’s an awkward wipeout when the curtain comes down while you’re standing on your board. Nearing 1100, we all make our way out separately. I’d like to grab breakfast with Natasha and Ryan again, but I’m hoping to catch Lauren before she goes to work. Ryan and I stop by the new Schatt’s Bakery in the Gundo, get some pastries, sit, and converse over coffee. He tells me about his travels to Panama, Chile, and Brazil. He’s had a good trip down south, but he goes back up north tomorrow. We take a couple pics before I leave. At least I know I got a buddy in Oregon to show me the surf, but it’s a little hard to imagine being up there. Another friend made through surfing; he’s a cool guy. 

            Back at the apartment Lauren’s already gone. I clean up my place, eat a little breakfast, and organize the rest of my day. I’m enjoying my winter break.

WINTER LETDOWNS PT.4 TUE 20DEC2011

Crew: Khang, Francis, Tom, & Ryan

Time: 0830-1100

Conditions: 3-5 ft, fast, walled, hollow on some sets. Clear skies, sunny, and glassy.

            I don’t know if it’s just me, but the mornings have been fucking cold. I don’t believe I used my heater this much last year. I wake up at around 0700 and check on my wetsuit that’s been hanging in front of the fan all night. It’s still a little damp, but at least it’s not soaked.

Things that Suck for a Surfer: putting on a cold, wet wetsuit early in the morning.

            I text Ryan to let him know I’m running late. Once I pick him up and start our journey, I key him in on some local knowledge, pointing out the Jetty, smoke stacks, and finally cruising down into the 45^th St. parking lot. It’s packed, but that’s no surprise. We park by the bathrooms for a look, and there’s definitely some size out there. A small wave holds shape towards the inside, but the next sets are horizontal lines with barely anywhere to go. The surfers that do get rides can only go straight or kick-out early. I tell him that we should switch spots because it’s better to surf close-outs for free rather than pay for them. 

            We show up just in time to see a lady pulling out of her street parking space. The crowd is at average capacity, and we paddle out just south of the tower. It’s not much better here, but there seems to be a chance for a good ride if I sit on the shoulder. I’m in prime position for two waves, but guys already have priority on my inside. On the third one I catch it to the shallows, but it’s a small wave. Right then I see Khang and Francis paddling out. I turn and see Ryan paddle into a plus-sized wave and air drop into oblivion. After wiping-out a few times and catching a handful of closeouts, I already write the day off as a loss: nothing but dumpsters. However, the rest of the crew is going for broke. I see Khang pull-in to a suicide barrel; no way out. The curtain comes down on him, and he’s standing in the inside for a while. “Fuck,” he says. “My board hit me in the head underwater.”

            “You all right?”

            “Yeah, it’s just unexpected when that happens. You can get hurt out here.”

            Francis tells me that he got some good barrel time on a wave before he got pinched. I paddle up to Ryan, shrug my shoulders as if to say, “Sorry, bro . . . it can be good out here but not today.”

            Ryan says, “I barely surf glassy conditions; I’m having fun!” I guess I’d have to be from Oregon to understand, but he tells me that there’s always wind, and the sky’s usually gray. One thing for sure, the guy must charge. I’m passing up the big sets because they are just pounds of charged water waiting to explode—no shape whatsoever. Still, I watch him paddle hard, drop in, and disappear behind the concussion. Khang is on a mission too, on Ryan’s same note he is just going for it, not holding back, and milking whatever comes his way. I don’t know what my issue is. Maybe I’ve turned into a cynical asshole, but I’m feeling too picky; I want better surf. 

            Tom shows up, and we shoot the shit with him. He says that yesterday was good, still walled, but held up by the offshores. I’m skeptical at hearing this, as walls don’t sound fun at all. Towards the end of the session everyone is gone. Literally, it is just us four. I’ve only seen 26^th this empty a few times. For it to be this empty is a bad sign. I call the last wave and head back in. Ryan stops once we’re on the sand, turns around, and expresses how beautiful the weather is. He can’t let go of the scene as he stares out towards PV. Somehow, I get the feeling that he doesn’t see conditions like this where he comes from. In the parking lot we run into Jonathan G. I haven’t seen him since Baja. Nicole, Francis’s girlfriend, pulls up too; Ryan’s getting the full dose of meeting everyone this morning. So some of us decide to go out for breakfast. Nicole, Francis, Ryan, Natasha, and I meet up at Bob’s Hawaiian Restaurant in Harbor City. I kill off the Keiki saimin, Da Big Hawaiian Plate, and the short stack of pancakes that comes with it. The whole time, the waitress is fucking with me, telling me that there’s no way I can’t eat all of it. I do, every single bite, and I leave a big, brown pinecone in their toilet to prove it. The post session makes up for the surf. Ryan and Natasha blend in with everyone after their first introduction; they have good energy. Strangers connect through surfing, we’re all here sharing this moment that wouldn’t have happened if it wasn’t for our love of the ocean. Our laughs are so loud that other people start turning around glaring at us; we’re disrupting the “family atmosphere.” 

            Right now it’s 1229 in the morning, I just farted, and it smells like buttermilk pancakes. Man . . . I hope tomorrow’s surf will be better.

WINTER LETDOWNS PT.3 MON 19DEC2011

Location: Churches
Crew: Khang & Ryan

Time: 0830-1145

Conditions: 1-3 ft, onshore wind, crumbly, inconsistent, gloomy, and empty.

            After surfing HB, Khang made the suggestion to surf Trestles. With the forecast saying that the South Bay is walled-up, and after HB’s meager conditions, Trestles sounded like a good idea. I used to go there a lot, but I haven’t really scored a good day there since being back from Bali. I was due-up for a Trestles sesh. 

            Khang got to my house by 0600. We stopped by Doughboy’s Doughnuts down the street for some supplies and headed out. We were stoked. With a good start, coffee, and some donuts in our bellies we were optimistic at the potential for today’s surf. Surfline gave Trestles a good rating, three to four foot surf. Thoughts of the days when I scored, the days when it was glassy and consistent, came back to me in a rush. We were staring down the barrel of a potential wave buffet in the making. 

            Half way there, I gave Ryan a call. He was with his friend Natasha, and they planned to drive there on their own. The second we exited Basilone road we saw the texture on the water at Lowers. There were only a couple guys out, and there were no waves. “That dooeesn’t, look good,” said Khang. I knew what I was thinking, but I just didn’t want to think it yet. Surfers that know “true skunk” go into a defensive posture in these situations. Explanations run through your mind: maybe there isn’t a set yet, maybe it’s a lull, maybe it’s better on the other side, maybe it will get better, maybe the wind will die, maybe it will get bigger, maybe, maybe, maybe I made the WRONG FUCKING CALL driving my ass all the way down for shit!

            As soon as we reached the parking for Trestles we got a closer view of the choppy conditions, thanks to the south wind. About six longboarders sat in one spot, probably the only peak that worked for them in the morning. The south wind was just knocking the waves down and made them crumbly. The sets that came through were about three feet, but the peak feathered-away fast, leaving a little shoulder. Yeah, it was rideable, but just small, ugly, and junky. “Awwww, look at that one!” said Khang. “Yeah, man, there’s some fun ones out here.” Poor Khang . . . he suffered severely from skunk denial. We walked out to see what Middles was doing . . . nothing. Lowers had a few people on it, but it looked just as bad. Any time that Lowers isn’t working is a bad sign. 

            I called Ryan, told him the status, and planned to meet him where the Cristianitos trail ends. I walked all the way to uppers to meet them. Lowers had about fifteen people there, mostly groms forcing inside rides, but the surf was ugly. 

            Ryan and I paddled up to Khang who had stayed behind. “You catch anything?” I asked.

            “Nothing.”

            “Really, nothing at all?”

            “Well, I got like one ride.”

            “What happened to the sets we saw earlier.”

            “I don’t know man . . . it’s bad right now. I don’t think it’s getting better. The wind picked up too.”

            Fuck my life. I pumped Ryan up about this place. He’s a surfer from Oregon, never been to Trestles, so I wanted to be his ambassador. When I apologized he said, “Aww, man, no worries. I haven’t surfed in two weeks. I’m just glad to be in the water!”

            Even though the lulls were painstakingly long, some sets popped up every once in a while, and despite the crappy conditions they still lined up for long rides. Since the size was small, it was really hard to get solid turns on them. It was more of a day for trimming and going as far as you could. Ryan had a thick, medium board, and he got more waves than Khang and I combined. Into the second hour, we were the only ones at Churches. Despite getting skunked, I got more waves than my recent sessions at HB and the South Bay. 

            Afterwards, I shuttled Ryan’s boards back to Cristianitos to make his and Natasha’s trek back easier. When we left them, me and Khang’s next mission was to find a good all you can eat buffet. The one with the best review was Hokkaido Seafood Buffet in Long Beach. We stuffed ourselves for about an hour and a half. The food was just average, but it was worth it for ten bucks. 

            Damn it . . . so another day of surf without satisfying the thirst. I’ve surfed local, HB, and as far as Trestles in a matter of days. The lesson learned: if you’re gonna get skunked, it’s better to get skunked at home. Tomorrow I’m surfing the South Bay.