THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY, SAT 04FEB2012 MOR

Crew: Solo

Ran Into: Whiffleboy, Wagner, and the WHC (minus Rick)

Time: 0730-0900

Conditions: High tide, walled, 5-6 ft, crowded.

     I went to 26^th first to take a look, but something turned me off. Not to sound negative, but lately I’ve felt the need to surf elsewhere. I haven’t had a good session there in a while, and I can’t blame everything on the conditions. Guys like Roy, Don, and the other local rippers get their fair share, but I’ve struggled. 

     I stopped short of pulling into the El Porto lot when I noticed an open space on 45^th. The tide looked high, but there was a lot of water moving around. A surfer caught a little left on the inside, and that’s all I needed to see.

     It’s the meters that changed everything. I used to surf here all the time. The Tanks was my favorite spot. At first they changed the price to ten minutes for a quarter. When they started giving tickets at 0800 instead of 0900, I got cheap and started surfing 26^th. I felt rejuvenated as I made my trot down the hill, reminding me of old times. The sand bars here have to be better, I thought. 

     The high water line nearly touched the rocks. It was a classic, crowded day. There was no chance at surfing 45^th, so I picked a channel just north of the tanks. 

     I felt like a newb in unfamiliar territory, as a couple guys watched my paddle to the lineup. I’m harmless. I caught my first wave which was a racy left. There was no chance for a turn. It looked like it would open, but upon popping-up, the section was already closing out. My second wave was the same. I noticed Whiffleboy in the lineup, but he was in shouting distance. I’ll wait until we’re closer, I thought. A minute later I heard him call, “Matt!” I turned around, and he was right behind me. We caught up El Segundo style which involves rubbing the heads of two penises together . . . okay, that’s not true, but for some reason that line came to me. 

     We caught up and asked each other how we were doing. He said he surfed here yesterday, and I told him about me getting skunked at PV. I invited him to surf HB with me on Sunday, but he had family plans. 

     Both of us caught similar rides—all racy, struggling to get to the evading shoulder. It was consistent enough to be generous. I noticed the bump from the next set and said, “Go for it.” As he took off, I thought I saw a bump further in the distance. As I paddled further out and over the next wave, I saw the juicer out the back. Best of all, it had a tapered, left shoulder, the first one I saw all morning. I heard a couple “Woooooos!” for the wave. I don’t know how I lucked out, but I found myself magically in prime position. 

     I scratched and kicked until I started my slide. I was stoked and ready for some carves. The wave was close to six feet, so I started my bottom turn just below mid face and carved off of the shoulder, and that’s when it happened. I couldn’t set up for my next turn because the wave started to stand up; I wasn’t ready for this. I heard someone yelling at me from the inside, but I failed to comprehend. I was losing the race, as I pumped to keep up, and then the lip started throwing out, leaving a hollow, unoccupied tube. By the time I realized I should pull-in, the lip had already shut me out. 

     Resurfacing, I had a feeling that I totally blew it, but I still wasn’t sure. I saw the next one come in, and it was another barrel, but this time Wagner was going down the line. Before he had a chance to pull-in, some guy dropped-in on him. After I duck-dived, I resurfaced again to see Wagner paddling up to the surf offender. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but he looked pissed. He had murder written all over his face. Wagner cocked his hand back like he was gonna punch the guy, who was in fear, holding one hand up to block and trying to use his board as a shield. Wagner scared him enough that he paddled-in. 

     Back at the lineup, Whiffleboy came up to me and said, “I was yelling at you to pull-in!” and that’s when it was confirmed. Fuck my ass. It was another missed and wasted opportunity added to the list of blown barrel rides. I sat in silence, brooding. I turned to Whiffleboy and said, “Yep, that one’s gonna haunt me for the rest of the day.”

     Luckily Wagner distracted me from my own woes. He couldn’t let it go. He was loud and voicetress, telling his friends what happened. When he paddled nearby I told him I saw the whole thing.

     He said, “Yeah, the fucking guy looked at me, right in my fucking eye and still went. What the fuck!?”  

     Jesus H, I thought. He was so angry that it could’ve been mistaken that he was pissed off at me. After he went away Whiffleboy said, “And you know what’s funny? He’s part of a Christian surf group.” I guess everyone has a line that shouldn’t be crossed, and for Wagner it’s: don’t fuck with my waves. 

     I saw someone else trying to get my attention. It was Gary. He pointed out Tripp, Dave T, Jimmy, Manny, and John. Rick was at work. 

     I waited desperately to avenge my mishap, but my missed barrel was the last wave I caught with shape. 

     Sitting in the lineup, Wagner yelled over everyone to get my attention. He said, “You see that monster way out over there?!” I gave an awkward smile, still wondering why he was addressing me. I looked out and saw nothing. He continued, “You see that bump?! Thirty-four seconds!” Everyone followed his cue and started paddling. Reluctant and confused, I slowly paddled as well. “Count it down!” he said. 

     Twenty-five, twenty-four, twenty-three. . . . Sure as shit, everyone started scrambling to get to the outside of this huge, macking wall that was heading straight for us. 

     “What’d I tell you! What’d I tell you!”

     After the set, I sat on the outside in disbelief. He paddled to me. His face was serious with anger, and then he broke into a smile and laughed, tugging my calf. “Man, I’m still trying to figure out how you did that?” I said. “I’m over here trying to see what’s out there.” 

     “I’ve been surfing for twenty-eight years!” 

     Whiffleboy said he had family plans for the day, so he took his last one in. I bullshitted with the WHC for a bit, but I risked getting a parking ticket, so I paddled to 45^th and caught a closeout. 

     Today was a reality check. I think we all know the formula. It looks easy, right? We know what to look for if we wanna do an air, and we know when to pull-in and hunker down in the tube. We’ve all seen it a million times, whether it’s a surf flick by Kai Neville, Taylor Steele, or a live webcast from Pipeline, but the reality is that most of us don’t know how to apply that knowledge yet.

OLD MAN AND THE SEA, FRI 03FEB2012 MOR

Loc: PV

Crew: Solo

Time: 0830-1000

Conditions: High tide, 3 feet, glassy, walled, soft, inconsistent.

     Last night Khang told me he’d surf 26^th today. I originally intended to check the surf closer to 0800 when the tide went down, but since Lauren got home at about 0630, I thought I’d just wake up. 

     There was definitely size at 26^th. I stood on the run path and looked at it for a while. It was a solid four-to-five, but the shape was a little mooshy and walled. There seemed to be a lot of people out there. It’s so much better when the peaks are tighter, but there were these long, wallie, unattractive lines. There seemed to be more surfers than the shape allowed, so I went to Porto next. I haven’t surfed here in a while. It amazes me how much I used to love this spot, but now when I drive through it seems so packed and condensed. It’s already worse enough that you have to pay to surf here. I’d say the shape was a hair better. There were rides, but a lot of people sitting on the sand bar. I watched a couple guys get dropped-in on, but in Porto’s defense, in front of the bathrooms, a big, clean left broke on the outside and went unridden. Rosecrans looked the cleanest to me. The left was working nice and standing up similar to HB, but it was pretty crowded. My energy’s been lame lately, and I really didn’t feel like being in the middle of a pack, so I gambled on PV.

     As I drove further south, the swell seemed to get smaller and smaller. I noticed the difference in size when I drove by Manhattan Pier, and the little nooks and crannies where I could see the ocean in Hermosa looked like the surf was tiny. I stopped by Hags, and there were only three guys out on the north end—nothing. Overlooking The Cove, I joined two old-timers. There were only five longboarders in the lineup, and it looked two-to-three feet. “You gonna do it?” I asked one of them.

     “I don’t know. It looks a little too weak for me.” 

     “Yeah, I just came from Porto and 26^th. I didn’t really like the shape down there.”

     “I just came from there too. Rosecrans looked like it had a nice peak, but it was crowded.”

     As he left, I talked to the second old timer. He said, “You know, the tide’s coming down. It might get better.” He actually pointed out where Indicators was. Further south, wrapping around The Cove, there’s another point by a bunch of rocks, and I could see that the left was working. 

     “It looks like there’s a couple guys out there,” I said. When I turned to address him, he was gone. I suited up and made the walk down. It was another session without expecting much, but I had scored all three times I’ve been here. Initially I explored a different trail that led down to a sharp, rocky drop-off that would’ve made the paddle out shorter, but I reconsidered when I imagined climbing those rocks on the way back in. The air was cool and chilly from the north wind, but once my feet touched the water I felt warm.

     I sat in my usual spot: bottom of the wave, wide of the main peak. I got some waves right away, but the shape was not cooperating. Every time I popped up, the section in front of me was already spilling away. I caught a good amount, but most of them were straight-shots. There was one wave, just one wave that I could claim a turn on. Surprisingly, the shoulder was critical and steep, but the inside just softened it up too much. 

     The sun made its way over the cliff, and everything about the place was gorgeous. There was serenity, isolation, and a very light crowd to share it with. With all the personal issues in my life, it was nice to sit in silence and reflect. It would’ve been better if there were waves, but who has control over that?

     The best thing about the session was the walk back up. With the sun on my back, the quietness of the nature around me, and the high vantage point of the rocks below and whole South Bay in the distance, I felt centered in the moment. With only the sound of your footsteps, it’s hard not to feel at peace. Back at the car, the old timer was packing up. “Not that bad out there.” he said.

     “Yeah, there were some fun ones.” I didn’t want to be a buzz kill.

     “It actually got better.” There was a long pause while he strapped his longboard to the roof. “And when that sun comes out . . . it’s like heaven.” 

     I was unsure if he was talking to me. He wasn’t looking at me, but I was the only one around. That stuck to me a little. There I was, berating the surf in my mind, taking my youth and time for granted perhaps? That old man, bald, wrinkled, and eyebrows white as powder, he was the one truly living out of the both of us. 

LOCAL SCRAPS, WED 01FEB2012 MOR

Crew: Francis & Khang

Time: 0730-0930

Conditions: High to mid tide, 3 feet, onshore, choppy, rip current.

     On Tuesday, Francis sent me a text and said it was two-to-three feet and holding in the morning. With that being said, I told him I’d surf with him the next day. After dropping my sister off at the airport, I cruised to 26^th for a look. On the way there I could see flags blowing onshore, which was a surprise since the wind has been offshore since Thanksgiving. 

     I had to take a shit, so I parked in the metered lots, dropped a log in the public bathroom, and watches the waves. It looked bad. The morning crowd hogged the peak in front of the tower. The waves were crumbly and knocked down from the wind. I should just go home, I thought. Text Francis, apologize for not surfing, explain that the water looked shitty, and then move on with my day. It wasn’t until I actually saw Francis in the water, surfing away from the pack alone, that I felt guilty. I walked to my car wondering what to do, and that’s when Khang pulled up in his van right in front of me. “You paddling out?” I asked.

     “Yeah. It’s onshore, but I thought I saw a couple waves over there.” He motioned towards where I saw Francis.

     We suited up and headed down together. I hit the sand not expecting anything. I was getting wet for the sake of seeing my friends. In between taking a shit and getting in the water, I saw Francis get at least three rides. We joined him and got annoying looks from some other guys in the water. It must have been a frustrating morning for most people. Roy paddled up from the south and talked to the guys. I barely talk to him. Honestly, he called me out in the water years ago. Even though he probably forgot about it; I can’t help it. I’m a grudge holder, and I never forget a face, so when I see him I remember that moment every time.

     I got one decent left the whole morning, that’s all I can really say about this session. It was a spilling wave, and I so happened to be on the shoulder. What felt good was I continued my progress from HB. I got two little turns before the wave flattened out. It was about to connect with an oncoming right, but I lost my balance in the flats. I also got a right, but it closed before it hit the lip. Half of the session was spent fighting the rip. It was weird. The current was sucking out and to the south. I even lost Khang who nearly drifted to Marine before he paddled back. The water was just plain ugly, a disappointment. Meanwhile, I saw Roy pumping down the line, still finding workable corners. He just has this place wired. Even though he’s not my friend, I can’t hate on his surfing.

     I was glad to be in the water. I’ve been reflecting lately about the joy of the ocean. Where do most people spend their leisure time? A lot of people don’t ever make the time to go out and do anything. Surfers are the prime example of opportunists that make the time to enjoy life. We could easily be sleeping in our beds and making excuses. People who don’t surf may not find time to go to the gym, take that hike, go jogging, or take that exercise class. Surfers will always make the time.