BOBBER, THU 22MAR2012 MOR

Location: HB

Crew: Solo

Time: 0745-0945

Conditions: Sunny, offshore, high tide, swampy.

     I’ve been trying to surf HB before school on Tuesdays and Thursdays. This makes sense to save money on gas, seeing as how it’s so damn expensive nowadays. I do my best to wake up early, but it’s not early enough. Even though I leave the house before 0700, I still hit traffic around the 605 interchange. Still, I reach my favorite surf spot in HB well before 0800, which means I can surf for about two hours. 

     I can see the exploding sprays of whitewash from the parking lot. This is good. I start screaming to myself in the car, “WOOHOO! OHHH YEAH!” as I drive past the few cars in this vast, empty lot. As I’m suiting up, a car full of groms pull up. They’re standing on top of their SUV, checking to surf too. I’m surprised at how there’s barely anyone here yet, but I’m just thinking about the score: out there . . . there are waves, and I’m gonna have them . . . all to MYSELF!

     I start my trot over the sand, passing a dawn patroller walking back to his car. Once I see the ocean it has a severe case of morning sickness. The tide is on the high side, making the inside swampy. The sand bar where I usually surf wants to break, but the waves roll through and break towards the inside. It’s still a clean morning, and I’m hoping that this dropping tide window will help.

     You know that there’s a severe chance of getting skunked when you’re the only one out there. A few guys to my north paddle in. At the river jetties, I see no one. The city truck patrols the sand behind me while I paddle south to where I think I see a wave. This is not happening. . . .

     I decide to sit on the inside where I catch a closeout. Occasional waves break on the outside, but they do not line up. The groms I saw earlier join my misery and mimic my frustrations. A couple other guys join me; one of them actually gets one hit off the lip. Wow, it’s more than what I can say for myself.

     

     It’s a little past 0900, I’ve been here for well over an hour, and still, I spend more time bobbing like an orange turd in a river than catching waves. Dropping tide my ass—nothing. That’s it . . . that’s the end of the story. Fucking nothing. I can’t remember the last good day of surf that I scored. And then again, I haven’t been paddling out as much. I’m long overdue for some good waves. I think about Klaude and G of the OC. They’d rather be out here getting skunked than sitting behind a desk. I feel them. However, it’s hard to be one with your surfing identity when you leave the beach without that sensation of riding a wave.

     I arrive at my 1100 class, salty and browned, but surf stoked I am not.

AN ATTEMPT, 16MAR2012

Location: HB

Crew: Fran-Sowce

Time: 0745-0945

Conditions: Gloomy, high to mid-tide, inconsistent, 4 FT, fast, pitchy, couple windows of good conditions.

     I wanted to surf HB on Wednesday, but I got too drunk the night before. I wanted to make up for it on Thursday, but my sister had me on uncle duty to take my niece to school. I am once again the king of doing favors for others. I am selfish with my time, and I missed Thursday’s last day for surfline’s “gold” rating. I’m not sure if my selfishness makes me a bad person or not, but I do these favors out of obligation.

     On Friday, my school’s surf club is having a beach day, so I plan on surfing HB in the morning and then cruising over there, but I get a text from Francis Thursday night. He asks if I want to surf HB and that he’ll drive. He already bought his one-way ticket back to Oahu, so I don’t have much time to spend with him. So what’s it gonna be? Go to a school social or hang out with one of my buddies?

     Francis pulls up at 0600 in front of my soon to be vacated apartment (God damn, I’m going to miss El Segundo). I throw my DMS board in the back, and we shove off. It’s a gloomy morning with sprinkles of rain tapping against the windshield. In HB, we can’t see any signs of wind, so it’s a good sign. We’re only half way to the water, and we can see explosions of white wash breaking the horizon, good sign number two. However, at the water’s edge, there are only a few heads at River Jetties and to our north. The conditions aren’t as clean as Tuesday. The inside is consistent with small, marble waves; the shape isn’t holding up very well, and it’s a little choppy. Surf syndrome (SS) kicks in. We know it doesn’t look good, but we don’t want to say it. 

 

     “Hey, it’s better than local,” says Francis. 

     He leads the way. Surprisingly, once we’re in the water the conditions are cleaner than how they looked from the shore. I duckdive a couple waves that have glassy shoulders. Francis draws first blood by catching a couple boggers.

     “Needs less water,” he says. He’s referencing the high tide.

     On his next wave, he gets two good turns going left. I only have a couple closers under my belt. “At least it’s not boring!” I say. Maybe I shouldn’t have though. The water goes dead, and we’re hit with a long lull.

     Almost fifteen minutes later, Francis motions for me to paddle further in with him. As we do, the inside waves start to get consistent. From there, some outside sets start coming in. I’m out of position for every one of them. Francis paddles late into one of the set waves going left.

     “I rode the foam the whole time,” he says. It hits me that he’s riding single fin this morning, so he’s dealing with a lot of speed. 

     Again, another lull. We start looking at our watches, wondering if we should call it. Just then, the conditions clean up. It might be from the lowering tide, but even the slight onshore wind stops. This morning still isn’t breaking like classic Huntington. Three different peaks break simultaneously with each onslaught of waves. Guys are backing out, and some are getting some decent carves. I finally catch a right that I get two sloppy turns on. 

     When the next lull hits, we decide not to wait much longer. I’m frustrated, wanting at least one solid ride to end the morning. Meanwhile, Francis is scooping water into the air and volleying them with his palm. His calm demeanor never ceases to amaze me. I wonder if he’s Jesus Christ, and then I make a comparison to him being the male, surfer version of Snow White. He’s just so easy going. I picture dolphins and seagulls congregating around him while he wears his signature smile. 

     We tell each other that we tried to make the best out of things; we can’t score all the time, and we have had our fair share of good days at HB. We head to our ritualistic spot for breakfast: BOB’S HAWAIIAN RESTAURANT.

Coconut syrup???

     Even though we got skunked, it’s a rare opportunity to cruise with Sowce on a Friday morning. He’ll be back on Oahu soon getting barreled out of his mind, and mornings like this will keep the foundation strong in our friendship. He will be missed. Also, Hawaiian-style breakfasts are THE BEST!

    

LIVING AGAIN, 13MAR2012

Location: HB

Crew: Solo

Time: 0845-0945

Conditions: Low tide, inconsistent, 3-4 FT, fast, hollow, dangerously shallow.

     I’ve been in a dark place. It’s not every day that your girlfriend of three years decides to walk out on you. I stopped surfing, stopped taking care of myself, and stopped answering the phone or replying to my friends checking on me. This is my last month in El Segundo, so I figured that Sunday night would be the last get together I’d throw. Khang, Shan, Francis, and CC showed up. It was a fun night of beer, pizza, surf porn, and Ninja Warrior. Hanging out with all my friends really lifted my spirits, and that’s when I decided: I need to live again.

Ghirardelli dark chocolate brownies with ice cream

RUSH:

     I mean to wake up. I need to turn off the alarm and start changing. It’s 0615, and I’m lying on the living room couch. It’s still dark outside, so I hit the snooze button once, then twice, and I keep doing it until it’s 0725. It’s a gloomy morning, but I reach for the phone to check the surf report. Local 2-3, poor to fair. HB . . . 3-4 occasional 5 and good? I hate myself while I’m brushing my teeth. Why the hell did I wake up so late? I’m walking to the car with two backpacks and already wearing my wetsuit. What am I forgetting? I charge the stairs again and grab my surfboard. It’s been that long.

     I’m hoping to be at HB by 0800, but once I hit the 605, it’s bumper to bumper. If I hated myself earlier, I’m hating myself even more now. I look at the clock. I should’ve been in the water a long time ago. I tell myself that I need to get back into that “first light” mentality. 

     The parking lot is empty when I reach HB. There’s no sense in checking the water first; I didn’t come all this way for nothing. I grab the DMS and hit the sand. The first signs of life are from the River Jetties. There’s a small pack of surfers there as well as some peaks. To my north, I see another peak working. Right in front of me, there’s a fast, hollow left that spits out a little. 

     Even though it’s low tide, I’m surprised that I’m able to walk to waist deep water. I paddle out and try to duckdive the next set, but my board hits the sand. I walk out a little further. The water’s so murky that it looks like red tide. The gray skies aren’t helping to improve the atmosphere either, but at least the onshore wind is so light that it’s not affecting the water’s texture. I’m expecting some small bumps that I can hunt down that will let me drop-in on the shoulder. The first wave I catch is a closeout, but the second left I get opens up. It’s a little fast, and by the time I get to the shoulder to do a turn, it’s already turning foamy from the inside.

    

Welcome Back:

     Even though the morning’s inconsistent, when the sets come, they break farther out. I try to get their fast enough to catch them, but I’m out of position. I try to go late, and the small bump doubles up inside and morphs fat and hollow. After all this time, watching surf porn, I’ve seen the pros get small barrels. I’d jump out of my seat and say, “You see, I know we can catch those barrels.” So here I am; this is the perfect opportunity. By the River Jetty, I see a guy getting slotted. He’s in there too deep and wipes out, but at least he went for it. 

     On the next set, I strategically paddle into the shoulder, hoping that I can take the easy way in, but it pitches me over before I get to my feet. On the next wave, I purl on my way down the face, and my neck snaps back as I hit the water on my backside. I’m worried about it being too shallow, but the reality is that I’m not quite up to speed for these waves yet. It’s like there is no shoulder to carve. It’s just a fast, round, tube that’s makeable if you’ve got what it takes.

New Routine:

     It’s about 0945. I can stay a little longer, but the thought of chicken pho for only $3.50 looms in the back of my mind. I am hungry, and some hot soup base and rice noodles sound good right about now. I change and drive to the pho spot that’s right by the freeway. The place is empty when I arrive. I have to eat this fast because my classes start at 1100. Even though I didn’t surf very well this morning, for the first time since SHE left, I feel a sense of peace and serenity. I’m doing the things that I love again. I’m alone, but that’s okay. I grab the chopsticks and slurp up a good helping of noodles and broth. Right now being alone is all right.