THE DOUBLE GAMBLE, SAT 07JULY2012 MOR

Loc: HB

Crew: Solo

Time: 0645-0915

Conditions: 2-3+ FT, inconsistent, low tide, overcast, walled.

     It’s 0515, and I’m wide awake. Briana is knocked out next to me, breathing hard. I’d like to blame my insomnia on my untamable erection, but I’m not even sure if that’s why I’m up. Briana has to go to work at noon; she’s tired, so I’m not gonna bother her. I take a look at Surfline’s forecast for Porto. . . . Shit. I check out HB; it has a green rating. So what’s it gonna be? I can surf local slop or get some of that south facing swell. Instantly, my mind goes back to the days that I’ve gambled and scored there, so many times with Francis and a few times on my own. I imagine those fast, racy, down-the-line waves, perfect for carving practice. However, I have one dilemma. I have Briana knocked out right here at the house. If I go, I shouldn’t leave her too long without me. I’ll have to make sure I come back in time before she wakes up.

#

     As I’m getting ready, I send out a mass text, letting my buddies know that I’m heading down south on an impulse. Rick calls me, but he’s already on his way to Oceanside. “You never answer your e-mails anymore,” he says. I apologize, tell him I’ve been busy with school, also busy being the luckiest man alive with my young hottie (Can you blame me?).

     Klaude replies via text: On my way to Zeroes.

     So, it looks like it’s gonna be a solo trip.

     The drive is easy, not hectic with a long line of cars like on the 4^th of July. I park at my usual spot and do a little check on the surf. A small crew is checking it out by the paved path. Feeling like a new comer, I avoid eye contact and stay on my side of the walkway in hopes that they don’t notice me.

     I stand over the sand, overlooking the ocean, unzip my fly, and take a hot, steaming piss while holding my coffee cup in my other hand. The tide is the most drained out that I’ve ever seen it here. Shallow sand protrudes from the shoreline for yards before hitting the water line. But right in front of me, there are a couple little two-foot racers, and even though the tide is low, things should pick up with the tide push 

     Back at the car, I suit up and take a shit at the porta-potty. Grabbing my Tokoro and walking back towards the ocean, I have high expectations.

#

     The crowd is thin. Two other guys sit to my north, and I can see why. The waves wall up where I sit, leaving the shoulder out of reach, right where those guys are sitting. I head towards them. When I reach their spot, they are even further north, and that’s when I realize that the current’s strong this morning. I paddle and go, but my first couple waves are closeouts. I fail to realize that the rising tide today will be very slow.

Wave of the Day:

     I’m into the first hour, and things aren’t improving much. There are long lulls, and the shape isn’t signature for HB. The waves aren’t big, but they are coming in on the walled side, leaving a tapered shoulder only at the very end, and even that’s not guaranteed to give you any distance, but every once in a while a gem comes through.

     A three-foot left comes my way; it’s racy. I pop up at an angle to start my line on the drop. The section is running away, but I pump and catch up to it. As I’m setting up for my top-turn, a longboarder eyes me as he strokes his way into it. He backs out just as I’m bottom-turning, and I get a little tail carve on the open face in front of the section. I recover and pump to where the ride’s about to fizzle out. The end section is only two feet, but I push hard on the tail, keeping the quarter-outside rail in the face. The turn is smooth and fluid. I layback but can’t recover.

     There’s a sense of accomplishment in my face as I paddle back to the lineup past the longboarder. I can’t help but feel stoked. I’ve been working so hard on my frontside, trying to get it up to par with my backhand. Even though I didn’t stick the layback snap, it felt good; I’m close. I’m telling you, one of these days I’m going to pull it off, hopefully before the end of the year. But there’s just that undeniable feeling of motion and fluidity, when you know you are on the cusp of doing something new, when it’s less than an accident and more like something you mean to do. . . . In time.

#

     It’s 0900, but I still can’t leave. Stubborn as I am, I’m waiting for that fucking window to open up, the solid window of good, rippable surf that I expected when I had morning wood at 0515. . . . Nothing. The surf doesn’t improve at all. Save for the left I got earlier, there hasn’t been a saving grace for this session.

     At 0915 I catch a closer in.

#

     It’s 1000 when I enter my living room with board in hand. Briana’s already awake, sitting on the couch on her laptop. She doesn’t acknowledge me, and the distance in her face is obvious. She’s upset. “Hey, hun,” I say, as I walk over and lean in for a kiss.

     “Hey,” she says. “How was the surf?”

     “Lame. How long have you been awake?”

     “For like an hour.” She’s still looking at her laptop.

     “Did you sleep well?”

     “No, not really.” Loud banging echoes through the house as the next door neighbor pounds away at something.

     “You okay?”

     “Yeah.”

     But she’s not okay; I know she’s not. I wash the dishes to give her some space and wait to see if she’ll let me know what’s bugging her. Later she admits that she didn’t like waking up without me, and that she didn’t expect me to be gone that long, especially if the surf sucked. In two hours I have to take her to work, so she has a good point; it’s understandable. I’m glad she communicates with me, and this problem is a good one to have. I’ve been on my own for a bit, and it’s nice to have someone who actually cares about spending time together.

     “If you go next time, take me with you,” she says.

     “Of course.”

HOLIDAY SESSIONS, WED 04JULY2012 MOR

Loc: HB

Crew: Khang & Jonathan G.

Time: 0645-0945

Conditions: 2-3+ FT, inconsistent, mid tide, overcast, light onshore, CROWDED AS FUCK!

::ring-ring::

     “Hello?”

     “Yo, Matt! It’s Khang.”

     “What’s up, man?”

     “Hey, so you’re going to ________ tomorrow?”

     “Yeah.”

     “What time?”

     “First light. Gotta be here by five-thirty. Look, it’s a gamble; it’s up to you. We might get skunked.”

     “You know what though . . ? I don’t think we will. . . .”

Pre Blog:

     On Tuesday I really had the itch to dawn patrol it on Wednesday, not just because it will be a holiday but because I haven’t caught good HB in a while. The surf has been terrible lately, and anything south facing has the better report. Dais shot me a text after last Sunday’s session, saying that he ran into Jonathon (formerly known as J) at 26^th. I thought to myself for a second, wondering why Jonathan and I don’t talk much anymore. He’s a good kid. He’s just been busy, I’ve been busy, and I haven’t really put forth the effort to say hi. I send a mass text out to KK, Dais, Khang, Jonathan, and Shan to see who will be down to go.

Blog:

     It’s 0515. I probably slept only four-and-a-half hours. I stumble to the bathroom, fill up my hot water jugs, and start to prep my gear. It’s 0528. No one’s coming, I’m thinking. And just then, I get a text from Khang. “I’m here,” he says.

     After we’re done loading up, Jonathan arrives in the next five minutes. Jonathan is flustered. He says, “I’m sorry, Matt. I locked myself out of the house this morning.”

     All that matters to me is that we get there early. Even though there’s anticipation about the holiday crowd, I really don’t expect anyone else except the surf community to file through the gates. There’s already a long line of parked cars on the street. It’s not even 0630 yet. PCH has lines of cars in both lanes, and the perpendicular lane has a line of cars too. Gradually and slowly, we finally get through.

     “Let’s just suit up,” I say. There’s a sense of urgency. So many holiday goers are taking up space. It’s not the usual scene for this surf spot. The south wind is picking up. I’m pessimistic. I already expect to get skunked. It’s going to be horrible, I’m thinking, but just as we get to the water we see that it’s actually calm.

     “Look at the smoke stacks,” says J. “The smoke is going straight up. It’s good!”

     I make the suggestion on where to sit even though it looks flat. I give my assurance that Francis and I have scored here and that the surf will get better with the tide coming up.

     I’m stoked. There are little two-footers breaking towards the inside, but I know this break. Two-footers here can be fun because the wave is high performance. Plus the tide is coming up, and I know there’ll be random outside waves. As Khang and I make our way out, I laugh aloud.

     Sitting at the lineup, a two-wave set approaches from the outside. Khang and I are out of position. “That was a good one, huh?” says Khang.

     “Fuck, you were right. We’re NOT gonna get skunked today.”

#

     Things slow down dramatically after that two-wave set. Khang and I are quiet. We know what we’re both thinking, but we don’t want to say that we spoke way too soon. J draws first blood on a small insider. The current’s taking us a little north, so we paddle south to stay in place. A little bit of wave chess ensues. I gamble on the inside and get a couple small closeouts.

#

     Into the first hour, the waves are getting better, but now there’s another problem. Every surfer in town is in the water; it’s so fucking packed. First time I’ve seen HB with so many gawd damn people. A random peak forms on the outside. No one is out far enough to get it. I paddle into it, going left, just in front of the peak, and then I drop. . . . The wave is so pitchy that it shoots me past the section to the open face. I bottom turn and skim off the top with my tail, nothing serious. I pump and carve the face again. These aren’t whippy turns that get spray, just tight little arcs. A guy on a longboard wants to paddle in, but he pulls out when he sees me coming down the line. I set up for one last turn and carve the shoulder. I kick out clean and paddle back to the lineup with a sense of triumph. It’s been a long time since I got a solid three-turn left.

     I’m grinning ear-to-ear when I see Khang and J. “They’re out here,” I say, “you just gotta stay patient. But we are patient, and we rarely get rewarded. As the crowd thickens more, it’s hard to get another wave. J gets at least one worthy wave and Khang says he got one good right. I feel bad for everyone else even though I shouldn’t. I try to channel the spirit of Fransauce for good waves, since we’ve scored so many times here together. The channeling doesn’t work. On a good note, a dolphin jumped over J. He said he felt it nudge his board. I’m telling you, all it takes is that one asshole dolphin to ruin it for the rest of them.

#

     We head to the Pho spot near the freeway. Khang’s nice enough to spot me on my $3.50 large, chicken pho, and he treats J and me to some chicken buns after. Even though it was crowded and the conditions weren’t that great, I’m so glad we got together, especially since I hadn’t seen J in a while. Good times.

KLAUDE’S BACK, SUN 01JULY2012 MOR

Loc: 26th

Crew: Klaude, Dais, Daich

Time: 0730-0830

Conditions: 1-2 FT, inconsistent, high tide, sad

     I haven’t surfed with Klaude since he’s been back from Oahu. I missed yesterday’s surf sesh with him. Also, CC and Cheryl paddled out too. I haven’t seen them in a while, so I wanted to make sure that I committed myself to surfing on Sunday.

#

     Briana’s sleeping next to me. It’s 0700. I’m already late. I kiss her on the cheek, tell her I’ll be back, and head out the door with my gear. I choose the Tokoro because I’m over the JS. It just feels too big now, harder to whip around for turns; I don’t like that.

     I told Klaude I’d be out at first light, but I obviously failed at waking up when my alarm initially went off. I find street parking by Marine. My rims grind as I hit the curb. “Fuck!” I look at the scratch and say, “Fuck it.” I contemplate on how concerned I am with the cosmetics of my vehicle. Sure, no one wants a dent on the body, but does it really matter if my rim is scratched? I don’t think so.

     Once I’m on the sand, I’m looking for any familiar faces. It takes a while. I see no one. Just before I make my walk to the shallows, I see KK on a crumbly left. I paddle out, saying hi to Roy first, then giving KK a man-love hug, dismounted off the board.

#

     It’s definitely a day for love and not for surfing. It’s small. Typical drowned-out high tide with the waves only breaking close to shore. On top of that, it’s a little crowded, crowded for jack shit. Roy’s scoring. There aren’t many turns available, but he pumps and gets down the line, milking every last drop. I sit on the outside and get two immediate waves, but they moosh out towards the inside. I catch a left way on the inside. It’s my best ride of the morning.

     KK introduces me to his pal Daiche from Metro Café. He’s a Japanese wind surfer ripper, but today’s just not the ideal for any kind of ripping. Soon Dais shows up, and I get a chance to catch up with him too. KK wants to hear the Briana story, so I tell him what I can in between waves.

     It’s nice to be back in the water, but we are definitely lacking swell. I’m worried that Briana is waking up without me, bored at the house, so I say my goodbyes and head on home. I didn’t get to see CC or Cheryl, but I hope to catch them next time. Sometimes, the waves are of less importance though, and it’s all about the company. Welcome back, Klaude.