ZIPPY’S REVENGE PT. II (double sesh), FRI 28SEPT2012 EVE

Don't judge me

LOC: Churches & Old Mans

Crew: Bri

Time: 1700-1930

Conditions: 4 FT+, north wind, choppy, cool, consistent

     Rick calls and asks me if it’s worth rushing down here to catch some of this swell. He says he might get into trouble with his wife if he does though. I let him know that the wind hasn’t died at all and that it might not be worth coming home to find his boards in the middle of the street.

     It is a little disappointing that the wind is doing this, but there are still waves. Churches is working, but not as clean, and on the drained low tide the size has gone down just a bit. The crowd could be thicker. Surfers congregate at different take off spots but are still spread out. The inside is a little congested with groms, so that presents an obstacle.

     San Onofre doesn’t look appetizing at all. At Churches, the north wind is making the waves racy, but the shape is still holding. At Old Mans, the wind is blowing against the peel of the wave, pushing back and slowing down an already mooshy left. Even though the crowd’s thick, I tell Bri that we’ll do the same thing as last week; we’ll surf both breaks.

Churches:

     Since the size has tapered off a little and there’s a bit of wind, I break out the Zippy once more. I don’t even know if I’m lying to myself at this point. I could use the JS, but I decide not to.

     We paddle out at South Churches hoping for some insiders to come our way. I get one three-foot right, but I still can’t get that loose on the top turn. I think I’ll have to accept that I’m riding a stubby cork that’s great for speed and momentum but nothing too critical. A lull ensues, so I tell Bri that we need to paddle closer to where it’s breaking.

     The waves are within reach, but most of them are already being ridden. Briana tries to go, but she has to constantly pull out. One guy backs off on a right, so I intercept the wave. It’s a solid four-footer. The section’s standing up, so I try to hit the lip going backside. For the first time, I hit the lip with a bang, but I purl really hard on the downturn; it happens so fast. Again, I get a similar wave, and the same thing. There’s just not enough rocker on this board to pull off the late turns, plus there is so much speed from the volume and the rail, it’s hard to make those tiny adjustments to stick the maneuvers.

     I can tell that Bri’s having a hard time, so I tell her that we’ll catch a couple more and change locations.

Breakthrough:

     I get another right, but this time I avoid trying to turn on the critical sections and pump to the shoulder. I transfer my weight on the tail and redirect my board into the wave. When I’m confronted with the oncoming section, I glance off the whitewash and redirect down the line. Even though I’m on the Zippy, this is my FIRST LEGIT CUTBACK. I mean, legit in that I actually went end-to-end and then back down the line. It’s a feeling of accomplishment; I don’t care that it’s taken me forever to pull this off, but now I can say that I know what it feels like. YES, Even something as minor as a cutback. I don’t care; I’m claiming it . . . STOKED!

     I can’t help but paddle back out again, so I lie to Briana and go for one last one. I’m having so much fun at this point. The crowd’s getting thinner because of the evening and the wind, but the waves are actually getting better. I get another right. I’m deep so I’m going fast. Some guys are on the inside trying to paddle out. The section’s standing up. I bottom turn, hit the lip, and I come down the face with speed; I don’t purl! I pump and make the next section. Now I’m all the way by the groms. An adult is with them, probably an instructor. The wave’s about to close out. I get one more turn and weave between a couple surfers to the inside. This ride had a small audience, and I’m stoked off the two turns.

     Paddling back to the lineup, my ego gets to me. I can’t help but feel a little cocky even though I shouldn’t. It’s just that the ride was so fun; it was such a good wave. I haven’t gone right in a while.

     Bri wants to leave. We catch the next closeout to the inside and head to Old Mans.

Old Mans:

     The waves looked like shit earlier, and . . . they still look crappy. The rights at Churches are much cleaner than these lefts; the wind is having a different affect on them. It’s close to mid tide, so there’s a chance the surf can improve. At least there isn’t much of a crowd. A lot of cars are parked, the drivers with their surfboards in the back. They’re just waiting to see if it gets better, maybe waiting for the wind to die. As we settle into the early evening, the wind is still holding up.

     What seemed like small, crumbly inconsistent surf earlier is now changing. The tide push is bringing in more size, and even though she shape is shitty, the waves are coming in more consistent. Just like that, the window opens up and four-foot lefts start pouring in.

     I can’t compare these waves to Churches. I don’t really get “turns,” but more like frontside hits off the lips before the closeout, still covering some distance in the process.

     Briana gets caught on the sets; they’re now coming in at four-or-five waves at a time. I lose her for a while. I expect her to be on the sand, waiting, but then I spot her on the inside taking her beatings. When she makes it back to the lineup, I tell her she’s doing a good job. She’s so tired she can’t even paddle for waves; she’s just trying to hang with me until I’m done. I talk to her, but she can’t even respond. I tell her to move more outside to avoid the next set, but it’s too late. I’m prepping to duckdive, but she’s gonna get WERKED again!

     She makes it out one more time and then catches a closeout. I get a solid wave to end it, again check-turning off of the closing lip. For a beginner she did well. Most people would’ve paddled in a long time ago.

COMA:

     God damn we’re starving. After today’s whole surf excursion we’re beyond ravenous. That giant sandwich we bought from Vons was gone a long time ago. We fight over who gets the last Ritz Cracker as we leave the parking lot. Sushi’s the first option, but it’s already 2000. Last call is at 2115, and I can only do AYCE sushi if I’m afforded at least two hours to engorge myself.

     As soon as we’re north of San Clemente, there’s gridlock. I’m irritable when I’m hungry, and I’m hungry in the worst way possible. I exit and make Bri look up directions on where to go. We get lost; I get mad at her; I’m a hungry dick right now, and she doesn’t deserve this treatment.

     Soup Plantation is nearby. We reach it at 2030 . . . I EAT SO FUCKING MUCH. I scavenge so much chicken from the chicken noodle soup. Macaroni, pasta, clam chowder, pizza, and I put their ice cream bar out of commission.

     I’m so uncomfortably full when we leave that I have to labor my breathing. Briana ate a lot too, so she falls asleep, leaving a drowsy monkey behind the wheel. I make it as far as Westminister before I’m forced to buy a Red Bull at 7-Eleven. We’re arguing. I’m pissed that she can’t stay awake with me. She forces herself to. Somehow, we make it home in one piece, tired and worn.

     We can’t wait to do it again. Soup Plantation is THE SHIT!

    

ZIPPY’S REVENGE, FRI 28SEPT2012 MOR

LOC: Old Mans

Crew: Bri

Time: 0830-1030

Conditions: 4-5 FT, sunny, light onshore, consistent

     Bri and I are perfecting this whole “Staycation Fridays” thing. We packed the night before, wake up nice and early, and we have a good idea on how much food to buy. After our Vons run, we head straight to San Onofre.

     According to the forecast, it’s supposed to be somewhere around three-to-five feet. I assume that that’s on a generous scale. Instead, I’m expecting it to be around three feet. Really, I don’t care if it’s huge or not, I just want it to at least be three feet, something I can turn on.

     When we exit the 5 South, we see the lines coming in to Lowers. I’m stoked. We drive up to Churches, and my hopes are confirmed. There is swell. We score the same parking spot as the week before. I suggest that we do a little recon before we suit up. 

     It’s not a perfect, cloudless morning with endless blue sky. The sun is hunkered behind some patches of clouds, but we can still see the sky behind them. There’s a gray haze in the air, but it’s mostly attributed to the mist created from the all the water moving around. 

     The wind is still offshore; it’s glassy. We walk in front of Churches, snacking on Bri’s homemade choco-chip cookies. The sets at Churches looks good at five-feet plus, but the tide is making the waves a little funky. They aren’t lining up from the top of the wave all the way to the inside. Some of the bigger waves are sectiony, leaving only the tapered end at the shoulder to guarantee any distance. Still, a lot of in-between waves have better shape. I can’t stop snapping pictures with my phone.

     “Let’s see what Middles is doing,” I say. I used to love Middles. I never used to surf Old Mans. I would usually start off at South Churches and gradually work my way North. If I had no luck there, I’d go to Middles. From there, I’d keep an eye on Lowers to see if anything would swing wide. If waves did, then I’d sit on the south end of that world class break. But on this morning . . . Middles is flat and crumbly. So is North Churches. My beloved left isn’t doing so well, so Trestles is out of the question. On to Old Mans we go.

#

     I bring the JS just in case. I think it would work well at Churches, but since Old Mans is a bit slower, I’m gonna need as much beef as possible.

     This is the Friday for the Don Kadowaki Fish . . . but I don’t . . . fucking . . . have it. Don’t get me wrong; it’s Cheryl’s board. If I really want to surf it again I need to just buy my own.

     Well, so I don’t have the Kadowaki with me. I’ll have to bust out the Zippy.   

     It’s hard to tell what the waves are doing at Old Mans, but we can see peeling white wash at the most crowded peak towards the center of the whole break. Our usual peak is too crowded, and the waves aren’t swinging wide as much. We watch it for a while. Towards the inside there is some shape, and the outside waves are walled. Maybe it’s because of the size, but you have to be at the main peak to catch anything.

     “What about over there?” says Bri.

     I’m proud of her. She points to a peeling, inside left that I already eye-balled when we showed up. The only thing is, on a day when there’s size, the inside waves are gimmes. We need quality rides, outsiders. Some big, clean, soft shoulders are breaking further south, but there are a lot of longboarders there. This swell is obviously no secret, and this place has probably been crowded all week, so we have no choice but to join in.

     We paddle out at the channel. An inside left approaches. It’s three-feet and clean. I try to turn and catch it late, but my timing’s off, so I wipe out. From there, a set starts rolling in. Briana’s gonna make it to the lineup faster than I can. I haven’t brought out the Zippy in juicy surf, so duckdiving it is kind of a bitch. My shoulders are burning from my recent workouts at the gym; I kind of regret not keeping my body fresh for this morning.  

     We’re literally sitting in the channel between crowded peaks to our north and south. I don’t want to compete, but I know I must. It’s just so hard against longboarders. The San O vets know what they’re doing. They’ll take the big ones on their longboards, bottom turn, swing them around, and get LONG ASS RIDES. Bri and I sit a little more towards the inside. I catch a few rides going left, but it’s a helluva wait for anything to break here.

     We hover on the outside of the north peak to no avail. There’s no chance; every wave is taken. However, the break to the south is a little more scattered, so we test our luck there.

Open It Up:

     Things are slow. We can only watch guys on the outside do their thing, but we drift further south which puts us in the midst of some scattered peaks.

     The lineup here is a little crazy. The bomb sets break far . . . really far on the outside, some in the middle, the inside, a little more south, more north. It’s like roulette, where you sit is where you place your chips. Your number might come up or it might not, but you are definitely in the game.

     Sitting here is also a lot of work. Since the peaks are scattered, as well as the lineup, surfers are going in every direction. There’s a lot of maneuvering and duckdiving to prevent our heads from getting chopped off.

     My first juicy left comes my way. It’s just a hair under five-feet. There’s even some marble whitewash and foam mixed in with it from all the water movement. Getting into the wave is so easy. That Zippy has so much volume, and combined with the push of the wave, I’m going faster than expected down the face. I set my rail, crouch low on the bottom turn, and begin to extend my body so I can climb the face. However, the drop’s so fast that I have problems working against the Gs to stand up. Instead, I can’t deviate from the set rail, so I plunge into the face of the wave on the bottom turn. I resurface, knowing that I just blew a good one. I think about that rail. What else do I need to do? Maybe get more on the tail; I need more control.

     I’m better prepared for the next waves. Zippy sure ain’t loose, but it’s working like magic in these big, slopey burgers. I make the section of the next left all the way to the open face. My frontside turns don’t have much arc in them; they end up being more like check-turns off of the lip, but I redirect back down the face with ease and make the next section. I feel I can get anything on this board in these conditions, just as much as the longboarders.

     It’s an inconsistent morning because of the crowds and possibilities of where the waves might break, but every so often a peak swings within paddle-reach of me and Briana.

     We separate for a while and sit in different spots. I see her paddling back from the inside every time I look in her direction. Into the second hour, we reunite and she says, “I’m actually going down the line now!”

     I’m glad she’s getting this experience. Even though there is size, these waves are so forgiving and manageable that it’s hard not to find yourself in the open face.

     The onshore wind picks up, and the high tide thins out the crowd. Bri and I now sit at the main peak, hoping to catch a random bomb. I pick up a conversation between two old longboarders.

Man: “Where do you live?”

Woman: “Chino.”

Man: “Wow, Chino! So you’re pretty dedicated. What’s the closest break to you?”

Woman: “Probably Huntington, Newport.”

Man: “Yeah. It just gets so crowded here. I don’t even surf the summers anymore, can’t do it.”

     I’m thinking how much it must suck to make that drive from Chino to the beach.

     Even though the crowd cleared out, it’s still hard to get good position. There are still more surfers than there are waves, and I’m so deep on some of the set-waves that I absolutely cannot make the section.

     I have a chance on one, but this noob drops in on me. I yell, “Whoa!”

     He tries to pull back and says, “SHIT, SORRY!” He purls right in front of me, so I have to straighten out.

     The funny thing is, I’m not mad at all. The guy was sorry, and I could tell he was genuine about it. I pay him no mind back at the lineup.

     Now the wind and the tide are too much. We paddle back towards the channel and catch inside waves to end the morning session.

     Back at the staycation site, Churches is still firing, even through the high tide. The south end is working with set waves breaking far out, leaving rides up for grabs for those sitting on the inside. Some of them are sectiony, giving waiting surfers a chance to intercept the wave.

     Bri and I lay out our beach blanket and kill off our food. We both fool ourselves thinking we can study or write, but again, this place is too beautiful to ignore. The only thing that sucks is that it’s much windier than last week.

SURF GHOSTS, SUN 23SEPT2012 MOR

Crew: Bri, Jonathan M, CC, Cheryl, Klaude

Time: 0800-1000

Conditions: 2-3 FT+, overcast, cold, inconsistent, occasional walls.

“I used to surf”:

     I forgot where I heard this, but someone said, “If you say, ‘you used to surf,’ then you never really surfed at all.” Mind you, I’m aware of the exceptions, God forbid someone sustain a life-changing injury, forcing someone to never surf again, maybe even a career move away from the ocean; that can’t be helped.

     I don’t want to call myself a surf vet, but I’ve surfed long enough to lose some surfing buddies, or to at least see them come and go because it was just a “phase” to them. I’ve had friends surf for the wrong reasons too, like image for example. For them, it was “fuck fundamentals, I just want to rip.” And then they went straight to the shortboard, barely able to duckdive or turn, lucky if they could go straight. Some friends thought surfing was actually easy and quit after a short-lived experience. Some just flake-out and shoot a text now and then asking where I’ll be surfing “tomorrow,” and of course, they never show up. I’m paraphrasing my friend Klaude here, but he put it in simple terms:

Basically, if you do “surf,” then we’ll see you in the water no matter what. There’s no need to plan an event in advance or even make a phone call. The act of surfing itself will see to it that your connections stay strong, but if you don’t show up . . . then we’ll never see each other.

     I also read an article in a surf magazine how marriage is a huge career ender for surfers. I have this friend that I used to surf with religiously; he even ripped harder than I. We actually started the DRC surf group together with Cheryl. He did everything: martial arts, fencing, boxing, surfing, and weight lifting, and then . . . he got married.

#

     Briana and I wake up a little earlier to hit the surf. If anything, I really need to get some face time with Klaude since we missed him yesterday. My friend Jon that I haven’t surfed with in over a year called me last night too, said he wanted to get some surf in before work.

     I find free parking on Highland Ave. It’s a little walk to 26^th, but it’s manageable. Cheryl’s supposed to be coming today, so I bring the DK out one more time along with the board bag it came in. Before Bri and I leave, I see that Jon texted me. He said he’s waiting in the lot. I shoot him a text back, telling him that I’ll meet him by the tower.

#

     On the way down the hill, we spot KK with a friend I’ve never met before. I sneak up on him on the sand. He’s teaching his friend Leslie how to surf today, so he’s got his instructor hat on.

     “I seen Jon in the parking lot,” he says.

     “What, parking lot? He’s not coming down?”

     “No,” he laughs, “he said he’s waiting for you.”

     “Wut?! You gotta be kidding me. I told him just to get his ass down here. I ain’t going back there.”

     KK keeps laughing. “I don’t know . . . maybe you should.”

     I walk back up to the lot, but Jon’s not there. I spot his car but no Jon. I return to the tower, and I spot him just south of it in the lineup.

     He can’t fit into his wetsuit anymore, so if he wants to surf, he needs to start coming out while the weather’s still warm. He’s wearing trunks and the O’Neill rashguard I bought him for his birthday . . . two years ago?

     Bri and I paddle up to him. KK chooses to go more north to another peak.

     Jon and I surfed Porto when we were barneys. It was a big west swell. I couldn’t even make it out, but he did. He wiped out on a set wave and almost drowned. In fact he shaved his head that same day. For him it was a life changing experience.

     It’s an overcast, foggy morning, similar to the day I mentioned above. I’m watching Jon on the 6’6 Merrick MB that I sold him for $100. It’s a thick, meaty board. I’m stoked to see him catch some waves. His instincts are still there, paddling with good timing, but he’s a little slow standing up . . . naturally.

     I introduce him to Bri.

     “Yeah,” says Jon, “it’s pretty fun out here. Lucky it’s small so it’s not too hard for me.”

     We laugh. I show him Cheryl’s fish and tell him about my recent revelation about fish boards. He brings up his old Simon Anderson Fish that he used to have, the one that buckled right here at 26^th on a big day when I was in Iraq.

     “I have to work on Saturdays,” he says, “but I’m working on this project right now, but it’s not ‘til later, so I can paddle out early on Sundays.”

     We exchange waves. It’s not standing up as much as yesterday. I can’t even see Klaude anymore, and none of the other boys are around. I either scratch out or go straight. Briana sits more towards the inside. She turns and paddles into a little two-footer. It doesn’t have much shape, but she takes it all the way to shore. We both watch her. Jon turns to me and says, “Hey, she’s pretty good, huh?”

     “Yeah, she’s learning pretty fast.”

     “Well, I gotta catch one in.” He catches a wave to shore, walks to dry sand, and then he turns around and waves. It’s the same smile he had years ago, just on a different face and a different body. I wave back. He turns and disappears into the fog like an apparition.

#

     Bri and I paddle north, more towards the tower. We see Klaude. He’s teaching his friend at a crowded peak. Bri and I maintain our spot. Within minutes, Cheryl and CC show up. They stretch on the sand for a while before paddling out. Finally, Bri and Cheryl get to meet.

     “Jon was here,” I say to Cheryl.

     “Awwww, when did he leave?”

     “Maybe like fifteen minutes ago.”

     “Awwww. Hopefully I’ll catch him next time.”

     Right after they show up, Klaude leaves. With the rising tide, the waves get a little bigger but walled. I have trouble finding anything with shape, so I pull out of a lot of waves. CC on the other hand . . . man, she’s like reborn or something. I don’t know if it was her travels around the globe this past summer, but she’s charging hard. Even on the nasty closeouts, she’s going for them. I’m stoked to bring Briana into our surf group, especially around the female side of it. CC brings positive energy, hooting us on all of our waves, whether we eat shit or not.

     The conditions get a little sketchy for Bri. She waits for me on the sand. I say my goodbyes to Cheryl and CC. On the sand, I leave the DK Fish in its boardbag for Cheryl to take home, but I don’t realize that I leave my sandwich bag with all my wax in it.

#

     This time, I take Bri to Mandy’s in El Segundo for breakfast. Again, everything looks good. We split some pancakes and order some skillet dishes. As usual, the customer service is on point, making sure that our water and coffee never get low. It’s a nice way to end a session and a weekend of surfing. Tomorrow it’s back to business.