DAYS OF THE ZIPPY FISH PT.4, SUN 28OCT2012 MOR

Loc: 26th

Crew: Christina

Time: 0730-0930

Conditions: 1-2 FT, high tide, offshore, inconsistent, empty, sunny, warm.

     Last night my best friend Manolo, Sebastian, and Tim went to a friend’s Halloween party. I couldn’t go because I had some school assignments to take care of. As of right now, it’s school first and surf second. I’m lucky that I can even have as much time for Briana, surf, and myself as it is.

     I planned to meet Klaude at 26^th early to make up for missing each other yesterday, but I went to sleep at 0200.

#

     Again, my room is so fucking cold. I’m remembering how waking up cold can affect one’s decision to surf in the morning. I snooze until 0700, and then I quickly grab my gear in a stupor and head out the door. When I start my car I realize I forgot my phone. Fuck it. I’ll be all right without it.

     I’m stoked that there’s free parking at the top of the hill—Manhattan Beach isn’t gonna get my quarters this weekend! The lineup looks empty with just a few wetsuits here and there. I already have my wetsuit on, so I slap on some Vertra and walk down the hill. Not only do I not see Klaude’s car, but I don’t see many cars at all. There are two empty spaces at the bottom of the hill by the lifeguard towers, prime parking. Motherfucker.

     Standing at the sand, I see that none of the DRC is here. Maybe Klaude’s coming later, I’m thinking. The waves are breaking close to shore. A few locals are there. Usually they’d be on their shorter, performance boards, but today they’re on logs. I paddle out with patience in mind, and it pays off. The waves are long and mooshy like yesterday but a little smaller. Still, I manage to position myself inside the shoulder for a fast, late take-off. Just when the wave looks perfectly shaped for a turn is when it’s turning into shorepound. I kickout just in time to avoid being body slammed on the sand.

     I paddle for the next wave again, but one of the local guys is paddling for it too on my outside, saying, “Go, go!” and smiling while doing so.

     “Go for it!” I say as I back out.

     He does go for it. He’s a familiar face. He catches the short ride all the way to the sand. I’d rather not be greedy on a day when there are barely any waves.

     There’s about eight of us out there, but most of the guys are new faces, just learning. One guy is teaching his buddy how to surf. Another guy gives me a thumbs up after a ride, even though I haven’t seen him catch one wave yet. Even though this place can be crowded and competitive sometimes, the overall energy here is good, better than Porto.

     After the first hour, things come do a dismal halt. I think about leaving when I notice Christina on the shore doing her yoga stretches. I wave. She waves back.

     I figure I’ll get a little face time with her, but she stretches for a LONG ASS TIME. Once she finally gets to the water, we catch up on life. I ask her about work, and she asks me about Bri. We talk about our plans to head to Indo. For Thanksgiving she has nothing going on, so I offer her to spend it with my family if she wants, but I give her the disclaimer: all we do is eat, get full, and sit around the T.V. afterwards. I assure her that she has many holiday options with the DRC.

     We also talk about our annual Christmas dinner which we’re both looking forward too.

     In the last hour I catch two waves, one of them my last for the session. I wave goodbye, and Christina heads north towards Porto.

#

     Once I get home I see that Klaude called at 0706 and left a v-mail at 0709. I check it. He says, “Surf report for the morning,” he says, “is fucking terrible. Don’t even bother. I’m leaving!”

     My best friend also tells how last night “was the shit.” He says, “Tim came through last night with a fake baby on his back, Sebastian had the santa suit on, and Malcolm was there in a soccer referees outfit. There were animals out there, but GOOD animals! I should’ve been pushy Manolo last night. I know you got a lot on your plate, but I should’ve got you out there.”

     I tell him I wish I could’ve gone and how I got a lot of studying done last night. Right now, unfortunately, it’s one ear out the other. I have to be selfish. This first semester of grad school isn’t easy, and I can’t fall behind. If I do I’m FUCKED.

     I milked the surf as much as I could this weekend. They say there’s a WNW swill coming in, bringing a little pulse to the South Bay. I hope I can get on it before work this weekend.

DAYS OF THE ZIPPY FISH PT.3, SAT 27OCT2012 MOR

Loc: Rosecrans

Crew: Bri

Time: 0900-1100

Conditions: 3 FT, high tide, offshore, consistent, minimal crowd, sunny, hot.

     My alarm goes off at 0600, but my room is so fucking cold. Next to Briana’s warm body, it’s hard to leave the covers. At 0700, I give up on hitting the snooze button and just shut off my alarm entirely. With the cold and my surf-worn body combined (also with Bri who doesn’t want to get out of bed) there’s no way I’m waking up.

     At 0815 I open my eyes. Bri is up too. Disappointment overwhelms my face. It’s do or die time, that moment when you have to decide: to surf or not to surf. A minute longer without a decision is a refusal. I reach for the blinds and open them. It’s broad daylight outside. “Fuck,” I say. “I didn’t make my commitment with Klaude.”

     Bri turns over and says, “You didn’t ‘make the commitment’ that you were going to meet him.”

     “That’s not the point,” I say. “He’s out there right now. I should be out there too. We always surf local on the weekends.”

     “Okay,” she says, “Let’s surf.”

     I’m filling up my hot water jugs when Bri starts saying how tired she is and how she has a lot of stuff to do before work. I give her the option: you don’t have to come if you don’t want, but I’m going.

     The wagon already has our boards in there from yesterday, so this morning is just a matter of getting the wetsuits and towels. When we reach 26^th, I don’t see Klaude’s van anywhere. We park at the top lot and walk by the lifeguard station for a look. Bruce is out there as well. I scan the lineup in search of any of my buddies. I see none of them. The waves are breaking close to shore; it’s not consistent.

     I think about the options. I really don’t feel like cooking, wanted to grab some breakfast on the way home but not if we don’t get a session in. “Let’s check out Porto,” I say.

     We hop in the wagon and take the lower road to Rosecrans, where I see an open parking space on the right side of the road. We park on Rosecrans and change without checking the water.

#

     Given the small conditions, whipping out the Zippy Fish again is a no brainer. It’s 0900; we’re late and on the second shift.

     We walk down to the lifeguard station, and it’s like a scene from the summer. People are lying out in the sun, playing volleyball, sitting under their umbrellas, and swimming in the water. The sky’s a piercing blue, it’s offshore, and hot. I’m already sweating in my wetsuit.

     There are some peaks in front of the lifeguard station working, but it’s crowded with surfers. We walk just south of it where there’s a gap in the crowd.

     There’s a peak to our north and south.

     I have a feeling we’re in a bad spot, but I don’t want to be close to anyone.

     We sit during this first lull, not expecting much when Briana turns to me and says, “I’m already stoked.”  

     To our surprise, despite the high tide, some waves are breaking towards the outside. Long, mooshy lines form with tapered shoulders at the end. I kick and scratch, popping up on a left. The ride is short, similar to North Churches’ refracted lefts, but they are still fun: good for a pump and down the line distance into inches of water. I kick out too late and roll onto the sand.

     Briana has a hard time catching them; she keeps purling. I tell her that it’s probably because she doesn’t have momentum. I look out on the horizon and see a bump. “This one,” I say. “Go.”

     She turns around and catches the wave going left. Again, going down the line just like yesterday.

     I wouldn’t call the session a buffet, but it’s definitely not boring. I pick out most of the lefts, and our desolate little spot doesn’t have much competition. Even though I can’t get any turns down, the waves are still fun, especially on a day when it’s supposed to be flat.

     Bri and I both get our fair share. “See,” I say, “and you would’ve been in bed knocked out right now. I would’ve came home, told you about the surf, and then you would’ve said, ‘Oh, that’s nice, glad you had a good session,’ but you wouldn’t have been able to relate how it actually was out here. And now look at you . . . you’re catching waves going down the line. Aren’t you glad you came out?”

     She smiles and lifts her eye brows. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right.”

#

     After Briana snakes a guy going right, we let the current take us south of 34^th. Even though the tide is going down, the waves start backing off at our peak. We see a longboarder close to the next tower with a peak all to herself. We paddle over and share the spot.

     Both of us get more rides, and I don’t have to watch her; she’s doing her own thing and I’m doing mine. The weather’s so warm that some old dude is barebacking it. I keep glancing at 26^th, seeing the crowd of surfers in the distance, wondering if any of my homies are there.

     We surf for two solid hours. Still beat and sun burned from yesterday, we catch a wave in and rinse off by the run path. The wind is still calm as it was when we arrived with a fresh new lineup of surfers taking over for the third shift. 

     We polish off the session with breakfast at Mandy’s Family Restaurant in El Segundo, both aware that we made the right decision not to sleep in. 

DAYS OF THE ZIPPY FISH PT.2 (double sesh), FRI 26OCT2012 EVE

Loc: Old Mans

Crew: Bri

Time: 1615-1815

Conditions: 2-3 FT, low tide, sideshore, consistent, minimal crowd, sunny, cool.

REFUEL:

     This morning, we decided not to buy a humungous, Homer Simpson sandwich that’s the size of one of my thighs. Bri bought a salad and a sandwich, and I got two sandwiches. We devour them in minutes. Ideally, I should see if I can at least get some of my readings out of the way for school, but Bri says, “Nap time!” I spread out our beach blanket and lay our sleeping bags on top of them. I also bust out the pillows. I prepared for the wind warning, and I must say, the snivel gear has made all the difference. 

     Cars pass by and surfers rinse off at the showers nearby. During our two-hour nap, I wake to the site of blue sky and the palm trees which loom over us. The cool wind hits the side of my face, but I’m still warm. It’s not a bad way to spend the day.

     Eventually, we wake up. I knock out half of an essay while Bri struggles to stay awake. The wind keeps blowing our pages around, so we sit in the car until 1600 when we suit up for the evening sesh.

#

     Opposite of this morning’s swampy conditions, the tide is now drained out. So drained out that we walk to Old Mans via the flat shore instead of the road. The northern most peak looks doable with just a few heads there. The surf is two-to-three feet, barely that, but it’s working. The wind from the north makes for choppy conditions, but the shape still holds.

     A couple groms and longboarders share the peak with us, but we’re pretty spread out. The waves are mostly walled, but mooshy and slow, holding to at least get one turn off. I spend more time walking the nose, attempting to spin and ride the board facing backwards. I can’t do it without falling. Occasionally I get a decent wave with an end section that I can carve.

     We’re surfing the lefts at Old Mans, and then Briana catches a wave. She’s going down the line again, going left. In one day, she’s made two major milestones. It took forever for me to go down the line, and she’s achieved this considerably fast given the limited time she gets in the water.

     As the tide rises, the wind calms, and the rides get a little longer. It gets a little more consistent too. I catch a long, two-turn left, but I’m tired. We’re both tired. Even though it’s barely 1800, the sun’s already low. It feels weird to call the session this early. In past evening sessions, we would have barely just gotten to the lineup.

     We catch our waves in. I offer to treat Bri to Zenko Sushi.

     “Do they have the banana ice cream desert there too?” she asks.

     “No, no. Only Hana Sushi has it, but the sushi quality at Zenkos is better.”

     It’s quiet. We had originally planned on Soup Plantation in Aliso Viejo.

     “Damn,” she says, “because I kind of had soup in mind . . . but I guess I could just get some miso soup.”

     All I can think about is their ice cream machine and brownie muffins; I have a serious sweet tooth. “Nah, we’ll just do sushi next time.”

     At Soup Plantation, I go straight for the clam chowder. Best of all, they have chocolate lava cake on the dessert menu. I stuff myself within the first hour but save enough room for three rounds of chocolate lava cake ala mode. On the drive back home I can barely sit up straight without my stomach hurting; it even hurts to talk.

#

     When we get home we unload the wagon and take a shower. I put in Jack McCoy’s Blue Horizon (2004), letting Bri know that it’s my favorite A.I. movie/documentary. We stop the movie during Rasta’s sequence in Bali.

     Late that night, I push out a fart while I’m half asleep, but instead I feel a little bit of shit come out. I slide off the side of the bed while cupping my hand near my asshole. It’s dry. I wipe my ass, and luckily there’s just a dab of chili on the toilet paper. But for the Staycation Friday that Bri and I had, I’d gladly shart to pay the price for it any day. As long as it happens when I’m home. Worth it.