DAYS OF THE MUSH, FRI12APR2013 MOR

 

Loc: Manhattan Beach

Crew: Cheryl

Conditions: 1-3 FT, sunny, cool, uncrowded.

     I’ve had a hard time waking up early, and I knew the night before that I had to avoid the high tide. I didn’t. I didn’t bother to stop at El Porto on the way to my local spot because I had a feeling that it would be a little crowded. There’s something about my local spot that is just mellower. Sometimes familiar and friendly faces accounts for the decisions you make on where you surf. Being Friday, street parking in Manhattan Beach is a bitch, so I make a couple rounds, desperately looking for an open spot, and praise to the parking gods, I find one on Highland Avenue. I’ve been informed that the meter maids have turned ruthless and show up right at 0800 nowadays, and if I ever got a ticket at the meters I’d never forgive myself, especially since I’m such a cheap motherfucker.

     My jog downhill looks more like a forced strut. I’m hoping that I didn’t entirely miss the better window for surf earlier. As I paddle out, I see Cheryl sitting in the lineup, talking to some old guy. I creep next to her, catching her by surprise. She dismounts her board so we can do an aqua embrace. Really though, we need to learn how to hug on our boards like how the pros do it.

     And . . . fuckin’ A., the surf is MOOSHY. I mean mooshy bad. The waves stand up on the outside, but the second they hit the deeper water on the inside, they just lose steam. Meanwhile, the usual suspects are still able to get some good insiders all the way to shore.

     Since my rides start bogging out, I fuck around, start walking the nose, turning around, and riding the waves backwards; why not. I do get a couple long but weak rides. I’m disappointed that the surf isn’t as good as Wednesday when Bri and Khang were out.

     Cheryl’s on my old Becker Board. I have half the mind to ask if I can sample that old thing. I can’t believe that was once my medium board; it’s a solid 6’10 with a quad setup. I’m so curious to see how I would ride that thing now; I wonder if I’d tear it up. Maybe it could have been a good board for small days, but I hope one day to invest on a fish of my own.

     Cheryl leaves, and I do too about twenty minutes later. I do my best to study for the rest of the day, but I’m so stressed out with school that by time 1800, I have to unwind and hit up some PS3. Word, son.

WED10APR2013 MOR

Loc: Manhattan Beach

Crew: Bri & Khang

Conditions: 2-3 FT, sunny, cool, uncrowded.

     Bri and I had planned to dawn patrol at PV. On the way there we stopped at Manhattan Beach. The tide was drained out, so the surf looked a little crumbly but consistent. Since the tide was low, I thought that PV was the right call. Once we got there, we saw that the waves were even smaller, despite the low tide.

     At Manhattan Beach, a lot of surfers must have felt that the morning tide was unappealing too, so luckily, when we returned for another look, we scored free parking by The Strand.

     Not expecting much for surf, I whipped out CC’s Zippi Fish; it seemed like the right choice for equipment.

     It was a rare morning when even not many of the usual locals were out. The conditions were good for Bri: small, beach break that breaks a little faster than Old Mans and Churches. I got a bunch of little waves on the Zippi, for it’s so easy to catch waves on it, just like a longboard. I caught a left and timed the section right before it closed, climbing the face going frontside. For the first time in my life, I felt the momentum of a legit floater on top of the lip. I’ve never pulled that off before, not with that much hang time. I stuck the landing with speed before the ride closed out. Of course, I needed the volume of a fish to do it, but it was still fun and a good experience.

     I spotted Khang on the sand, just making his way to the water line. It’s not very often that I bump into my buddies mid week, but I figured that he got a random day off.

     So now the three of us were surfing, which was cool because Briana has enough surf knowledge (through me) that she can do surf talk with my buds. While they talked, I did my own thing, trying to milk as many rides as I could.

     Even though the surf wasn’t big, there were some decent, three footers that started rolling through. I contemplated whether or not I should swap out boards for my Motorboat Too. When Khang started catching wave after wave on his Neckbeard, I went in and grabbed my other board.

     I had got on Briana about passing up waves during our last trip. She and Khang were sitting in the lineup when a peaky left rolled in. Khang said, “Wow, this looks like a wave. . . This is a wave!” Briana grabbed her rails but hesitated.

     “Should I go?” she said.

     “Yeah!” said Khang, “yeah, you should go!” She turned, and since the wave was breaking a little fast, she didn’t need much momentum to pop up. She caught a nice little ride. We were both stoked for her.

     Khang was doing really well. Even on the small, mooshy waves, he was able to get into them, usually tossing out some water over the back after each ride. I wondered if I should have bought a Neckbeard instead of the MB Too, since I got the board so I could still surf small waves with Bri.

     I blew a couple of waves, slipping towards the nose on the pop up. Still I got some fun single, turn rides. Bri left to go lay out in the sand. A little later, Khang had to feed the meter again. As he made his way back to the water, I caught a left that had an oncoming section. I pumped and rebounded off of the shoulder. The wave was now on the shore, so it jacked up, but I stuck the landing. I’m sure a pro would have been able to do something sick with that ride, but I was happy to have ridden it out.

#

     Well, so that session was a while ago. I’m writing this now, trying to catch up on my blogs. That’s all I remember. It was a good morning.

SMALL DAYS PT. 4, WED03APR2013 MOR

Spare change?

Loc: Churches

Crew: Bri

Conditions: 2-3 FT, glassy, clean, overcast, cool, uncrowded.

     Don’t let anyone tell you that it’s summer because it’s not. Nope, not yet. Last night was cold as fuck. Condensation in the tent. . . Thank goodness we pulled the mattress away from the walls. The sound of the waves put me in a paranoid, sleep state. For some reason, I was in constant fear that the tent was gonna wash away. I mean, LITERALLY, the water sounded like it was right there. I woke up to the reality that the waterline hadn’t touched any of our things.

     It’s a slow start this morning. There is no mad dash to rush it at first light, especially not when low tide is a little later. We wait, cook our breakfast, pack up as much as we can, and then we hit the surf around nine. Even though we didn’t plan things this way, it works out great because the first shift of surfers have vacated Churches and headed back to their cars at the state beach. The surf looked small from the campsite, especially with this drained tide. The rocks are so exposed that we have to paddle out way south and away from the normal spot. But there are still waves breaking through the low tide. Like yesterday, we start off by sitting wide and to the south. Since I’ve stuck next to Bri the whole trip, I tell her that I’m going to head to the top of the wave. It turns out that there are waves everywhere, not for the sake of consistency but because there aren’t even ten heads here anymore. Churches is so fun when it’s not crowded like it usually is. How to describe these rides? Well, there’s not much else I can say that doesn’t sound the same as the last three sessions, but now these are rights. More waves to ourselves. Plenty of time is spent paddling back to the lineup after catching so many waves.

     Bri is a little apprehensive at going for the sets. I try to call her into them without being too forceful. She raises her head while paddling, as she senses she’s scratching out. “Keep your chin down,” I tell her. Then, she starts catching. She’s really doing a good job, I mean getting quality, down the line rides. Sure, her pop up is slow, but she’s able to recover after hitting the base of the wave, and redirecting her nose down the line to get some distance. I swear, when I was at her surfing level I was either going straight or just going for bomb, closeouts. She’s so spoiled and doesn’t even know it. . .

     When the tide comes up, our spot slows down. I head further north, just short of Mons Pubis. As I’m heading there, I pass this guy that’s sat at the top of the wave all morning. “Good morning,” I say.

     “Morning.”

     “It’s small but pretty fun.” He doesn’t reply. He’s stocky, a little older than me, and has a bald head. As I make my way out of his range, an outside wave just pops up, just . . . right to me. I hear him scratching for it behind him, and then I’m faced with the etiquettical dilemma. . . Am I back paddling him right now? I mean, he’s been sitting at the top of the wave; he can easily turn and get the shoulder. But I’m not here to take his wave; I’m just making my way to another spot, plus. . .Ahh, this wave. Set wave, an easy three feet, and I can’t help myself because I’m at the peak. I have to, I must go. It’s the steepest drop in of the week. I pump and draw a highline to make it over a section, and the next is just green glass, a shoulder just waiting to be ruined, ripped by a dick or a stick, a surf stick. On this ocean liner of a fish, I bottom turn and rip a smooth turn off of the shoulder. I hear the toss of water out of the back. So clean and nonchalant on this wave. Was this how surfing was a long time ago before the crowds took over? I mean, I get my fair share of decent waves, but barely in an environment with so much solitude. But then, there’s the guy. I feel some funky energy. Let’s just call it guilt. I head to the spot that I had initially aimed for.

     The tide slows things down, but there are still some good rides. My creative, inner longboarder (that never came into fruition) begins to come out. I’m crouching, walking the deck, and facing the wave backwards. Endless fun, until about 1115 that is. We head back, take hot showers, stop at Sonics, and hit the road. This was a one nighter, surgical-strike surf trip. It was perfect for Bri, and who cares if it was small. It was perfect for me too. It’s nice to surf small waves too sometimes, at least with the right equipment. It was also nice to just chill out, not have any expectations, and then to still score anyhow. It’s a rough drive home, completely BEACHED. My skin begs for mercy to be spared from more sun. My back muscles ache in a restless twitch, unable to shut off “paddle mode” for now. My eyes can barely stay open. I’m not thirsty but I know I need more water. I’m almost reaching Long Beach. I drink the rest of my coffee that might as well be a placebo. Only twenty more miles to go with counterfeit caffeine, relying solely on stoke afterburn. I smile at the line of cars ahead. Only a surfer knows.