BLACK CLOUD, SAT 7SEPT2013 MOR

Loc: Manhattan Beach   

Time:0815-1000

Crew: Bri, KK, Mel                                           

Conditions: 1-2 FT+, inconsistent, mooshy, warm.

     Bri and I went to bed late, so we’re on the late train. Parking is horrendous but by some luck of fate, I score on a side street that I rarely park on.

     The disadvantage of parking here is that we have to walk seven streets south to reach our local break. I’m sure Klaude’s already out here, and sure as shit, there he is on his orange Zippi.

     Even though I don’t feel like surfing with the crowd, I have a need to be around my friends, especially when the surf is “so so.” I rush my warm up and tell Bri that I’m paddling out. I meet Klaude in the lineup, and he says, “I just got here too.”

     Yesterday wasn’t the greatest, but it was bigger and more consistent. Sometimes Manhattan Beach does well on the high tide, but today it’s making the surf too mooshy. Of course, the longboarders are doing all right. Bri gets more waves than Klaude and I combined. We party wave a couple rides, and Klaude and Bri almost have a collision. Who’s fault? Who knows?

     Bri paddles up to me and says that she got cut. I paddle up to take a look at her ankle. There’s a slice above her ankle bone. It’s a little deep, and the ankle bone itself is turning purple. “We’ll put some Neosporin on it when we get home,” I say.

     Klaude and I switch boards. On his Zippy, I feel its extra buoyancy, but I don’t get a really good wave to go down the line on and test its potential.

     “You’re pumps are too shallow like you’re on a shortboard,” says Klaude. “You need deeper pumps on that thing.”

     I try, but the waves are kind of slow and boggy, so I ask for my board back.

     Even Ross says that the conditions are perfect for longboarding, and even though he’s not on a longboard, he’s still getting as many waves as the longboarders. Go figure.

     “Last wave,” says Ross. He gets about two turns to shore. Klaude and I hoot him on. Ross turns around and paddles back out.

     “How many more last waves you gonna take?” says Klaude.  

     Ross says, “Depends on how good my last wave was.” Ross takes about five more waves before leaving.

     Klaude doesn’t do so badly either. He catches a right all the way to shore. Me ? . . fuck. I end up dicking off, walking the board, and trying to go switch foot. In regular-foot stance, I get stuck when I put myself there. I used to be able to go backhand left, but those days have long been over.

     Klaude leaves first, and then Bri and I follow shortly after. Heading back to the car, Bri’s pretty stoked. I’m just whatever. Lately I’ve accepted the conditions, just going straight or lucky if can get at least one turn. To be honest, I’m not stoked. I haven’t been getting much out of surfing.

     My buddy Francis had told me a couple months ago that they called him the Black Cloud at work when he had hit a streak of bad luck. I feel like there’s a black cloud over me right now. I’m paddling out, just sitting in the lineup, not expecting anything. Surfing shouldn’t be like that.

     Back home, I smear Neosporin over Bri’s cut. It looks like it’s going to heal. It’s just gonna need some air and some time.

GROM CENTRAL, FRI 6SEPT2013 MOR

Loc: Manhattan Beach   

Time:0700-0900

Crew: Bri, KK, Mel                                           

Conditions: 1-3 FT, consistent, light onshore, warm.

     Since Tuesdays thru Thursdays are one-hundred percent dedicated to school, Friday’s my first chance to paddle out after sitting on my ass for three days. Actually, that’s not entirely true, since Bri and I have picked up yoga at a local gym two nights a week.

     Bri’s started her new job this morning, so I head to Manhattan Beach early before she’s up and head out to meet Klaude and Khang.

     Yesterday, Khang called me and said he would surf, so I offered to buy him breakfast afterwards since I haven’t seen him in a while.

     Street parking is a bitch, as it always is on Fridays, and I have no choice but to park at a spot that’s only good until 0900, but since I’m early it shouldn’t be a problem.

     It’s been a while since I’ve done a solo session, and I enjoy the quiet atmosphere, only disrupted by my music and the sound of me breathing.

     Looking out at the break, I see small, consistent lines rolling in, but they look a little walled. However, it’s the best local surf that I’ve seen for a while.

     At the lineup, I don’t see Klaude yet, but I’m not concerned with that. What I’m concerned with is all the high school groms that are now there at first light. There are so many of them. Even the local vets are complaining as they walk towards the sand. They point to the few areas that aren’t congested with groms, saying, “There . . . no. How about there? No. . .”

     I’m surprised to see some kids bare backing it. Sure, it’s been warm lately, but not that warm. I paddle out, and my 2/2, short-sleeved full feels mighty fine.

     I sit south of the tower, trying to avoid the crowd, but the good waves are where all the kids are sitting. I move in closer and sit by the longboarding groms. I’m jealous. They’re just about catching everything, local vet Mitch is out here too, and we both give each other a look that spells frustration. Meanwhile, I’m burning up in my wetsuit. I should have trunked it.

     I am still able to get some waves though, but none of the rides are memorable. There is a right where I get one, small snap on. It’s been a while since I’ve had one of those. I catch an even better right, but one of the morning groms snakes me on it. I ride close to him, on his ass, but then I back off. What’s the use? It’s not like it’s that great out here, and he’s just a kid.   

     Back at the lineup, I split a small peak with a grom and go left. I clear a small section with a tiny floater but look behind me to make sure that I’m clear. I’m not. That grom didn’t go right, and now he’s standing behind me the same way I was standing behind that other kid. “Shit!” I say before kicking out.

     Once the grom patrol clears, I see KK and Mel making their way out. I paddle over towards them, since Klaude is blind and can’t see me unless I’m in front of him.

     I say hi to Mel, and then Klaude dismounts his board to give me some man-hug love. Roy’s out here too.

     “Where you’ve been surfing?” I ask Roy.

     “Up north,” he says. “Last Saturday I surfed for like eight hours.”

     Then I recall how Rick scored that super session last weekend up north too. Barrels! Roy just about confirms that I missed out on a good one.

     And for the rest of the morning we all trade off waves. I can’t say that they’re high quality waves. I guess I’ve been a little picky lately. There are a few single-shot waves that I get, but I probably have the most fun on a set-wave closeout. The drop itself was more fun than any of my other rides.

     When KK and Mel call it, I decide to go in too. I catch another wall and try to pump to set up for a carve, but the wave’s too fast, and I climb the white wash a little before coming down with it. There’s no sign of Khang either, but he has a pass since he’s been a hundred times busier with his promotion. We all have to make sacrifices some time.

     On the shore, Klaude says, “Nice way to finish it!”

     I just smile back. Truth is, it’s been a while since I’ve had a real solid session. I think the last time I did have one was my second to the last trip at San Onofre with Bri when Mons Pubis was working. That might have been before I had left for work in August, and that’s a while ago.

     I head back to my whip and decide to sham out for the rest of the day. It’s Friday, I have the next two days to write some nonfiction and do some reading. I hope the surf gets better soon. We need at least another foot and the tide to be lower in the morning.

LABOR DAY SESH, MON 2SEPT2013 MOR

Loc: Manhattan Beach   

Time: 0715-0915

Crew: Bri                                                    

Conditions: 1-2 FT, mooshy, slow, inconsistent.

     Right after I park my wagon, I shoot a text out to Klaude, letting him know that I just arrived and will catch him in the water. From there, Bri and I suit up and get our gear ready. I check my phone before I lock up and see that Klaude had texted back: Not going to make it.

     From the top of the hill, the surf looks even smaller than yesterday. With the tide also higher, I don’t expect much, and that’s why I got the water logged Zippi under arm.

     I watch the Ross show while warming up. He might be in his late forties, but he surfs like a pro in his prime. On his green board, he’s going backside, snapping it off of the lip for two turns. He sits in the best spot, and when he takes off a lot of people back out for him. A true MB vet he is. At this break he’s considered royalty. Not sure if I’ll ever reach that status here or if I want it. East Java, Choco Point, man . . . I hope to find other spots in the world to surf where the cost of living is cheap and the waves are within walking distance.

     Bri and I paddle to the same spot that we started off at yesterday (just south of the tower). Brian and his homegirl Jun say hi to us (cool high school kids), so does Vietnam Vet Mike and Costco Oscar. Brian paddles over to us while shaking his head and says, “Damn, it’s so crowded.” He looks back. “It’s like, really? Even when it’s crappy?”

     “Yeah, it’s small,” I say.

     “Whatever,” he says as he smiles. “As long as I’m here before Klaude. That’s all that matters.”

     “He’s not coming today. I texted him.”

     “Awwww, no way,” he says. “If you talk to him, tell him he’s a flake.”

     “What about Klaude?” says Jun. Brian relays the info.

     One stray SUP guy is hanging around the edge of our lineup, but it doesn’t make much of a difference since it’s inconsistent. With the lineup a hair thinner than yesterday and having more board, I’m able to catch a lot more waves.

     On the little two footers I’m able to scratch my way in, walking up to the nose to gain momentum. On one wave, a longboarder is in my way. I bottom turn around him, climb the face again, and do my catwalk spin on the deck of my board before falling. “Sorry,” says the longboarder.

     Meanwhile, Vietnam Mike is hooting at me from further inside, saying, “Yeahhh!”

     I look at the longboarder and say, “Don’t worry about it,” and then I look at Mike and say, “You liked that?”

     Now that was a fun, little wave, just nice and shouldery.

     Bri does her usual thing. What else can I say about her surfing? She’s doing what a longboarder’s supposed to: riding waves well while still sharing and practicing good etiquette.

     Since I can’t get any sharp turns on the Zippi and since the surf is small, I just focus on distance, walking the deck, and trimming. Brian even applauses my goofy, board-walking antics after one of my rides. Back at the lineup Bri says, “After your ride, he held up his hands and said, ‘I give him a ten!’”

     During one of the lulls, someone from behind says, “Hey, you really have to look behind you and see if someone’s there or not.” I turn around. It’s Ross, and he’s directing his comment towards a longboarder who is new to this spot.

     “I know. I tried to get out,” says the longboarder, “but I couldn’t—”

     “I know you didn’t do it on purpose,” says Ross.

     “Oh yeah, I know,” says the longboarder. “It’s nothing.”

     Bri and I look at each other. That’s just about the worst that this place gets as far as drama. Ross is a nice guy, and he was trying to be polite when checking the dude. “Must have happened more than once,” says Bri.

     Ross leaves and so do a lot of the first shifters. At the same time, more guys trickle in from the strand: Bruce, Miles, and Don K.

     Bri and I catch our last waves in, and then I notice Shan and his girlfriend Veronica setting up shop on the sand. Shan’s got his blue, Body Glove, short sleeve rashguard on. He stretches next to his longboard while Veronica just sets her board down. We shoot the shit for a little bit. “Yesterday was really fun,” he says. “Did you surf yesterday?”

     “Yeah,” I say. We both pause, computing what times we were both there and how we could have missed each other. Bri and I say bye and head back to the Gundo. In my matchbox apartment, I whip up some Spam loco mocos and work on some assignments that are due this week.

     We turn on the news and see that they’re officially calling Labor Day the last day of summer. “Summer just started two weeks ago,” says Bri. I plow back into my brunch, and I reflect on this whole Labor Day weekend for the first time. We surfed San Onofre on Friday, had sushi, surfed Porto in the evening; we surfed local the last two days and started every morning the best way possible. Sure, the surf was small and mooshy, but we spent our time the best that we could have. What else would have substituted? Going to the gym, running, hiking, or just being a Netflix bum for the whole weekend? I don’t think so. With the thought of class tomorrow, I’m sad that this weekend’s ending. If I could do it over again, I would have a better attitude about it instead of being a whiny bitch.