SAW A SHARK AND GOT OUT, SAT 21JUN2014

Loc: Manhattan Beach

Time: 0600-0800

Crew: Bri

Conditions: glassy, clean, 1-2 FT.

     There were rumors that the recent windswell was good, so I decided to stay local, especially since I had a camp trip scheduled the following week. As appealing as HB sounded, I didn’t want to burn the gas.

     Upon arriving at Manhattan Beach, there were small lines rolling in consistently, in front of the tower and to the north and south. I hoped that the lowering tide would make the waves stand up better as the morning went on.

     There were already surfers sitting on both sides of the tower. As small as the waves were, there were occasional sets almost three-feet. The fat peaks broke close to shore but lined up for a few pumps. I managed one left and went down the line.

     I waved at one of the locals who I know, an older guy named Jon who wears a Rastafarian rashguard. He shot me a shaka back. I meant to talk to him, but upon looking back, he was walking back onto the shore and looking behind him. Pretty soon four other guys who had been surfing with him also got out. Everyone had his eyes on the water, and I already had a feeling on what was up.

     It was one of those moments where I could’ve chosen to be a bitch and gotten out. Or, I could’ve been an idiot if my life was in danger, but I ignored the obvious warning.

     I paddled to the spot where they were all at, and then I caught another small left. Only two other guys had refused to get out. They were talking to each other, mumbling about how the other guys were bitches.

     Jon paddled back out, pointed next to him in the water, and said that there had been a shark right there. The other guys on the shore left.

     I was comfortable staying in the lineup knowing that there were a lot of other people out. A swimmer in the water was flagged down by some SUP guys who warned him about the shark. The swimmer swam closer to shore.

     I looked back at Jon. He was gone. Something had really spooked him.

     Later in the session, the waves didn’t improve much. I waited for the waves that never came.

     Out in front of me, the tip of a dorsal and tail fin poked out of the water, disturbing the surface as it wiggled past. An SUP guy raced after it and pulled out his GoPro to take pics of it. It was just a baby.

SAY “YES” TO WINDSWELL, WED 18JUN2014

Loc: 40^th Street

Time: 0545-0845

Crew: Dave T., Manny A., Gary C.

Conditions: glassy, clean, 1-3 FT.

     I got a text from Gary yesterday, giving me the heads up on a dawn patrol with the fellas. 0510, he said. That means an early wakeup this morning, so I’m up at 0430.

     I meet at the rendezvous site at 0510. Gary’s already here. He shows me the L.A. King’s design on the bottom of his C.I. New Flyer. Dave rolls up, and Gary flashes him his board too.

     This is a legit dawn patrol. Manny’s the last person to pull up and park. There are no other surfers in sight.

     When I’m fully changed, I realize that Gary and Dave are already gone. Wow. Serious frothers, right? Wasted no time.

     I trot down to 40^th Street with Manny while he tells me about his encounter with Sunny Garcia at Lowers a couple years ago. These WHC guys, they always have cool stories.

     At the shoreline, Gary and Dave are just about done warming up. Before us, clean two-footers roll into an empty lineup. As far north and south as I can see, we are the first surfers to break sand on the beach.

     Manny’s on a foam longboard. “No leash when you’re riding one of these,” he says. He paddles out first, immediately scoring two back-to-back waves. It’s odd seeing him on a fun board since he’s a ripper.

     Upon initial submersion into the ocean, I feel how warm the water is. I could’ve trunked it.

     Porto’s a playground at first, consistent with wave after wave. The four of us trade off, going in circles like a conveyor belt. My first left looks small, but upon popping up it’s racy and fun. I get a turn. My Motorboat Too thrives in these conditions.

     Gary gets a juicy set-wave right, throwing a small bucket out the back as he milks it all the way to shore. We have it to ourselves for about forty-five minutes before we get invaded by the post-dawn patrollers.

     After they leave, the surf hits a window of inconsistency. It almost looks like the lowering tide is making things more lully and small.

     Roy, another MB local, paddles out next to me. He usually surfs at my favorite spot, but he says that it’s bigger here. I tell him I’ve been at HB lately, and he says that he’s been at Zeroes.

     I thought that I was surfing pretty well this morning, but Roy goes to work right away, paddling into the tiniest waves but going the distance. After watching the Roy Show, I put myself to work and start moving around the lineup for better positioning. A peaky left stands up, and I’m in the perfect spot. It’s a three footer. I pump on the highline to make the section, and a longboarder is about to drop in on me. I decide to pull the get-off-of-my-wave card and hoot him off of the shoulder. He backs off. With a spilled section in front of me, I bottom-turn underneath it, climb the face, and get a good gouge on the shoulder, full weight on the tail. The feeling’s like being on a drug, the sensation I’ve been waiting for.

     Roy throws me a shaka on the way back out. “Lotsa spray,” he says. It means a lot hearing that from him.

     The lineup gets more crowded. Wagner is out here on a SUP. He’s usually standoffish with me, not smiling or saying hi, but today he paddles up to me and says, “Good morning.” I guess I caught him on a good day.

     Later in the session, he switches to his shortboard, and he’s just busting airs the whole time, a fucking highlight reel.

     The set waves are inconsistent, but they’re out there. When the clock strikes 0845, I gotta head in before I get a ticket.

     Hall & Oats’ “Private Eye” bumps on my stereo as I cruise back home through Main Street El Segundo. I’m laughing to myself, car-dancing to the music, and it’s only nine o’clock. What a difference a good session makes to start the day. 

SEARCHING FOR RICKY, SUN 15JUN2014

     

Loc: Rosecrans

Time: 0700-0845

Conditions: glassy, clean, 1-3 FT, crowded.

     I wake up at 0600. Checking my phone, I see that I missed a text from Rick. It reads: “Do you want to do Rosecrans w/ me?” And then it hits me. It’s fucking Father’s Day, a holiday that’s never meant much to me, but at the same time I feel awfully late for something important. I look at the text again, and I feel terrible for leaving him hanging.

     I shoot him a text back, jump out of bed, kiss Bri on the forehead, and tell her that I’m off to surf with Rick.

     The Porto lot isn’t too packed, and I’m not surprised since the South Bay isn’t getting much surf. I park at the south end of the lot, searching for Rick’s van in the process. I don’t see it.

     Running out to the water, I scan all the heads in the lineup, scanning for a bald-headed shredding goofy footer in a Hurley wetsuit. I walk all the way to the 34^th Street Tower. Maybe I missed him?

     I paddle out anyway. The tide is low, and the conditions are clean. Surfline had called for tiny conditions, but the Rosecrans area is working well. I catch a clean two footer, expecting it to moosh out from its softness, but it’s actually rippable. I get one turn before it closes out.

     Paddling through the Rosecrans lineup, the set waves are even better at three feet, but the crowd here is thicker. No sign of Rick. He could be all the way by 45^th Street, but I didn’t see his van in the lot, so I decide to just stay where I’m at.

     The session is better than expected, and I pick off some small lefts and rights, even scoring on a big right that allows me a decent backhand snap.

     Back at the car, I check my phone. Rick’s at Blue Butterfly. I tell him I’ll meet him there.

     When I see him, he says that he had started at Rosecrans, but he paddled over to 42^nd Street. Figures. But I’m not butt hurt that I missed him this morning. It’s Father’s Day, and I’m stoked to at least meet up with him. I offer to spring for coffee because of the occasion, but he insists that he buys me not only coffee but breakfast too. We fight over who’s gonna pay until the cashier gives us an annoying look, so I give in.

     My dad’s a deadbeat. I’ve said it before. The only thing taught me is to not be like him, so if the time ever comes for me to be a father, I know I’ll be a good one. Although, I don’t plan on it.

     I grew up looking up to my friends’ fathers, but none of them set good examples. When it comes to Rick, he was my squad leader in the National Guard. He had taught me how to surf after our deployment together back in 2001. He spoils the hell out of me, even though I try to refuse. Anyway, so I missed the session with him, but I’m so glad to be here right now, sharing a bagel sandwich and sipping a cup of coffee with him. I’ve never had much to celebrate for Father’s Day. Right now I have Rick.