MY ENDLESS SUMMER, PT.12 THU 07AUG2014

Unexpected Energy

Loc: Manhattan Beach

Crew: Bri and Klaude

Time: 0700-0900

Conditions: 3FT, consistent, glassy, walled.

     I’m tired of commuting for surf. When Klaude had told me last night that he’d be surfing local, it only solidified the decision to stay close to home. First light had been the plan, but Bri and I sleep in a little. The tide’s high anyway, and the surf will be tiny.

     We reach the beach at about 0645. Vietnam Vet Mike is parked in his usual VIP spot. I wave. He waves back. Surprisingly, there are waves. The South Bay shouldn’t be getting shit, but I assume that the south swell has picked up with some good west in it, bringing in the waves. I spot Klaude on the sand stretching and warming up. Looks like he’s on the late train too. Before him are the lines of waves. A little too lined up. There’s decent size, three feet but walled. I’m hoping for occasional shoulders.

     As you know, I’m a free parking kind of guy, so Bri and I take our time changing. Back on the sand, I paddle up to Klaude. “You’re late!” he says. I laugh it off, telling him that I know he had just showed up too.

     The water’s cooled off a little, not quite the trunking-it conditions that midsummer had offered. I’m grateful for the size, but most of my waves are closeouts. Being picky, I hang back, praying for shoulders. Meanwhile, Klaude’s going for it. He’s KK 2.0 with his new vision, even going for all the closeouts.

     I’m on my Mini Driver with a quad setup since the waves are fast. I catch a left, and before the wave closes out I climb its face and try to gouge the lip with my tail as hard as possible before it dumps. It’s better than going straight.

     My wave of the day is another left. When it appears on the horizon, I say to Klaude, “There’s one.” He eyes it, but I paddle towards it. I have to. Natural instinct. I have to get in position for it. Unfortunately, I think this is my greedy instinct because I pretty much back paddle Klaude to get it. There’s a shoulder on it, and when I pop up, Klaude has to back out for me. Sorry, buddy. Just couldn’t help myself.

     Going down the line, I get a little front-side snap on its walled-up face. My turns don’t feel as tight with the quads, but I do the best I can. I end the wave with a finishing turn. Two hits on a day with no shape. I gotta be stoked for that.

     KK leaves for work. A lot of the usual locals aren’t here this morning. There are plenty of fresh faces with only a small handful of the 26^th Street Ohana. Then I see Toru on the sand heading out for a late morning session. “Long time no see!” he says. It’s true. I’m here trying to put in my local dues. Poor guy. He and his wife have just moved from Downtown L.A. to a house in the hood, somewhere on Crenshaw. He says there was already an attempted break in at his house, the prospective thieves were caught, and he just came back from court over the ordeal.

     “You got the day off?” I ask.

     “No, but I told myself I’d paddle out for at least twenty minutes.” But catching a wave for Toru is hard. He stays for about a half hour, catching closeouts before paddling towards the inside for a belly ride to shore.

     Meeting the local quota of at least one turn, Bri and I look forward to the Jalama trip with Gary this weekend. Hopefully there we can get our fill.

MY ENDLESS SUMMER, PT.11 WED 06AUG2014

The Stingray Session

Loc: Bolsa Chica

Crew: Bri

Conditions: 1-3FT, inconsistent, glassy, uncrowded.

     The swell is supposed to be up a little bit, but looking at the surf at Bolsa, the forecasts may have been a little off. We push it further to the south end of HB. The swell here is hitting about a foot bigger, but the waves are breaking section-on-section, and I’m not in the move to surf closeouts, especially after Monday’s fun session and the drive just to get here.

     The sky’s overcast, compounding that gloomy skunky feeling inside. Nope, the drive hasn’t been worth it thus far. We stop at Goldenwest for a quick peek. It’s a little bigger than Bolsa, but there’s more wind here, making the shape a little crumbly. Even though Bolsa doesn’t have size, we head there for the quality.

     As much as I’d like to use my Motorboat Too, the conditions here are too small for it. When waves do come, they are clean and decent, but the few heads in the water are just sitting there stagnant, so I know it’s inconsistent.

     Bri opts for the 6’8 NSP while I break out the 6’10 Becker. There’s a small pack in front of Tower 20, but we paddle out just south of them, so as not to interfere with their peak. Upon reaching the lineup, a set comes in. Bri catches the first wave. I catch the second. Even though my wave is barely three feet, there’s something about the length and volume of my board. The wave is small and a little sectiony, but I pump down the line so fast, my full rails getting me to the open face. As the wave closes out, I do a foam climb with such ease that I’m surprised that this big board can yet be so maneuverable.

     The surf turns more consistent for a moment, and the people in front of Tower 20 begin to sneak over towards me and Bri, but the closer they get, the more they’re in the way. Going down the line, they are forced to kick out for us.

     Then things slow down again, and an enveloping lull keeps everyone still. On the inside, two fishermen have their lines cast out. No one else is paddling out, just the same three other guys who have been out since we got here.

     But the sets do come, and when they do, they have good shape. I can’t get crisp tight turns, but forcing all my weight on the tail for torque, I can whip the nose around, throwing out minimum splash at least. The board’s width makes sticking the floaters so easy. And then I get a right, two sluggish backhand turns. I’m surprised that I don’t purl.

     Standing on the inside, I’m pretty stoked. The tide is going down, the surf is getting a little better, and I’m getting the set waves. Smiling, I stare out over the blue horizon for the next lumps coming in. I grab my board and just then, it feels like something sharp stabs me in my right big toe, just underneath the toe nail. The pain is immediately excruciating. Wincing and whining like a bitch, I frantically climb on top of my board and paddle out and away, eyes tight and jaws clenched. Stingray is the first thing that comes to mind.

     I cradle my foot and rock back and forth. A wave comes. I miss it, almost getting run over by a longboarder. I imagine that the flesh underneath my nail is jacked, but instead there’s a small puncture wound on the tip of my toe. It bleeds profusely. I’ve never been stung by a stingray before. There’s no barb in my foot. The wound is small, but it hurts like a motherfucker. Looking behind me, I see the two fishermen on shore, so I assume that maybe one of them had hooked my toe on accident.

     Bri comes over. I have to try and put on my tough guy act, but I’m visibly struggling. “Maybe we should go,” she says. Of course I’m stubborn. By all means, I can’t go when the surf is getting better. If my toe is in fact cut by a fishing hook, I should be fine.

     Dealing with the pain, I catch more waves, making sure my feet don’t touch the sand on the inside, and I’m actually surfing well. However, the pain in my toe gets worse. It’s throbbing, and the sensation even spreads over to my middle toe.

     Still in denial, I switch over to the Motorboat Too that I had left on the sand, but it hurts so much now that I’m surfing like shit. I have to get out.

     I hobble on the sand towards the showers. The fishermen watch me as I walk behind them. They look away when I look back, but they track me once I pass them. Maybe they know. Maybe fishing right there behind me attracted a lot of stingrays.

     I rinse off at the shower, and the cold water makes the pain worse. Bri offers to drive, but I tell her I’ll be all right. We hit traffic on the 405 North. Bri falls asleep. It feels like such a long drive because the pain just pulsates, disappearing and then throbbing hard.

     Once we get home, Bri fills a basin with hot water, and would you believe it? The pain subsides immediately. I’m so drained from the sting that I pass out on the couch while sitting there with my foot soaked.

     There’s a first time for everything, and I hope that the second time never happens again. Lesson learned. Stingrays . . . you gotta respect those little fuckers. 

MY ENDLESS SUMMER, PT.10 TUE 05AUG2014

Gary’s Birthday Go Out

Loc: Rosecrans

Crew: Bri, Gary, Juan, Manny, Dave T.

Time: 0600-0800

Conditions: 2-3FT+, consistent, onshore, scattered peaks.

     Bri and I had originally planned to drive to HB this week for surf, but since there’s a light lull in the surf, which is supposed to pick up again tomorrow, I debated on whether we should stay local or not. Upon getting the WHC chain text that Tuesday the fifth will be Gary’s birthday and that they’d be paddling out local, the decision on where to surf was made.

Local Pass:

     Being from the South Bay with El Porto around the corner, it’s good to show your face, here and there, during the summer to ensure you don’t get your Porto Pass revoked.

     I wake up at 0515 to find that there isn’t one text from the WHC yet, but right after brushing my teeth, the phone starts to go off. With gnarly bed head, eating a bowl of frosted mini-wheats, my phone starts to go off in rapid fire. Gary’s already parked and checking the surf. “A little onshore,” he says. Then the rest of the boys chime in. They’re on the way.

     Bri and I are a little behind schedule but not by much. It’s 0545, and it’s already light out. Late by WHC standards. 

     Reaching the sand, the guys are the only ones out in front of the lifeguard station. The conditions are choppy and onshore. Looks small but then some peaks start standing up scattered all over the beach. Classic windswell conditions. Slightly disorganized but rippable.

     We paddle out. I say happy birthday to Gary but ask him for reassurance that it’s actually his birthday. I just had to make sure because it kind of snuck up under my radar.

     I had packed CC’s Zippi, Big Blue, because I thought the conditions would be crappy, but the bigger waves are breaking three feet plus; I could’ve been ripping on the Motorboat Too or Mini Driver.

     Sharing, I let some good peaks go to some of the guys. Surprisingly, the waves pop up out of nowhere, sprouting into wedgy peaks with fast and racy down-the-line shoulders. Despite the onshore wind and chop, the waves hold shape before closing out on the inside.

     The activity in the water is so busy. Everyone’s catching waves. Manny ejects out of a wave with an air. It’s a frenzy of a session with no other surfers invading the spot but us. From the shore, I can only imagine how much we’re selling the subpar conditions.

     I’m in position for one of those wedgy lefts—I picked out as many lefts as possible this session, only going right once. The Zippi has so much volume that it affords me more time even on late pop ups. Once I’m up, I walk to the nose of the board and hold a high line. Towards the inside, I walk it back towards the tail and straighten out to avoid the closeout. The wave is still merely a foot high, but the Zippi’s thick rails keep pushing me through the inside. Wouldn’t be possible on my other boards. Manny even gives me a thumbs up. I guess he can appreciate an attempt at a stylish lean on the nose.

     Another surprise is the consistency. The inside is so consistent that it’s a workout getting back out. On top of that, the waves outside are consistently breaking, so you have to make sure that you don’t get run over.

     Into 0700, the crowd starts to show up. The peak is still ours, but as the minutes pass more people show up. Why is everyone so late? All around Rosecrans, too, not spread out much. Longboarders, a black dude with dreads and a wetsuit hood. A guy in trunks thinks he’s Joel Tudor and loses his leashless longboard, nearly crashing into two guys standing on the inside. I watch as a wave causes his board to flop high into the air, almost hitting someone.

     My wave of the day is another left, but the face on this one is a little more rippable. Instead of walking to the nose, I pump and get a little check turn off of the lip, making the section. I try to get one more turn before the wave closes out, and then I see Manny heading straight towards me on a right. I lose balance on my turn, back flopping, taking a pounding on my kidneys. It reminds me of Gary earlier. He had wiped out on the inside and resurfaced, standing in the shallows clutching at his lower back.

     I didn’t get to see Gary’s 360 attempts that the boys kept hollering about, but he was going for it. On one of his last waves, he was attempting an end section maneuver, and the lip of the wave just crashed into his head as he was trying to complete it. It looked vicious.

     Gary leaves first followed by Dave T.

     “I haven’t caught shit,” says Manny. He looks frustrated, which is funny because I thought I saw him on a lot of waves.

     Manny leaves, so now it’s just Bri and I.

     The tide rises, making the surf more inconsistent and soft. The scattered fast peaks that were here earlier have left with the WHC. The WHC . . . they’re an elite bunch—first ones out, first ones done.

     With waves much softer now, I’m glad that I had taken out the fish. Bri and I let the current take us north towards 40^th Street Tower. In the short distance, Rosecrans is a zoo of surfers. It doesn’t matter. We got our fill. We’re back up the hill by 0815.

     If I’ve learned anything this summer, I’ve learned that despite the expectation of lackluster conditions for the South Bay in the summer, sometimes there are decent winds swells here that Surfline and Magicseaweed can’t always predict. But you have to know when to gamble. It’s easy to get skunked. All I know is that whenever the WHC paddles out together, there are usually waves. That’s the right time to gamble. And the waves today gave Gary a hell of a birthday session, despite how it was supposed to be the shittiest day of surf.