Loc: El
Porto
Crew: Bri
Time:
0630-0830
Conditions:
1-3 FT, glassy, consistent w/shape.
Since there’s a line to enter the lot, I
bust a bitch and head back to Highland Avenue to look for free parking. You’d
think that the Manhattan Beach meter patrol would have opened the gate by 0600,
but think again.
After scoring free parking on Rosecrans, I
grab the blue Zippifish and head towards the beach. The sky is still dark with
purple hues emerging east over the horizon. The few scattered clouds are edged
in dark pink. The sidewalk is sticky under my feet, the film from gum, dirt,
and oil. There’s something about Rosecrans, the sidewalk and the gunky pavement
that just spells “filth.”
But dawn patrols can be worth the wake.
Stepping over the bike path is like stepping into unmarked territory, the
dividing line between those who are blessed with the stoke of surfing and those
who will never know it. There aren’t even any bikers out yet. Onshore wind kisses
my forehead, a cool morning, but I’m still ready to trunk it.
Only three heads are out in front of 42nd,
the parking lot barely a quarter full. Spotting Bri, I head towards her. The
sand is soft and cold, a precursor for the winter ahead. I warm up hastily and
make my paddle out. She doesn’t see me at first until she’s paddling for a
wave. It’s barely three feet out, but the waves are consistent, and the onshore
wind is making them a little rampy. When the peaks break, they line up and
stretch out, but a big board is good, enough rail and volume to get down the
line. It’s one of those days when your choice of equipment is spot on, no
regrets, no wish for more or less board; you have enough.
One of the 42nd Street locals
sits on his shortboard in his red wetsuit. Usually he’s on top of the waves
here, going on any one he pleases, but today he’s scratching out. Not enough
board. He turns his head when Bri and I go for waves. When we’re done, he looks
away. He has that anti-stoke shun, and I know it too well myself: when everyone
else around you is scoring. But we’re not being greedy. He’s just on the wrong
board.
When Bri leaves for work, the tide fills in
a little bit more. The sun comes out, already blazing even though it’s just
over the horizon. Suddenly, my choice in wearing a wetsuit jacket is a bad one.
I catch one in, pull it off, and paddle back out.
The second shift is just in time to catch
the glassy window when the wind dies. The surf had looked terrible when I first
showed up. Surfline didn’t do much for advertisement either, but I should thank
them. They kept the crowds low, a perfect day to sleep in, so they thought. But
the peaks are consistent, cleaner, and lining up much better than earlier. And
even though I’m glad that the lineup’s empty, I do my best to sell the surf to
those in the parking lot, paddling into the smallest waves, catching a lot of
short rides, playing with the deck of the board up to the nose, falling on
backwards rides.
Most of the second shifters are on the
wrong boards, too. I pass up the first wave of a set to a surfer on my inside.
The second one’s even better. Everything’s lining up just right for this
session.
My wave of the day is a random three
footer. The peak stands up as it breaks and walls up a little. I get up fast
high on the line and pump down it for speed. A longboarder’s on the shoulder,
but he kicks out when he sees me coming. Even though the fish is fat, I push
hard on my back foot and force a carving arc, redirecting down the line to
finish off the wave.
I still get more rides, even blowing a
layback snap attempt. I don’t ride out of it, but it’s fun just to get that
motion of twisting your body and breaking a big board like that loose.
After a wave, I bob on the inside next to
my board. It’s 0830. I’ve been out for two hours and caught more waves than I
had expected. My departure’s not planned, but I know I should go. No need to
push it. I’ve had enough. The session couldn’t have gone any better. Sometimes
it’s hard to leave the surf on a good note, so I leave with my stokometer redlined.
Thinking back to my best wave, my only
regret is that I didn’t continue the frontside wrap into a cutback and rebound
off of the lip. I shortchange some of my turns like this. It’s more to work on.
And that layback, one day I hope to pull that off clean. If I’ll be able to do
it on a fish I’ll be able to do it on anything shorter.
I’m glad that this wasn’t a session where
I’m straining for a good wave, sometimes stubbornly waiting an extra hour for
the wave that never comes, but now I can leave. I change. I move on with my
day. Without an errand done yet, I still feel like I’ve accomplished so much.
