FRI 23JAN2015

I can appreciate "shape" over a walled day.

Loc: Manhattan Beach, Rosecrans
Time: 0700-0830
Crew: Bri, Juan, Garr                 
Conditions: 2-3 FT+, sunny, warm, offshore
Board: Motorboat Too

     I should be on the road heading to Big Bear for my friend J’s bachelor party, but since I’ll be missing out on a massive swell this weekend, I have to get a surf in before I leave. The swell’s supposed to be tapering off, but I check 26^th Street anyway. Of course, it’s a fucking lake. Bri parks and walks towards The Strand as I’m walking back. “Let’s go meet the guys,” I say.

     When I pull into the Porto lot, a freakish rogue wave breaks at 45^th. It’s amazing what a couple miles down the beach does. But as packed as it is, I can tell that there’s a mellow energy in the air. If it were firing consistently, people would be rushing, wearing a no-bullshit face in preparation for glory. Instead, people are just kind of watching and taking their time. As soon as I drive past the bathrooms, several parking spaces are open.

     Bri and I search for Gar and Juan in the water. I don’t see Gar, but Juan is unmistakable in his chinstrapped surf cap. With the tide a little lower this morning, some nice peaks are sprouting up and down the beach. 45^th and the sandwich shack look consistent, but those spots are more packed.

     We paddle out at Rosecrans, just as Juan is paddling late into a four-foot right. I’m about to hoot him on, but some dick in a hooded wetsuit fucking drops in on him. Fuckin’ A. I watch them both resurface to see if there will be an altercation, but Juan just paddles back, no big deal.

      I flag him down. He waves back. “Where’s Gary?” I say.

     Juan points to the guy who had just snaked him. Shit, I didn’t recognize Gary with his hoodie on. Figures Gary would snake him. About fifteen minutes later, Jimmy B paddles out and joins us, too.

     I have a slow start. The crowd’s manageable, but I can’t seem to get a good wave that will stay open. Bri gets a legit wave before I do. It’s pretty impressive seeing her on the Becker. Even paddling back through the impact zone, she turtle dives that thick 6’10 without issue.

     Gary stands out this session. He constantly gets long lefts, getting so much distance that he ends up sitting at the next break over.

     I finally get a decent runner of a left. Juan hoots me as he goes over the shoulder. The section crumbles in front of me, but I do a small floater over it. I get a little snap on the shoulder, hearing someone else hoot me from the inside. To finish the ride off, I try a layback but don’t ride out of it.

     “Matt!” I hear. I look towards the shore. Jimmy’s waving goodbye.

     And even though I hadn’t expected much this session, the surf actually gets better, and I get a few more fun little rides.

     Bri leaves to work. Juan and Gar get out at 0830 because they didn’t pay the meter. I could surf longer. I’m good until 0850, but I get out to have a little face time with the masters.

     I invite Gary out for breakfast since he had hooked me up with a good wetsuit deal. Turns out Juan’s available too since Biden’s visit is causing chaos with the traffic. We end up at Mandy’s in El Segundo. It’s Juan’s first time here. After coffee and food, I spring for the bill, saying that I had the intention of treating, but those guys whip out their cash and make sure to pay their share even though I had offered.

"Here it comes," says Gary.

  

AT THE RIGHT SPOT, THU 22JAN2015

 

Loc: Manhattan Beach, 26th Street

Time: 0800-0930   

Crew: Klaude

Conditions: 2-3 FT+, sunny, warm, offshore, high tide

Board: 6’0 Lost Mini Driver, medium quads

     At 0600 I turn off my alarm and close my eyes, a vicious gamble for one who had planned to dawn patrol six hours ago. Yet, there’s a chance that I’ll shake the sleep trance off, open my eyes once more, inhale deeply, take in the silence, and sit up out of bed. I open my eyes. 0717.

     There goes the window that I had hoped to catch, critical today with an easing swell and a six-foot plus high tide. Klaude said he’d be out there. I picture him getting out as I’m just walking on the sand, Klaude throwing up his arms saying, “What the fuck?” Main thing is that I show up and surf. You always regret it when you don’t. At least I do.

     To my surprise, I score VIP parking on 27^th Street. Usually Vietvet Mike parks here, but for some reason, while every other street spot is taken, this one is vacant. Right when I pull up, there’s a long peak breaking. It’s soft, but there are shoulders at the end. Surfers are on them, ripping. It’s a mashed down A-frame. There’s a main pack in front of the brick house. I already know I’ll be sitting wide south of them.

     When I get to the lineup, the ocean goes stagnant. I search for Klaude but don’t see him. 33^rd Street has peaks. Marine has a left that stands up. The next wave breaks at the brick house, and everyone’s on it. A right finally swings wide. Sliding down its face, I see the shoulder stand up and start to stretch out, but it’s not going round, just spilling. I chance a springing pump off the bottom turn and am surprised at how fast I climb the face, but I climb too fucking high and lose the wave. Lost turn.

     The high tide begins to slow things down. I’ll be lucky to get a decent wave. I missed the good window. Someone’s paddling up to me. It’s Klaude.

     “I don’t know what happened?” he says. I paddled out, got a three-turn wave, and then everyone paddled out.” It turns out that Klaude had only been here for a half hour.  

     We paddle further away from the pack and sit on 26^th. In the short distance south, we see the lefts in the Marine area. Klaude paddles towards it and says, “I’m gonna get on that. Can’t just look at it anymore.”

     I paddle with him but notice a bump out the back, so I swing back around and paddle towards the outside. Lucky me. It’s the first wave of the next juicy set. Even though the peak is more north, it’s stretching out so far that I’m right on the shoulder. Dropping in, the shoulder stretches out, but its face is holding. I bottom turn and crank out a solid backhand snap. Going down the line, I wind up once more. A second, a third on the inside. Wow, fucking three turns. Didn’t expect that. I see Klaude in the distance, scoring my wave a 6.

     And for some reason, even though the tide is getting higher, I just somehow find myself in the right spot at the right time, unfortunately at Klaude’s expense. We’re at odds. He sits inside, a wave breaks outside. He sits outside, a wave breaks inside. I’m at where he’s not, so I get at least three decent waves in a row. Even the insiders are fun. Other than a left-hand cutback, my best waves are on the rights going backside.

     “If I’m on it, just go,” I say to Klaude.

     “Nah, I’m all right,” he says. He wears an unsatisfying smirk.

     Just then, a peak starts to stand up on the outside. We both paddle for it and then say, “Nahhhh,” because it looks like we’ve been faked out, but then it hits the sandbar and stands up even more. It’s a right. Klaude’s on my outside. I paddle into the wave with Klaude right in front of me. “Go!” I say as I kick out. From behind, it looks like a decent wave, a little racy but open. He bashes the lip as the wave closes out, going down with it.

     When I’m all done and changed back at my car, I sit on the strand and just soak in the moment. Everything is perfect. The offshore breeze is light. The sun and the air are warm. Soft glassy peaks still break, still providing good rides for the third shifters. Other than the slight patter from joggers, all I can hear are the waves breaking. Even though I’m no longer in the water, for some reason, I just don’t want to leave.

SHOULDER SIGHTINGS, WED 21JAN2015

 

Loc: Manhattan Beach, 26th Street
Time: 0715-0915   
Conditions: 4-5 FT+, sunny, semi walled, consistent
Board: 6’0 Lost Mini Driver, Thruster

     Bri and I had driven to HB on Monday, and the surf was shit. Even in the late morning, the high tide had the waves breaking close to shore. No classic HB peaks either, just coming in too lined up. We were going to paddle out, but I forgot my wetsuit like a fucking dumb ass.

     The biggest day of the swell, yesterday, I woke up to look at the surf cams. It looked doable, but I didn’t expect there to be shape. Plus, I was unmotivated. It was too easy to call a lay day, do some errands, and sleep in a little. By the end of the night, I felt like a regular bum. Worthless. I wasn’t even a surf bum anymore. Being a surf bum still gives you a sense of accomplishment. Purpose. It was time to get back into the groove.

#

     Of course the tide would be killing the surf, so I had set my alarm at 0600. I hit the snooze button, cancelling out last night’s motivation to dawn patrol. Lame one on my part. So I late-train it at 0645, finding free parking on 27^th Street. I can see the break in front of the tower, and it’s a swarm of high-schoolers. It must be slow because everyone’s stagnant. No one’s caught inside or going to and from. They’re all just waiting. And then, peaks start sprouting up. A little long but with shape. After breaking, they moosh out a little, but some kids are getting nice rides. For the first time in a while, my local break has legit shape.

     I dawn my used 3/2 Quik Cypher that I had bought from Gary’s son Russ. It’s a large short, so squeezing into it is a lot easier, but I do note how the suit wrinkles around my chest from the extra material and my inability to fill it.

     Stocky Jon and Robert are watching the surf on the strand.

     “Paddling out?” I ask.