SETTING UP, WED 03JUN2015

Loc: Manhattan Beach, 27^th Street

Time: 0700-0900

Conditions: 3-4 FT+, overcast, clean, racy

     You can imagine how pissed I was after getting skunked at HB. Pulling up to 27^th Street, I see clean lines coming in, but they’re a little sectiony and breaking close to shore. It’s an average beachbreak day with slightly challenging conditions. I can already tell that. I can also tell that it’s one of those mornings when a good corner can make a difference.

     I score free parking and head towards the water. All the high schoolers have taken over the best two peaks, the two lefts that break just south of the tower close to Marine Ave. Instead of paddling out there, I meander towards Brick House that’s just north of the tower. A funboarder paddles out next to me. When I make it out, I turn around and see that the funboarder’s back on the sand.

     The current’s up a little today. Stretches of black dots are being pulled towards 30^th Street. Guys are doing the carousel, getting out and walking south again. Bricks is a little inconsistent, too. Most guys in the lineup are just watching the groms kill it. A few groms choose to sit nearby where it’s less packed, too.

     But there still are waves. I catch a heaving right. I try to hit the lip before it closes, and as I’m winding up for the snap, the lip is already in a follow-through pitch. So fast! I kick away my board and land in the flats. Ugly. I resurface, and another wave’s behind it. Sucked beneath, I’m awkwardly holding onto my board upside down, waiting for the fucking thing to rise up.

     When I get back to the lineup, I suffer from bad wipeout syndrome. For me, it’s a parched back throat. It doesn’t make sense, it’s like the back of my throat feels painfully dry, and then the mucous buildup starts.

     I’m hacking and spitting, pulling webs of mucous away from my lips. It’s my first bad wipeout in a while.

     The next left has a good shoulder on it. I pop up and get down the line, causing a kid to pull out for me. I get a frontside snap and see that the wave’s standing up. I can tell it’s going to close, but instinctually, I pull in, set my rail, and go about a yard before getting pinched. Resurfacing from that, I feel pretty damn good. I mean, not just on the opening turn but my timing on pulling in felt natural. The first turn was well timed, too. The wave wasn’t standing up yet, so I knew to carve instead.

     Afterwards, I just want more waves like that. Poor grom who’s next to me. I get the next one, too. He’s on the shoulder watching as I pop up, crouch, and set myself up for a shallow coverup. Unfortunately, my timing isn’t well on this one. I sense that the shoulder is slotting behind me, but I’m too far in front. I could have done a number of things better. Could have faded out and pulled in tighter behind the shoulder, could have force stalled with my rear hand. I ditch the barrel attempt, stand up, and pump my way to the open face. I sneak a carve and pull into the inside closeout.

     When 0745 hits, the groms leave, and they take the pristine conditions with them. Collin’s out. We surf the rest of the session together. More guys are coming out to sit south of the tower, but the wind’s starting to shift, and the shape’s not so good anymore.

     Leaving the beach, I have a sense of satisfaction. Nope, didn’t have to drive for waves, didn’t have to get skunked, and I actually had one of the best local sessions that I’ve had in a while.

THE ONE PT.III, TUE 02JUN2015

 

Loc: Huntington Beach, Goldenwest

Time: 0815-0930

Conditions: 2 FT+, weak

     So there’s a south swell coming in. I wake up late and look at my Surfline App and take a look at the northside of the HB Pier. Fair to Good, 3-4 FT+.

     It’s a coffee, and I’m out the door, no bullshitting. I can already picture clean peaks at the HB Cliffs, my “Easy Barrel” session that I had there, many moons ago, still fresh in my mind. And of course, what happens? As soon as I pass Bolsa Chica and hit Seapoint, right where PCH opens up and you can see the surf, there are weak crumbly lines coming in.

     I park at the HB Cliffs. The fact that I can get a parking spot is a bad sign. A crew of six old vets sit atop the railing, watching the surf with coffees in hand. Barely anyone’s out. It’s like the tide’s already too high, but it shouldn’t be. The waves are breaking and rolling so softly that they’re not rideable until they almost break. Up and down the beach looks the same.

     As Klaude would say, “I didn’t come here not to surf,” so I head to Goldenwest and park in the neighborhood. I imagine how surf in the South Bay is probably better than this right now.

     A few groms park on PCH and walk out for a surf check as I’m making my way down the stairs. When I turn around, they’re leaving. Yet, more people are out over here, but everyone’s just sitting.

     I paddle out. The water’s warm and glassy. It’s still overcast. Waves come in and look like they’re going to break. I scratch out on everything.

     On a rogue peak, I turn and go while the lip is already spilling. The flat whitewash pushes me, but the wave drains out as I’m popping up. I force one check snap on the lip before the wave closes, hardly a legit turn.

     It took about forty-five minutes to get that wave. It could be “The One.” I could end it now, turn around, head back up the sand, cross PCH, and call it a morning. Against my better judgement, I paddle back out and hope that I can get more waves by paddling into them late. I don’t. Again, I’m wondering what Manhattan Beach is doing.

     Mad and frustrated, I turn towards the shore and do the Paddle of Shame. I should have left earlier.

THE ONE PT.II, SUN 31MAY2015

Loc: El Porto, 45^th Street

Conditions: 2-3 FT, inconsistent, overcast

     Again, I’m at 26^th Street, and the surf looks even smaller than yesterday. Down by the lifeguard tower, I see Stocky John and Robert with two other local guys. They’re standing in front of their cars by the meters, chopping it up over the surf as usual. Mitch is at ground level, half-changed into a wetsuit. “Park here,” he says, pointing to a VIP spot right next to him.

     So I park, look up to the guys and say a few words. The other two who I don’t know are just looking at me with hard faces. I wonder if I’ve burned them before, or if I’m not as nice as a surfer as I imagine. I don’t think I’m an asshole surfer. . . Despite the VIP parking, after my recon check, I’m out.

     Now I’m at 45^th Street, and, as always, there’s a hair more size here. A few weak sets roll by, but it’s when I see someone get a few turns on a left that I’m sold.

     I VOX Klaude, change, and hit the water. Whiffle Boy is out. He says he hasn’t surfed in weeks. I tell him about Bri and me going to Indo soon. “Same place. Only three weeks,” I say.

     “Only?”

     So I move a little south to find a gap in the sparse lineup. Compared to yesterday, I’m catching a lot of waves, but the quality is still an issue. I get a weak floater, pull in on some closeouts, and that’s about it.

     Almost at the hour and a half mark, a right comes in. I can’t believe it’s opening up as I’m pumping. Since the wave is fast, I force a bottom turn and snap. It’s ugly, but it works. I get another hit and a kickout snap to end it.

     Once more, I’m walking out of the water after having caught a wave. It’s such a good way to end a session. I could get used to this.

     Back home, Klaude calls. He had paddled out by the 34^th Street area. He comes over for coffee, and then Bri and I head to the movies. $6.00 matinee prices for first movie. Mad Max and Avengers for free. Mad Max was better.