Fri., Oct. 4th, 2019: Unexpected Fun

Loc: 45^th St.

Time: 0830-0930

Conditions: Clean offshore, 2-3 Ft., semi dumpy, fun, crowded

Board: Zippifish

            Surfline said the swell would be tapering off, so I expected a slow morning of lully surf. I was even supposed to meet a guy who wanted to buy my 5’10 Lost Mini Driver, which I barely ride nowadays, so I brought that board with me in case he would be surfing. Aside from that, I ditched the Skipper for a change and brought the twin fin Zippifish.

            On my way to Porto I could already see that there were waves, and not just waves but a little bigger and better than yesterday. What the fuck, Surfline? As usual, right before I hit the Highland Ave. and 45^th St. intersection, I have to make the clutch decision on where I’m going to park. If I make the right into the lot, I’m committing to the meters. If I keep going straight, I may end up pushing my way towards 26^th to find some free street parking over there, or…if I just keep an eye out, I might get lucky and just find something right here. Lo and behold, I find a spot in the immediate vicinity, so 45^th St. it is!

            I love street parking because, one, I obviously don’t have to feed a meter. If you surf four to five days out of the week, then meter costs eventually add up. Also, when you score a street spot you don’t have to rush as much. The clock is friendlier, and you can stay out and surf to your heart’s content without worrying about getting a ticket.

            Already looking down the hill, I can see that my board choice is off. Fack, I should’ve brought the Skipper. The surf looks consistent, a little sectiony, breaking close to shore, and even a little bigger. When it’s dumpy like this I’d rather practice pulling in with a foamie than purling on a big hunk of voluminous board like…the Zippi I have now. But at the same time, it’s nice to change things up. I’ve been leaning on the Skipper quite a lot lately, thanks to KK who sold it to me (I’m sorry, brother, I had to buy it from you because I had been riding it hard. It wouldn’t have been right for me to hand it back to you like that.).

            So I throw on my slippers and walk down. I’ve cut my feet so many times on glass or stepped in globs of tar, a bad thing about street parking. When I reach the lot, I see that it’s packed. Surfers are coming out of the water back to their cars, but there are still a lot of people in the water, mostly congregated near 42^nd St. and in front of the sandwich shack.

            I paddle out right at 45^th where there’s a noobie Asian chick on a longboard. Immediately I start catching waves around her. Even though I don’t have the preferable equipment, I start pulling in on closeouts. On my fronstside lefts I’m developing a technique where, instead of my two-hand stall, I grab the rail on my board towards the tail with my right hand and lean my left shoulder into the wave, using my back to stall my momentum, and…it actually works. I haven’t made it out of a barrel doing this yet, but it’s fun just to mess around. This has been a breakthrough year for me in scoring tiny barrels. Being honest, I don’t know if I’ll ever get a big barrel, but even the little ones are so small that I’ll happily claim being a small-barrel guy if I can keep getting them consistently.

            After years of eating shit, I finally know the difference between going nowhere and actually getting a little momentum and distance in the tube. There is the flash of travelling, being under the lip as it’s curling, and that extra second of travel time that you get from holding on and just wiping out in the barrel, fully committed and not preparing for a safe exit. This is arguably dangerous but on these small dumpy days, they aren’t as consequential.

            So I kept going and catching waves unmolested. A guy with a familiar face paddles past me and says, “Ain’t much out here today.” I’m stoked that he even remembers me. It’s funny how you eventually become a local just by consistently showing up, alone. It doesn’t have to be every day. It can be every once in a while, but as long as you show your face you are a regular, and you do belong.

            The surf was consistent. I got enough of a satisfying fill that after an hour I was content enough to leave. I’ve also been getting better at that lately. When I feel like I’ve had enough, it’s a lot easier to walk away. I can move on to the rest of my day, surf mission completed.

            On the sand I crossed paths with another familiar face. I didn’t even think he wanted to talk, but when I looked back up he smiled and said hi. I’ve seen him several times out here, have never spoken a word to him, but the familiarity with having seen each other before was enough for a greeting.

            I am currently making moves in my life to further solidify this surfing lifestyle. Stay tuned. Also, I recontacted the guy who wanted to buy my Mini Driver. I told him that I’m holding onto it instead. I gotta see if I can get barreled on it this winter. If not, I’m selling it.

YOUR BOY IS BACK

0ct. 3^rd, 2019: The Good News…

Good for who, I don’t know. No…I’m here writing again, so here it goes. After being sick for about a week, I’ve felt like ass. Inactivity, sitting around sucking soup and tea, and simply not surfing or exercising just made me feel weaker overall. This morning, marking my first day that I felt well enough to surf, I finally went for a surf check on the second shift.

            Dawn patrol would’ve been first shift, but I get off work too late for that. Slightly dizzy from last night’s NyQuil, I watched my wife leave the apartment at about 0740, sipped my coffee, took a shit, and then hit the door.

            The weather was absolutely gorgeous: clear skies, offshore wind, clean and groomed ocean lines, and a weak weekday crowd (I hate crowds). I debated on my favorite free parking area for Porto but instead chose to part near Rosecrans at the end of the lot.

            The surf was overall small and breaking close to shore. I missed the early morning window with the lower tide, but even with it rising, occasional peaks sprouted, offering shoulders for some short rides.

            At first I debated on “fishing it” but decided on the Catch Surf Skipper, which has been my ultimate board choice as of late. It’s awesome in sub stellar conditions and still fun when the surf is good, just don’t expect any hard rail-to-rail carves.

            I put on the full suit to ease my way back into the surfing norm, especially since I’m getting over the flu/cold (not sure). Instantly when my face submerged with my first duckdive, I felt like my day had a purpose; my day is not wasted. That was my mantra. The day is not wasted.

            The lack of crowd made it easy to catch waves, but I felt weak. I forgot how much paddling, turning and going at the last second really takes out of you. It had been a while, so I was rusty. Still, with the smooth, slow speed of a manatee, I timed my waves well and managed to get down the line. Some of the beefier waves stood up, offering more sections and shoulders to pump down. I check turned on a few faces to wait for more shape and did some front side snaps, which on this board was more like kisses off the curling lip, pushing my nose back down for easy reentries.

            I felt like I had a purpose. Surfing gives me a purpose. I love it. Is that sad? I don’t think so. The high, the natural high I get, even off of small waves like today, what can I compare it to? I imagine the early-morning runner who hits the trail/street/track at dawn before no one is out, breathing in rhythm to his footsteps, smiling. Maybe something like that. Even with fellow surfers around, I didn’t feel invaded. I was right in my comfort zone.

            An hour later, pulling out my earplugs on the sand was like a reward. To hear the ocean, the waves, the birds, and even the warm, glowing atmospheric buzz of a good day, I knew I had started the day right. Walking back to my car I felt so accomplished. My day wasn’t wasted. My day was not wasted. I have a purpose. I love surfing. So important to start the day this way. I’ll do this for as long as I can.

Beyond Ashamed...

I'm beyond ashamed that it's taken me this long to write again... I've been off of the radar for quite some time, and this is where I stand:

1. I'll probably never do an air. 
2. I doubt I'll ever get barreled again unless it's just given down to me from God on a silver platter, even then, me catching it and making it out clean would be an event of pure luck.
3. Having a full time job and balancing surfing is not easy.
4. I like two-to-three foot surf. In fact, that's probably where I excel the most on either a chunky fish or a good groveler with decent volume.
5. I'm getting out of shape the older I get.
6. I'm about to turn 40. 
7. I still hate other fucking surfers.

I paddled out at El Porto today. First I swung by at high tide and decided that I'd come back a little later because, although clean, it was just too soft. After knocking out my laundry, I came back and hit it during mid tide.

With the tide going down, the surf got more and more drained. And then, of course, the lineup starting emptying up. Then I just sat there after my shitty ass rides, thinking, wow, was this really worth it? Was it worth it to skip out on the gym, maybe knock out more errands, or just getting some good self time in before work to paddle out here in lackluster surf?

And yet, when I was changing in the lot, it was nice to see the place mostly empty, to be there at the beach on a Monday when most people are at work; it was just so peaceful. And on the drive back, same thing, there's that vacancy on the street and in traffic that lets you know that most people are at work, and you're not.

I listened to KJAZZ on the way home, the lyricless music like a soundtrack to my life at that very moment, and discovered that, despite that crappy surf, I was still adorned in "the post-surf glaze," a natural surfer's high, if you will, and … that itself made the paddle out worth it.