TWENTY DICKS TO ONE CHICK: THU 3.31.2011 EVE
CREW: Shan & J
FLAKES OF THE DAY: None
RAN INTO: No one
TIME: 1730 - 1930, 2 hrs.
CONDITIONS: Mid tide, glassy, ridiculously crowded, walls, a few shoulders with ten guys on each rideable wave, three to four feet, head high on plus sets, bigger waves closed out.
I supposed to be doing homework over my spring break, but it’s so hard when the weather’s so nice. Lauren and I had lunch at the beach today. The sun, the heat, the glassy water, and the surfers out there just made me want to get some for myself. Even though the shape wasn’t quite there, I was optimistic that things could change later.
I tried to fight the need to surf and failed. Shan, J, and Rick told me that they were going to pull an evening session. By 1630 I was heading out the door with my gear, and at 1650 I was parked and lotioning up.
There was more wind on the land than there was at the beach. The air temp was seventy five degrees. It was just as beautiful as the day before, but the surf didn’t look like it was giving too many shoulders.
Shan and J passed me while I was parked. I told them that I’d be by the 45th St. tower. J was the first to show. He was meeting up with one of his friends in the water. I didn’t see Shan, but I couldn’t wait any longer. I paddled up to J and met his friend. I decided to leave them two alone and work my way south. As I paddled through the water it looked like someone dumped their lawnmower bag into the ocean. There was a long stretch of broken twigs, wood chips, and branches past the line up. I paddled past wrappers; I noticed a broken plastic cup a foot under water.
I caught a glance from a stand-up paddle boarder and said, “That’s the advantage of being on one of
those things. You don’t have to paddle through this shit!”
“Yeah, it’s nice to see what’s down there,” he said.
I was in front of the bathrooms and miraculously caught a left, but the shape was pretty funky. No turns, I just trimmed and tried to stay on the face. When I got back to the line up I saw Shan. We drifted a little further south. The whole time we were surrounded and right in the middle of the throng of afternoon deviants. We scratched and failed. I tried to paddle into a wave which turned into a wall. It took my board, and then I followed behind the wave. I somehow got a right, which I was able to force one ugly top turn before it bogged out. Every time I saw a wave that looked good, there were already a gang of people going for it. I would try to paddle in at the shoulder, but there was always someone else that had the right of way.
There was no etiquette out there. I saw so many guys get dropped in on. A SUP yelled out to a surfer trying to drop in, “I GOT IT, I GOT IT, I GOT IT!” The Brazilian Rastaman was surfing, and someone even dropped in on him too. He had to boost off of the lip and out the back to avoid a collision.
The Rasta guy and his crew dominated that peak at the sandwich shack. I tried to get in but didn’t have a chance. A freak set popped up, and out of frustration I paddled for the first wave. It was a head high right and was building into a wall. I thought I had a chance to get a shoulder out of it. WRONG. I got pitched in front of the whole crowd. Yes, I know it was in front of the whole crowd because everyone else was paddling for their lives trying to beat the set, and I was the only dumb ass paddling into it. Well, DRC dump rider style I guess. I was in the impact zone for the next wave. I knew I was in the worst place to try to duck dive it, but I tried. The wave had so much power that it flipped me upside down while I was underwater. I had a BMS sandwich: board-me-sand. I was pinned with my back to the sand with the board on top of me. The water pounding down from the wave kept applying nonstop pressure on the board. I couldn’t help but think, this can’t be good. Eventually I was able to muscle the board off of me. Embarrassed, I paddled back to the line up. Shan and I eventually caught up with each other.
Shan looked cheerfully exhausted as he said, “Dude, did you see me get that wave?”
“No,” I said. “Was it good?”
“Dude, it opened up and started throwing out over my head. I was like ‘Oh shit!’ Then I got barreled. It was awesome.”
“Wow, nah, man, I didn’t see that. I’m gonna start calling you the barrel master.”
The Rasta guy stopped to chit chat with Shan. Shan told me that he always surfs where he is because that’s where the waves are. Shan also commented on how good today was. I hated that I was so pessimistic, but I wasn’t stoked at all about anything. I told Shan that I had it with that spot and that I was going back towards J.
I floundered around on the way back north, but I still couldn’t get a wave without someone already on it. I guess I’m just a pussy that’s not aggressive enough. I tried to be aggressive, but there was always another guy that beat me to the inside spot.
I found J. He introduced me to his friends Ben and K. J said that it was a longer wait, but they were getting some waves. I got a little frustrated for the endless wait, so I went by the tanks. I probably should’ve just stuck to my old habits and stayed there because there were less people, and some waves would come through. K paddled by me and ended up taking the prime positions away. Fuck, I thought. The quest for finding a wave turned into finding the last wave of the day; I never got it. I caught an inside close out. It was getting dark.
I was over it. In my mind I cursed this place. I couldn’t believe how much I bought into Porto so much in the past. I’ve spoiled myself too much perhaps; I spoiled myself surfing those cobble stone bottoms that produce consistent, well shaped shoulders. I’m a whiner now, picky. My days of suiting up for overcrowded close outs are over. Yes, part of it is due to my lack of ability, but despite the lack of it, I still pull better sessions down south. I feel like I’ve wasted the last two days when I could’ve been doing other stuff. From now on, I save myself for the drive down south. I think I’m changing the name of my blog. I’m disconnecting from El Porto.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
THE DEFINITION OF AN EVENING SESSION: WED 3.30.2011 EVE
CREW: Cheryl, Shan, J
FLAKES OF THE DAY: None
RAN INTO: No one
TIME: 1715 - 1945, 2 hrs. & 30 min.
CONDITIONS: mid tide, barely any wind, glassy, smooth, minimum texture, crowded, beautiful sunset, consistent, hard paddle on inside, occasional open shoulders, 2-4 feet.
I missed yesterday’s evening sessions. Dais and Klaude both hit me up, but I felt that I needed to handle some other things that I’ve neglected over the weekend. I stayed up until past 0300 this morning finishing up the blogs from Trestles, so I ended up flaking on J this morning from lack of rest. I was supposed to meet him at Porto at first light; instead he called me to give me the report while I was still butt naked in bed.
After a frustrating afternoon of failing to complete my errands, I decided that I had to surf; I just had to get in the water. I sent out the mass text to see who was dusk patrolling. Rick, Dais, and Klaude had obligations, but Cheryl, Shan, and J said that they’d roll.
I timed my arrival perfectly and snagged free parking on the hill just before 1700. As I was putting on some sunblock, J knocked on my car window and was parked a couple cars back. The tide looked low, the sets looked lined, and a few disorganized corners popped up. However, I did see one fairly clean three foot shoulder roll through from the tanks all the way to 45th. That’s when I knew that staying dry wasn’t an option. But best of all was the atmosphere: the sky was blue with some faint traces of clouds, the sun was shining bright, white light reflected on the water, and it was sixty eight degrees out. I figured that if we surfed until sunset that the conditions had to improve by then. I sent out the last text to give the report, and I told Cheryl that it might be a good day for her longboard.
J and I paddled out right in front of 45th. He went first while I took my time warming up.
I caught up with him really fast, and I couldn’t help but think, Oh yeah . . . Bali training, baby. I’m in shape!
Well, that was until the first wave that I had to duck dive came, then the other, then the other, and then another fuckin’ wave. Holy shit, did I really think that Porto would let me get away that easy? Like a bastard child sneaking in the back door, I got caught with the light on, and Mother Porto was letting me have it. It’s not that the surf was that big, but the inside was so damn consistent, and the low tide didn’t help much either. I felt like I wasn’t even moving. So far for being in Bali shape. I don’t know how, but eventually I made it out to the line, and I think that J even beat me there.
It was crowded out. The low tide into the first hour provided shitty surf. There were random corners, and guys with fatter boards were able to paddle in early. After the first hour the increase in tide made things a little better. Bionic J was using his bionic arm again to paddle into waves. What I noticed about J is that he doesn’t do that many turns, but he can pump his board, and he’s really fast going down the line. The end result is he always ends up getting long ass rides because he’s keeping up with the running sections. He got more waves than I, and all I could do was watch him from behind, the top half of his body, ahead of the shoulder, and going all the way to shore.
I saw Shan and Cheryl paddling out together. They were both struggling on the inside, too. I told Shan that we missed him over the weekend, but he said that he surfed up north instead. We actually secured a little spot in the water amongst the crowd. By the time they arrived, the conditions got much better. I caught my wave of the day, too bad I was blinded by water for most of the ride. I got a right that let me do a nice top turn, I pumped further down the line, and then I kicked out over the lip to end it. Right after my ride, J got another long right, and then Shan got a long left. We were all scoring, which was funny because there were a lot of guys out there that seemed really good, and we were getting more waves than them.
Cheryl said, “I’m beginning to think that I should have brought my other board.”
That was my fault, but I tried to tell her to take advantage of the length, and catch the waves early. She and Shan shared a wave, and then she later told me that she got a clean ride.
When I first got to the line up I was telling them how much I missed Trestles, but Cheryl said that it felt good to be home. Her comment didn’t resonate with me until the conditions got really beautiful. Out of nowhere, Cheryl spotted a dolphin floating by the water. We thought it was dead, but then it took a breath from its blowhole, and the rest of his homies joined him. Seagulls swooped by us in dive bomber formation. The setting sun changed the clouds in the sky to a pinkish, orangey, yellow color; those same colors reflected on the water. The ocean was unbelievably glassy. J commented that the water was so smooth that the waves appeared to have no depth to them. I’ve pulled so many evening sessions like this one, but it’s been so long that I almost forgot how beautiful it is just to be out there in the water. Seeing the Santa Monica Mountains silhouetted in front of the pink sky brought back all the feeling of what made that place “home” for me. I guess Cheryl was right. The sky lost its illumination, and Cheryl and Shan left together.
I took a look at J. He said, “I’m staying until its dark.”
“I’m with you,” I replied.
We were waiting for that last wave. What was a crowded line up was now only four. J got his last good right, and then there were only three. I didn’t find a good wave to end it, but I caught a close out back to shallow water. The water was now deeper than it was earlier. It’s funny how a couple hours can make a huge difference.
I’m still suffering from Trestles Withdrawal Syndrome (TWS), but Porto was good to us this evening. The waves aren’t perfect like down south, but Porto still has good training value. The inside was a little brutal which called for a faster paddle, and the unorganized shoulders only forced us to adapt at a faster rate. My home is at Porto, but my mind is in Trestles. I guess I’ll just have to surf them both.
FLAKES OF THE DAY: None
RAN INTO: No one
TIME: 1715 - 1945, 2 hrs. & 30 min.
CONDITIONS: mid tide, barely any wind, glassy, smooth, minimum texture, crowded, beautiful sunset, consistent, hard paddle on inside, occasional open shoulders, 2-4 feet.
I missed yesterday’s evening sessions. Dais and Klaude both hit me up, but I felt that I needed to handle some other things that I’ve neglected over the weekend. I stayed up until past 0300 this morning finishing up the blogs from Trestles, so I ended up flaking on J this morning from lack of rest. I was supposed to meet him at Porto at first light; instead he called me to give me the report while I was still butt naked in bed.
After a frustrating afternoon of failing to complete my errands, I decided that I had to surf; I just had to get in the water. I sent out the mass text to see who was dusk patrolling. Rick, Dais, and Klaude had obligations, but Cheryl, Shan, and J said that they’d roll.
I timed my arrival perfectly and snagged free parking on the hill just before 1700. As I was putting on some sunblock, J knocked on my car window and was parked a couple cars back. The tide looked low, the sets looked lined, and a few disorganized corners popped up. However, I did see one fairly clean three foot shoulder roll through from the tanks all the way to 45th. That’s when I knew that staying dry wasn’t an option. But best of all was the atmosphere: the sky was blue with some faint traces of clouds, the sun was shining bright, white light reflected on the water, and it was sixty eight degrees out. I figured that if we surfed until sunset that the conditions had to improve by then. I sent out the last text to give the report, and I told Cheryl that it might be a good day for her longboard.
J and I paddled out right in front of 45th. He went first while I took my time warming up.
I caught up with him really fast, and I couldn’t help but think, Oh yeah . . . Bali training, baby. I’m in shape!
Well, that was until the first wave that I had to duck dive came, then the other, then the other, and then another fuckin’ wave. Holy shit, did I really think that Porto would let me get away that easy? Like a bastard child sneaking in the back door, I got caught with the light on, and Mother Porto was letting me have it. It’s not that the surf was that big, but the inside was so damn consistent, and the low tide didn’t help much either. I felt like I wasn’t even moving. So far for being in Bali shape. I don’t know how, but eventually I made it out to the line, and I think that J even beat me there.
It was crowded out. The low tide into the first hour provided shitty surf. There were random corners, and guys with fatter boards were able to paddle in early. After the first hour the increase in tide made things a little better. Bionic J was using his bionic arm again to paddle into waves. What I noticed about J is that he doesn’t do that many turns, but he can pump his board, and he’s really fast going down the line. The end result is he always ends up getting long ass rides because he’s keeping up with the running sections. He got more waves than I, and all I could do was watch him from behind, the top half of his body, ahead of the shoulder, and going all the way to shore.
I saw Shan and Cheryl paddling out together. They were both struggling on the inside, too. I told Shan that we missed him over the weekend, but he said that he surfed up north instead. We actually secured a little spot in the water amongst the crowd. By the time they arrived, the conditions got much better. I caught my wave of the day, too bad I was blinded by water for most of the ride. I got a right that let me do a nice top turn, I pumped further down the line, and then I kicked out over the lip to end it. Right after my ride, J got another long right, and then Shan got a long left. We were all scoring, which was funny because there were a lot of guys out there that seemed really good, and we were getting more waves than them.
Cheryl said, “I’m beginning to think that I should have brought my other board.”
That was my fault, but I tried to tell her to take advantage of the length, and catch the waves early. She and Shan shared a wave, and then she later told me that she got a clean ride.
When I first got to the line up I was telling them how much I missed Trestles, but Cheryl said that it felt good to be home. Her comment didn’t resonate with me until the conditions got really beautiful. Out of nowhere, Cheryl spotted a dolphin floating by the water. We thought it was dead, but then it took a breath from its blowhole, and the rest of his homies joined him. Seagulls swooped by us in dive bomber formation. The setting sun changed the clouds in the sky to a pinkish, orangey, yellow color; those same colors reflected on the water. The ocean was unbelievably glassy. J commented that the water was so smooth that the waves appeared to have no depth to them. I’ve pulled so many evening sessions like this one, but it’s been so long that I almost forgot how beautiful it is just to be out there in the water. Seeing the Santa Monica Mountains silhouetted in front of the pink sky brought back all the feeling of what made that place “home” for me. I guess Cheryl was right. The sky lost its illumination, and Cheryl and Shan left together.
I took a look at J. He said, “I’m staying until its dark.”
“I’m with you,” I replied.
We were waiting for that last wave. What was a crowded line up was now only four. J got his last good right, and then there were only three. I didn’t find a good wave to end it, but I caught a close out back to shallow water. The water was now deeper than it was earlier. It’s funny how a couple hours can make a huge difference.
I’m still suffering from Trestles Withdrawal Syndrome (TWS), but Porto was good to us this evening. The waves aren’t perfect like down south, but Porto still has good training value. The inside was a little brutal which called for a faster paddle, and the unorganized shoulders only forced us to adapt at a faster rate. My home is at Porto, but my mind is in Trestles. I guess I’ll just have to surf them both.
A WEEKEND AT TRESTLES: A CLEAN FAREWELL, MON 3.28.2011 MORN
CREW: Michelle, Cheryl, Silverton
FLAKES OF THE DAY: NA
RAN INTO: NA
TIME: 0745 - 1000, 2 hrs. & 15 min.
CONDITIONS: 2-3 feet, clean, glassy, slightly over cast, cool, inconsistent.
I had to piss around 0300, but I held it in until I awoke at 0546. The whole night I was freezing my balls off; I could see my breath from inside the car. I’ve learned many lessons on this trip: don’t bring too much food, make sure your tent isn’t missing anything, propane is your best friend, and make sure you have a really good sleeping bag. I was using two sleeping bags, and it wasn’t enough. Next time, I’m bringing my military-grade stuff.
The morning was just as calm as the night. The offshore winds were faint if not there at all. Silverton was the first one out of the tent. I made him a cup of coffee. We chilled by the fire and commented on the ladies sleeping in. I was a little tired, so I didn’t mind a later start. Besides, I could tell that the surf was smaller, so I didn’t feel that there was any rush. Cheryl poked her head out of the tent by 0645. I offered her some hot cocoa; Michelle didn’t want anything. We suited up a little late, and they made the call to surf Churches. I told them that I’d meet them out there, and that I might be more north towards Middles.
You could tell it was a Monday because there were only three people at Old Man’s and one at Churches. I like Churches, but I rarely surf there because it’s so crowded. I saw a clean peak form off of the point, so I paddled out right there. The waits didn’t seem that long, but the waves were barely three feet high. My first wave was a fun little left that had a perfect open face. I had fun trimming up and down the line and pumping all the way to shore. I got a small right that allowed me to do a couple top turns. Even though the waves were small, they definitely had more “push” than the waves at Old Mans the prior evening. I hit a lull, and since it was my last day there I decided to paddle further into Middles; Michelle felt the same. Silverton watched from the shore as Cheryl stayed at the same spot at Churches.
Michelle and I thought we saw some peaks, but we found them to be mirages every single time. We only found the peak at Lowers; it was a long ass paddle. There were only about six guys there, but two younger guys left which opened the door for us to get in. Nothing was happening at first, but then the sets got consistent for at least a half hour. It became routine: Michelle would get one, I would get one, and then it repeated. It was about time that we had a chance to surf that spot without much opposition. Michelle, on her longboard, was getting more waves than anyone else out there. She’d stroke her way into them so early and easy. I watched her gracefully drop into the critical part of the face fully focused on her own awareness of self and nature. I was lucky to get what I could. I had to hang more on the inside, but I got the shoulder as soon as it jacked up on the shelf. I got a couple turns here and there, and it was more than I expected given the small conditions. Michelle was even nice enough to give up a wave.
She was sitting on the outside and said, “You want this one?”
“Hell yeah,” I replied, as I raced to beat to peeling section and caught the wave at its steepest point, giving me enough speed to take the section.
Three more guys paddled out, and that’s when I got my reality check. I’ve never seen guys rip the shit out of waves that were so small. I mean I know it’s possible. I’ve seen my bro catch waves on small days, but these guys were pulling off floaters and gashing out the lip so hard that you could hear the buckets being thrown out. Those guys dominated. I saw Michelle wipe out on a steep drop in. I was over the new crowd. We paddled all the way back to Churches where we saw Cheryl walking towards the shore. I caught a close out and rushed to get breakfast started.
Silverton helped me make two cans of beans, two long turkey sausages, and eggs with provolone cheese; I already had two cups of rice cooked from the night before. Within a half hour we were stuffing our faces at the picnic table. That was the biggest meal I had while I was out there; we ate everything!
Our checkout time was at noon, so after that meal we tore down the campsite with quickness. We said our goodbyes, and I spent the rest of the day driving home and unpacking.
Now, I sit here late at night writing this. I was a little sad today, and I realized it was “Trestles Withdrawal Syndrome.” I drove down to Porto this evening just to have a look. I caught Klaude and Dais coming out of the water in the Porto parking lot. Even though I spotted some messy, rideable shoulder, it’s just not the same.
Klaude said, “There’s another swell coming in this weekend.”
“From what direction?” I asked.
“North, Northwest.”
“What are you thinking? Did you want to stay local?”
“You know how this place gets when it’s overhead. I wouldn’t mind checking out up north.
We both paused as we looked at the fading orange light over the dark textured water. Klaude looked at me with a reassuring look over his face.
He said, “Trestles, bro . . . Trestles.”
FLAKES OF THE DAY: NA
RAN INTO: NA
TIME: 0745 - 1000, 2 hrs. & 15 min.
CONDITIONS: 2-3 feet, clean, glassy, slightly over cast, cool, inconsistent.
I had to piss around 0300, but I held it in until I awoke at 0546. The whole night I was freezing my balls off; I could see my breath from inside the car. I’ve learned many lessons on this trip: don’t bring too much food, make sure your tent isn’t missing anything, propane is your best friend, and make sure you have a really good sleeping bag. I was using two sleeping bags, and it wasn’t enough. Next time, I’m bringing my military-grade stuff.
The morning was just as calm as the night. The offshore winds were faint if not there at all. Silverton was the first one out of the tent. I made him a cup of coffee. We chilled by the fire and commented on the ladies sleeping in. I was a little tired, so I didn’t mind a later start. Besides, I could tell that the surf was smaller, so I didn’t feel that there was any rush. Cheryl poked her head out of the tent by 0645. I offered her some hot cocoa; Michelle didn’t want anything. We suited up a little late, and they made the call to surf Churches. I told them that I’d meet them out there, and that I might be more north towards Middles.
You could tell it was a Monday because there were only three people at Old Man’s and one at Churches. I like Churches, but I rarely surf there because it’s so crowded. I saw a clean peak form off of the point, so I paddled out right there. The waits didn’t seem that long, but the waves were barely three feet high. My first wave was a fun little left that had a perfect open face. I had fun trimming up and down the line and pumping all the way to shore. I got a small right that allowed me to do a couple top turns. Even though the waves were small, they definitely had more “push” than the waves at Old Mans the prior evening. I hit a lull, and since it was my last day there I decided to paddle further into Middles; Michelle felt the same. Silverton watched from the shore as Cheryl stayed at the same spot at Churches.
Michelle and I thought we saw some peaks, but we found them to be mirages every single time. We only found the peak at Lowers; it was a long ass paddle. There were only about six guys there, but two younger guys left which opened the door for us to get in. Nothing was happening at first, but then the sets got consistent for at least a half hour. It became routine: Michelle would get one, I would get one, and then it repeated. It was about time that we had a chance to surf that spot without much opposition. Michelle, on her longboard, was getting more waves than anyone else out there. She’d stroke her way into them so early and easy. I watched her gracefully drop into the critical part of the face fully focused on her own awareness of self and nature. I was lucky to get what I could. I had to hang more on the inside, but I got the shoulder as soon as it jacked up on the shelf. I got a couple turns here and there, and it was more than I expected given the small conditions. Michelle was even nice enough to give up a wave.
She was sitting on the outside and said, “You want this one?”
“Hell yeah,” I replied, as I raced to beat to peeling section and caught the wave at its steepest point, giving me enough speed to take the section.
Three more guys paddled out, and that’s when I got my reality check. I’ve never seen guys rip the shit out of waves that were so small. I mean I know it’s possible. I’ve seen my bro catch waves on small days, but these guys were pulling off floaters and gashing out the lip so hard that you could hear the buckets being thrown out. Those guys dominated. I saw Michelle wipe out on a steep drop in. I was over the new crowd. We paddled all the way back to Churches where we saw Cheryl walking towards the shore. I caught a close out and rushed to get breakfast started.
Silverton helped me make two cans of beans, two long turkey sausages, and eggs with provolone cheese; I already had two cups of rice cooked from the night before. Within a half hour we were stuffing our faces at the picnic table. That was the biggest meal I had while I was out there; we ate everything!
Our checkout time was at noon, so after that meal we tore down the campsite with quickness. We said our goodbyes, and I spent the rest of the day driving home and unpacking.
Now, I sit here late at night writing this. I was a little sad today, and I realized it was “Trestles Withdrawal Syndrome.” I drove down to Porto this evening just to have a look. I caught Klaude and Dais coming out of the water in the Porto parking lot. Even though I spotted some messy, rideable shoulder, it’s just not the same.
Klaude said, “There’s another swell coming in this weekend.”
“From what direction?” I asked.
“North, Northwest.”
“What are you thinking? Did you want to stay local?”
“You know how this place gets when it’s overhead. I wouldn’t mind checking out up north.
We both paused as we looked at the fading orange light over the dark textured water. Klaude looked at me with a reassuring look over his face.
He said, “Trestles, bro . . . Trestles.”
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