JUST AS EXPECTED: FRI 4.01.2011 MOR

Perfect little three footers in front of Churches.

JUST AS EXPECTED: FRI 4.01.2011 MOR

CREW: My Bunnie and me

FLAKES OF THE DAY: None

RAN INTO: No one

TIME: 0800 – 1000, 2 hrs.

CONDITIONS: Sunny, warm, glassy, clean, long lulls, clean rights, 2-4 feet, a little bigger on plus sets.

            Lauren has been missing out on my trips to Trestles, but on Thursday night she said that she wanted to go and paddle out. We went to bed late, so we had a very late start. We left at about 0630 and arrived an hour later. We brought her longboard along for the journey. Entering San Onofre was like seeing a familiar friend again, one that I’ve missed so much. There were a lot more campers than the prior Friday. Old Man’s was crowded as usual, but Churches had a thinner line up due to the weekday. It didn’t take long for me to see the reminder of why I love this place. Right in front of where we parked were perfect, long, three foot rights, and only three longboarders were on that peak. The tide was so perfect at that hour for Churches that the southern most peak was breaking well within the military base. The water was calm, the sun was shining, and these perfect shoulders were breaking in front of us. I was excited, not only for myself but for Lauren, too. I’ve only taken her to surf the breach break of the South Bay and on the most mediocre of conditions. Exuberated, I told her that today would be her day. Well, that excitement was short lived. To make a long story short, she said that she was nervous and felt like paddling out when it got warmer . . . when it got warmer . . . perfect fucking waves out there, no wind at all, clean, glassy, but she wanted to wait until it got fucking warmer. . . . OUT-FUCKING-STANDING. That morning window to surf right then and there was the best opportunity of the day, especially for a beginner. That ordeal kind of killed my stoke right from the get-go. Why the hell did we bring the longboard along in the first place? Because after all, who doesn’t like to drive with a ten foot board running the length from the rear hatch all the way up to the dashboard for an hour of driving on the freeway?

One of the longboarders catching that right. Hard to tell how big the wave is. What do you think? Three feet?

            She took some things to keep her occupied, I suited up, and we headed north towards the BP. I couldn’t stop looking at Churches. Even though those three footers were great for longboarding, I knew there was potential for turns on a thruster. It just looked fun!

            Once we got to the BP I could see Lowers doing its thing from where I was, and of course there were a lot of bikes stacked in front of that peak. I opted for the less crowded atmosphere. There were only about seven guys out, and I paddled out to the saddle between two peaks. It didn’t take long to get my first right, but it wasn’t the best wave. It was a little smaller and broke closer to the inside. When I popped up it was racy, but I made it to the face and kicked out of it. It was a long wait after that. I inched my way north and sat on the outside. The guys around me were catching some insiders, but I have never been an inside guy. It could be a bad move on my part, but I’ve always liked to sit on the outside and wait for the bigger sets that everyone else can’t get to. The only downside is the wait can be long. In this case it paid off. The peaks at Trestles are so defined. In the distance I already saw it forming. Pure flatness along its sides, but there was the rising mound in the middle. It looked like it was half way out to see, you could see it so early. I, being on the outside, had the wave all to myself.

A lot of things go through your mind in those situations: yes, finally, a wave for me, all to myself, no one else on it, no one else paddling for it, don’t fuck this up, don’t fuck this up, DO NOT FUCK THIS UP, paddle hard, right here, over more, and turn around now; THANK YOU, JESUUUUUUUUUUS!

Oh, in those situations, I am more worried about mistiming something, scratching out, accidentally being out of position, or falling unnecessarily. I caught it right when it broke. From my POV I see my hands push up, the nose of my board, the spilling lip pouring from the side, the descent, and then I turn to the face building next to me. It was another long, beautiful ride, a single ride worth more than my last two paddle outs at Porto combined. Blurry, black wetsuits were in the background as I set up my turns. I got a top turn, pumped my board to get back to the face, top turned again, and repeat. My ride ended close to shore right in front of Lauren. I gave her a wave as I turned out the back. She was there cheering for me. Finally, it’s been ages since she’s seen me surf; it felt great having the love of my life “in my corner.”

            The most upsetting wave was from a similar situation, but all that time to prepare for that wave made me outdo myself, and I ended up scratching out. I was a little baby at that point; my emotional frustration of missing that wave almost brought me to tears. Yes, that bad. A perfect wave all to myself, lost. I gave it too much respect and paddled too far on the outside to get it, if I was only a couple more feet inside. . . . But the session wasn’t over, for after that I still got my fair share. I even started timing the waves to see if I could wait for the outside sets. My findings were pretty inconsistent, there was no perfect interval.

            I watched Lauren on shore. She had a branch similar to Gandalf’s cane, and she was exploring the shore line like a little girl at the beach for the first time. That sight made me happy. I paddled in at the two hour mark because I didn’t want her to have to wait on me that long. When I got to her she said she was bummed that I came in. She showed me all the cool things that she found on the beach.

            Once I cleaned up, she decided that she didn’t want to paddle out at all, and I didn’t want to be selfish to make her wait again, so we went back home. Hmmmm, it was kind of a wasted trip in a way. If I drive to Trestles, which is a lot of gas, I like to at least stay for two sessions. It was still fun.

TWENTY DICKS TO ONE CHICK: THU 3.31.2011 EVE

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.

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.