SURF VS SCHOOL PT 1, THU 24NOV2011

Crew: Francis, Christina, Klaude, Dais, Khang, Tom, Cheryl

Time: 0615-0930, 3 hrs & 15 min

Conditions: 3-4 ft, occasional close outs on bigger sets, extreme high tide, nice weather, and crowded.

Pre Blog:

            I’m catching up on documenting my sessions a week late. School is kicking my ass, but it’s really all my fault. Too much surf, not enough studying, poor balance, and you end up with a traffic jam of assignments right before finals. These entries will be short, as my memory has severely faded. 

Thanksgiving Sesh:

            I can’t remember if I surfed the day before, but if my memory serves me right, Wednesday must have been small or something like that. Thursday’s forecast had a horrible window. The high tide was just under seven feet, and the mid tide window was already closed at first light. The night prior, I sent out the mass text for the holiday text. Rick said, “It shouldn’t be that crowded; everyone should be out of town.” I wasn’t so optimistic.

            I arrived before first light and snagged a free spot on the hill. Francis drove up and stopped to chat, but I told him that I was taking my time since it was still dark. We walked down the hill together at about 0600. I love being there that early in the morning—first dibs. The ocean was still dark, but three guys were already in the lineup: Don, his friend whose name I don’t know, and another local guy. The tide was rising, but it was still low enough to produce some good peaks. “I’ll see you out there!” said Francis. He didn’t waste any time. I didn’t feel too rushed being that it was still dark, so I warmed up for a couple minutes before I followed suit. 

            It was promising. I wondered if Rick was right. There we were, just five guys with the lineup all to ourselves. My first couple waves weren’t good. I ate shit on a left, and I fell on my top-turn going right. “How was that?” asked Francis.

            “Eh . . . it was all right. I could’ve rode it better.” 

            I’ve been in a weird surf funk lately. Everyone else got rides, but nothing of significance happened in my surf world. In the horizon a juicy left formed. It was a plus set, but it actually had shape and lined up well. A local guy was in Francis’ inside, but he looked Francis dead in the eyes, signaling that he wasn’t going to go. Francis turned, saw me, and perhaps felt my desperation. “Go, Matt!” he said. 

            Fuckin’ thank you! Being in a good spot, I turned and dropped in with ease. My turns felt rusty, and I didn’t have a smooth bottom to top transition, but I still managed to take the wave a distance. It wasn’t a good performance on my part, but the wave itself was nice. 

            From the lineup, Francis and I looked towards the sand and saw some longboarders warming up, looking, and pointing in our direction. It was barely forty-five minutes from when we paddled out, and the break was already getting crowded. 

            Christina showed up next. When the sun came up, Khang, Dais, Klaude, and Tom arrived. I think Francis was gone by this time because he had to work (super heroes don’t get holidays off). The typical Thanksgiving convo started. Some of us had simple plans to go home and eat with family. Dais, Tom, and I had to go over our girlfriends’ families’ homes. 

            I expected for the conditions to get worse as the tide rose, but there were still waves to be had with unexpected rogue sets in the mix. The main problem was the crowd; so many people! We were dropping in on each other too. I know for sure on one wave I saw Dais drop in on Klaude. I had a hell of a frustrating session. Either I was the problem or the waves were. I had the hardest time sticking single turns or my waves were too racy. 

            However, I do remember the wave of the day clearly. It was a good right that rolled through. I thought that Klaude was too deep for it when he disappeared, but as the wave peeled away I saw him over the back on his top turn. He hit the lip and got a small bucket-toss. He kept going and got at least one more turn on the inside before the ride ended. Of course, I was jealous. I wanted a ride like that, but more importantly, it’s nice to see the fruits of our consistency. None of us can do airs; that’s for sure. Francis is the only one out of us that gets barreled, but at least most of us are starting to get our turns down; that’s progress.

            It was nearing 0930, and I had leave to start the day’s festivities. Local veteran Bruce was sitting outside when a right formed, but he didn’t go. Khang was on my inside, and we were both paddling for it. Rightfully, Khang had priority, so I said, “Go for it!”

            “Go, Matt!”

            Damn, is it Christmas already? What generosity. I really don’t know why he didn’t go. He was a little deep, but he could’ve made it. Either way, thank you, Khang! Dais was paddling over the shoulder as I slid down the face. He hooted me as we passed each other. It was a frustrating sesh, and as I bottom turned I made a conscious effort not to blow this one. I managed a steep, vertical climb back up the face, snapped the top, and re-entered just as fast. FINALLY. The rest of the wave didn’t line up immaculately, but that first turn followed by a sloppy second was more than enough to sustain me; really, it was all about that snap. Back in shallow water I turned to find Dais’ gaze one me. He threw both of his hands up with fingers outstretched—10. Every surfer aims to end his session with a good wave. This one sent me back up the hill with a smile. Even better, I had worked up an appetite that would make any girlfriend’s mother proud; it was turkey time!

A CLASSIC NOVEMBER IN THE SOUTH BAY, MON 21NOV2011

Crew: Francis

Time: 0830-1130, 3 hrs

Conditions: 4 ft with occasional 5, fast, racy, some closeouts, but some good shape too. Offshore to glassy for the whole session. Sunny, beautiful early winter morning.

            Last week I paid the price for my San Fran staycation; I was behind in homework. Also, I had military obligations this past weekend, so I had to get even more stuff done too. Finally, after returning from training up north and putting a cap on a long week from last Sunday to this Sunday . . . I can surf. 

            The surf forecast looked good for the local breaks. However, it rained hard up north on Sunday, and I heard that El Segundo was hit hard too. I expected Manhattan Beach to be a septic tank. But as my surf mentor Rick said about tampon flavored water, “Only paddle out if there are waves.”

            I wake up to take my niece to school. Looking at my phone I see that I missed a text from Francis: “We go surf tomorrow?!” I’m surprised at his message. It rained really hard, and I didn’t expect that anyone else would want to risk swimming in oil and dog shit. After I make my delivery I head down to Parks. It’s a sunny morning, the flags are blowing offshore, and I see heads in the water as I park up the hill. I’m unaware on what the swell is doing at first, but once I’m half way into my wetsuit, I see a set come in. The waves don’t appear to have shape and close out, but what sticks out most are the three horizontal lines that indicate the wave size for the morning; it’s going to be good.          

            Francis drives up, and I tell him that I’ll meet him at the tower. The sand is still wet from yesterday’s rain, but the scenery is pure, classic South Bay. It’s sunny, the sky’s a radiant blue, a few seagulls soar overhead, Palos Verdes is clear in the distance, the beige sand is bright under the sun, and the offshore wind is so light that the air is calm. Now that I’m closer, I can see that the waves don’t have the best shape, but out of the fast, racy rides I can make out some shoulders that look rideable. Either way, it looks consistent, there’s size, and there’s potential. Francis comes down to join me. He tells me that Sunday’s surf sucked, but that they went to a local surf shop for fifty percent off on gear through a hook-up. 

            I haven’t surfed in over a week, so to be honest, I’m a little nervous at how rusty I might be. Surprisingly, I make it to the lineup with dry hair. I paddle for my first wave but back out when I see that it’s closing. Francis draws first blood while I sit and remain picky for something with shape. For nearly the first hour, I don’t catch anything with significance. I eat shit on a couple waves, manage to get a weak top turn on a right, and most of my rides are closeouts.

            With the tide dropping, the second hour gets fun. Occasional peaks roll through with good definition and shape, some as big as five feet. I get my wave of the day in the form of a left, and just like I’ve been working on lately, the recipe follows: drop in, make the section, bottom turn, out stretch arms, rotate trunk downwards, shift weight on board to set inside rail and push on tail, carving arc on the face, redirect board, pump, and try again. I recently read a Trans World Surf article that states “backside top turns are more powerful,” so even though I’m not getting the front side spray that I’d like, I’m really happy that I can now claim to have a forehand turn, which turns my one-trick pony into a two-trick pony. 

            On one of my paddles back out, I duckdive a wave and see that the sand is only a few feet below me. The wave yanks my board as I hold on, and when I resurface my rail hits me in the chin. I’m a little rattled and humbled. There is less thought about the next couple waves that I pass up; I do it gladly. The inside is getting a little dangerous. The decent size and low tide is creating punchy and drained out surf. I get mostly rights this morning, but I only stick two landings after my top turns. On all the others, the waves get so vertical on my down turns that I keep purling on the reentry. On one purl, I slam into the water as if diving headfirst, ramming my shoulder square into the sand bottom. Despite the inability to finish the rides, they seem like critical, last second heroics. On one wave especially, I climb the face as the wave stands up, crack the lip, and ditch my board right before the pitch. I resurface feeling triumphant, but over the back I see Francis getting barreled for about four seconds. He’s caving it, hunkered down in the little hollow slot. He takes it until he gets pinched. “I saw that!” I say to him as he resurfaces. 

            Francis’ barrel shows me the day’s potential. I catch a big left, drop in, fade out, but the curtain’s already come down. I drop in on my next right, grab rail, and tuck in close to the face, but the wave isn’t even going hollow yet. I’m forcing it! I paddle back to Francis, and he tells me that since it’s beach break I need to paddle in at the peak. After a couple more failed attempts, I conclude that “forcing a barrel” is not the way to get barreled. Francis has clocked in most of his surf time on Oahu; he just knows what to do and has the experience. I can’t “force” that. 

            Every time we think about leaving, another good wave comes. Once we’re into the third hour, Francis says that he’s gonna call it. “One more wave!” I tell him. Lately, my “last waves” have been fifteen minute windows of terrible shape or straight lulls. The next set comes right away, and the first wave is a nice, peaky left. As I’m bottom turning I can see that this little four footer has a little slot in it, but I’m already committed to setting up for a carve. The feeling is becoming familiar. Off the top of the shoulder, I’m arcing back down with my heel on the tail, twisting my torso, and coming down the face with speed. These used to be half ass turns, but they feel so much smoother now. I rarely end a session with a wave like this, so I get to the sand stoked and smiling with no complaints.

           

            The waves weren’t perfect today, but the good waves that did come through made the session worthwhile, especially combined with the offshore conditions. Last Wednesday my girlfriend came home from work and saw how stressed out I was. She said, “I’ve noticed you study better on the days that you surf.” This type of balance is necessary.

           

OCEAN BEACH SESH & FUNDRAISER, SAT 12NOV2011

Location: Ocean Beach, San Francisco

Time: 0745-0915, 1 hr & 30 min

Conditions: 5 ft, consistent, high tide, offshore, big mooshy peaks, few surfers, COLD.

            My body’s telling me to ignore the alarm that I’ve hit snooze on for the past half-hour. It’s been a long night. Unfortunately, the walls in this motel seem cardboard-thin. All night, every time someone took a step upstairs, our ceiling creaked. The street car and late night street folks kept me turning in my sleep too. I don’t know when I racked out, but it wasn’t long enough. I could easily turn this into a tourist trip, just here to go to the fundraiser and eat good food. And then the thought of surf crosses my mind. How can I not? I have my board, my equipment, everything I need to paddle out. I love to paddle out, but I just know it’s so goddam cold right now. Also, I’ve never even seen the beach yet, and it’s right across the street. I grab my phone. My buddy Al that lives in Mountain View sent me a text around midnight saying, “When are you going to surf in the AM? I may come out to see you, leave here after 7:00am.” I pull away the curtain and look outside. They sky’s gray and the ground’s still wet. 

            I walk out and feel the cool air hit my face. I exhale and see my breath. First stop, Java Beach Café right next door. I’m surprised that there are no-smoking signs outside the building, designating a spot by the side of the street as the only smoking place. It’s almost 0700, and there are some customers already starting their morning. Half asleep, I order a drink called the Muddy Water. It’s a five dollar limit for credit, so I pay with cash. I sit and wait for my name to be called, but I’m caught off guard as they hand deliver my coffee straight to me. Is this the way they do it in San Fran? Outside, people are walking their dogs. As I near the Great Highway there are joggers and bikers taking advantage of the path that parallels the road. Crossing the street, there is a sand burm that I can’t see over, but the ocean’s on the other side. There’s that scene from The Endless Summer where they walk over that sand hill and “discover” what is supposedly Cape St. Francis. I’m not saying that my experience is close to that, but it’s close enough. With that hot cup of coffee in my hand and all alone, I mount the burm and see nothing but endless, exposed, empty beach break. 

            It goes as far south as I can see and up north to some big rock formations. The forecast called for five foot waves with occasional sixes. It reminds me of Oceanside on a big day. The faces are an easy five feet, the waves are breaking far out, and there are so many rideable peaks. At the same time, I’m baffled that no one is out. To the north, far away, I can see no more than ten guys sitting on a spot. Another surfer climbs up the sand for a morning check. “How come no one’s out here yet?” I ask.

            “Oh, it’s still early.”

            “How come there’s only guys over there?” I ask as I point north. 

            “Oh, they probably drifted.”

            I call Al but get his voicemail. While power-walking back to the room, I think of the things Al warned me about: don’t surf alone out here, it’s sharky, there are signs that say warn you of them. I also contacted my other friend Michelle that lives here who said to find the channels and watch the current. Whatever the conditions, there’s uncrowded surf out there, and any surfer from SoCal knows that that’s hard to come by. 

            Lauren wakes in the commotion. I throw my suit on and pull out my JS board. Rick cleaned the whole deck since I had to put a new traction pad on it. I apply some basecoat then reach for my coldwater wax. What I pull out of my kit is a bar no bigger than my pinkie. “Fuuuuuuck!” I say out loud as Lauren turns to see what’s happened. I’m so used to surfing with my buddies and grabbing whatever wax there is that I forgot to check how my own stash was. I have one small bar, barely thicker than a pencil for my unwaxed board. I do my best to spread it where I need it the most; it’s all I can do. Walking back to the ocean, I know that it’s going to be a morning full of technical pop-ups; I’ll really have to watch where I put my feet and concentrate on my balance. 

            High tide’s around 0830, and it’s about a quarter to eight. The empty break that I saw earlier know has five people with large gaps between them. I try to look for the channel, lose patience, and take my chances directly in front of me. I’m in my 3.5/2.5, no gloves, no hood, and no booties. My feet are fine, but the second my hands hit the water they receive an ice cold shock. Upon my first duckdive my ears start to hurt a little. Oh boy. I see the channel off to my side, but the waves are breaking in front of me. I can’t tell how far the lineup is, but it seems far. Surprisingly, I only get washed around a little but make it out in reasonable fashion. I sit about fifteen yards apart from another guy. 

            The high tide is making things mooshy. The waves are big but they’re hard to paddle in to. I go towards the inside, and a random rogue wave breaks on the outside. I don’t know where to sit, so I’m going by instinct. My surf anxiety starts to mount. The isolation and distance from the land is a little eerie, and I look at the water around me thinking about “what if” situations. A peak forms, giving me the option to go left or right. I realize I’m too deep as I’m popping up. The lip sends me down the face before I can stand, and I get my first wipeout of the day. At least that’s over with. Soon I get my first right which is a steep drop and lets me get one turn before it bogs out. Now I’m loosening up and catch a couple more. The rides could be longer, but the paddle back is so far that I kick out once they turn slopey. I can at least get one solid turn before the ride’s over. The current takes me north, closer to the crowd. I try to fight the current, greeting fellow surfers dressed with cold water protection from head to toe. I say hello and receive the same kindness in return. While paddling past some guys, I’m on the left side of a peak that sprouts out of the ocean. I turn to paddle into it; it’s the best wave of the morning. The wave stands up as I drop-in on my late take-off, but I see a surfer in my direct line that’s not over the wave yet. Since I barely have wax I don’t feel comfortable with sharp turns on a drop. I’m heading straight for him, so I say, “OHHHH FUCK!” as I jump off my board and collide with him under water. It’s a bad situation, and exactly what I wanted to avoid while being out here. I saw him before I jumped off; he abandoned hope as well and slipped off his board to avoid my nose. “Fuck,” I tell him, “I just saw you at the last minute! Are you all right?”

            “Yeah, I’m okay.”

            And that was it. He mounts on his board and paddles away. The other guys in the water sit and watch. I fight the current paddling south again to find my own peak. Usually I blame the guy on the inside in these situations, but it all happened so fast; I don’t know who’s at fault.

            Counting my blessings, I consider myself satisfied with the morning so far. I surf a new break by myself, I’m not hurt, and I’ve caught a good amount of waves. I catch my last one all the way to the inside. Now I’m in front of a large windmill, far away from where I started. 

            Back at the motel I have a couple missed calls from Al. It turns out that he did make it out, but the beach is so wide open that we missed each other. I clean up and head back while Lauren gets ready, but I never spot him. I shoot him a final text, apologizing that we missed each other, but Lauren and I have to go to the fundraiser.

Los Tres Amigos Fundraiser hosted by Cosmic John:

            Everything is new to me, and I’m stressing out worrying about getting lost. When we make it to the Golden Gate Bridge my jaw drops. I’ve seen this sight a thousand times on television, pictures, and the big screen, but nothing compares to this. Hundreds of people walked along side it while I enjoyed the surreal experience of driving under its arches. 

            
            Mill Valley is a small town; it reminds me of the small snowboard towns around Mammoth Lakes. It’s ten minutes to noon; we’re early. As we pull up to park I see Cosmic John and a small handful of people. I don’t do well in social settings like this, and it’s my first fundraiser. On top of that, I don’t do well around celebs; I get nervous. Lauren knows I’m nervous, but she convinces me that I’m over reacting. We walk up to greet Cosmic John, and the first person he introduces me to is Jamie Sterling, BIG WAVE CHARGER JAMIE STERLING. I don’t want to make it obvious that I’m in awe. I reach over for a handshake while he pulls me in for a hug. I should’ve expected this. Cosmic John is a hugger, and so is his sphere of friends. I already know Jordan, and I meet Josh and Valerie as well. 

           Everyone is down to earth, and I take out my nervousness on the snacks on the table. Valerie and Lauren hit it off while I do my best to Mingle. A woman named Candice made the delicious cream cheese, coconut cupcakes. The Cali reggae band Mi Gaan shows up, and I get to meet them: Jeremy (singer from a different band), Justin, and Kevin. By the time the music’s started, there’s a pretty good showing of people. A couple more big wave chargers make it out: Greg and Rusty Long. I don’t get to talk to them that much, but I tell Rusty to go for the cupcakes. At the end of the event Cosmic John calls out the names from the raffle tickets for the prizes. Towards the end when my name’s not called, I realize that I was supposed to write my name on my tickets and turn them in. Everyone’s being called for prizes, and it looks like I won’t be getting anything. Cosmic walks near Lauren and I and asks, “Did you write your name on your tickets?”

            “Uhhhh, no?” Everyone looks to hear my lame response.  It’s really awkward. I wouldn’t mind just moving past the prizes to kill this awkwardness. 

            When all the names are called, Cosmic John asks out loud, “Who didn’t win anything?” A woman points me out, and another chick sitting somewhere else raises her hand. Cosmic calls us both out and says that he’s presenting a “couple prize.” I’m not sure what he means, and then he asks Jamie to present it to us. In front of everyone, he has us in a group hug facing the crowd, and he says something about me being a traveling surfer. I’m confused, and I apologize to the chick next to me, being that we are total strangers squished shoulder-to-shoulder. Jamie pulls out a GoPro camera and gives it to the chick, and then it hits me. Cosmic John thinks that she’s Lauren. An awkward round of applause occurs, and I’m embarrassed enough, so I sit down and beg for the proceedings to move forth. I don’t know if Jamie tells Cosmic what the real deal is, but once he realizes he plucks the GoPro from the chick’s hand, apologizes, and says that the camera was meant for Lauren and I.

            Afterwards we go inside the shop to watch a fifteen minute clip of Cosmic’s movie that Josh is putting together. When it’s over, I pose next to Jamie with my prize. I’m a little more relaxed to talk to him. I tell him that it’s not every day that I get to meet a pro surfer and that he’s a pretty down to earth guy. I shake his hand as repetitious “thank yous” leave my mouth; I can’t help it. 

            There are more people that I meet and a couple phone numbers that I exchange, promising to meet up for a surf when they’re in the South Bay. I try to get a picture with Cosmic, but he insists on taking a group photo with Jamie, although we never find Cosmic’s camera man to do the job. Lauren and I help clean up, and we say our goodbyes. I thank him again for inviting us out. He says, “You know, I knew from the first time that I met you. You’re energy. You were a non believer at first.” I laugh out loud in surprise. He’s right. The day I met him at Newport when he told me that Clay Marzo was with him at the Quik-House, I didn’t believe him, and he knew it. And yet here we are. Because of him I’ve gotten off my lazy ass and took my first trip to San Fran, got some quality time with Lauren, and got to meet Jamie one-on-one as well as make some new friends. The drive back to the motel is filled with a joyous disbelief. I’m grateful.

Italian:

            Lauren takes me out to an Italian Restaurant. It looks fancy but the prices are reasonable. I order the ravioli, and we split a desert to top things off. Again, I’m captivated by the nightlife and scenery of this place; it’s so mellow, and no place in LA has restaurants like this on every corner on the first floor of apartment buildings. We sleep well. 

Bye-bye:

            In the morning I take another look at the surf, but the wind is blowing onshore. Also, the swell has dropped. It’s nothing like yesterday, so I turn around and wake Lauren up. We eat breakfast at a different coffee shop up the street. I order the fried chicken waffle. It tastes so clean. The sign says that everything is organic, all the ingredients are local, and the food is made from scratch. The breading around the chicken is sweet which complements the waffle. 

            We go back to the liquor store and see that the monkey beanie is still there. We buy it, and I take a pic with the store owner. There are so many things that we didn’t get to do, but it gives us an excuse to come back. And as far as surf is concerned, I see a group trip sometime in the future. This is such an awesome place. Sure, the drive is brutal, and who would want to spend the whole weekend driving just to spend a couple nights in another town? In this case, every hour sitting in my car was worth it, especially for my first time and for the many experiences I had on this stretch of a journey. Every once in a while it’s good to hit the road, take off, and do something different.