GNARL, FRI 02NOV2012 MOR

Loc: 26th

Crew: Bri, Klaude, Khang, Dais

Time: 0745-0945

Conditions: 3-4+ FT, mid to high tide, offshore, consistent, walled, crowded, sunny, and cool.

    

     I’m watching Klaude in the lineup next to Calvin and Roy. Solid four-to-five foot walls start coming in, looking like they might have shoulders, but the sections build and closeout once they hit the sandbar. I’m trying to formulate the words to Briana, something to make her feel comfortable on the 7’10 NSP barney board. This might not be a good idea. North Huntington is the gnarliest place I’ve taken her to, and that was only a solid, fast, and pitchy three-feet. Still . . . that’s only three feet.

     The next set comes in. It’s fast and dumpy, typical of the South Bay, but I’m stoked. I haven’t seen size here like this for a while, and it’s a powerful, whomping kind of size.

     I turn to Bri and hide my nervousness for her. “You’ll be alright,” I say. “Just watch out for the crowd and be picky. Go for the shoulders. Don’t get caught on the inside.”

     “Okay,” she says, like it’s a normal day at San Onofre.

     We paddle out together, and even though I choose a window where the waves are small, they are still punchy in the whitewash. Bri gets pummeled. I hold my ground, duckdiving in place, waiting for her to make it. Guys are now starting to catch waves. I’m in the way and so is she. I can’t be so damn protective and controlling; I have to let go of the reigns.

     I paddle up to Klaude, say hi to Calvin and Roy and say, “Briana’s with me . . . she’s getting worked.” I turn around, and there she is, paddling over the last wave in the impact zone into the next lull.

     She paddles up to us and says, “Lucky the waves stopped!”

     Man . . . when I was at Bri’s level I wouldn’t have made it out.

PICKY-PICKY:

     Mostly walls are coming in. Unfortunately, the juicy sets don’t have much shape, but that doesn’t stop Klaude. He goes for a bomb, Khang-style. It looks like a closeout right. After his ride he paddles back. I ask, “How was that?”

     “Awwwwwuh,” he says, “I got worked.”

     I catch one myself and go straight.

     When Bri paddles, I hold my breath. Her arms aren’t strong enough to get her in, and I’m glad because the waves dump really fast once they hit the sandbar, morphing into steep drops and then oblivion.

     Khang makes it out around the time I catch a closeout left. I pop-up, turn into the wave right away, take the highline, crouch down, and get a glimpse of the lip curling over me. It barely lasts a second, but I see Klaude paddling over the shoulder, looking into the tube. My motion is controlled, penetrating out the back door. Klaude watches me paddle back in acknowledgement. It was no cigar, not even close, but to even get a perspective in the tube for a fraction of a second, controlled and not on accident, is a milestone for our level of surfing . . . at least until we get dry barreled.

    

     Khang brings Dais and their homegirl. I haven’t seen Dais with short hair yet, and I must say that I’m still jealous at how handsome he is. I just wish I could grow facial hair like that.

     I catch a closeout and ride by their friend on the inside. She’s getting pounded on her foam board. A GoPro camera is mounted on the nose. She’s sliding off of her board, getting rocked by the whitewash, seasick. She doesn’t make it out.

#

     It must’ve been good here this week because the fucking lineup is PACKED. I don’t know how these guys do it, but some of them are just getting good waves that line up for several pumps until the ramp section at the end. Guys are doing 360 airs and landing them. The older vets are choosing the right waves too, getting multiple turns. Maybe I’m sitting too far out or going for all the wrong ones.

     I’m paddling back to the lineup when I see Briana try to make it over a wave. The lip rejects the nose of the NSP like how Vlade Divac blocked Jordan in game one of the Bulls VS Lakers finals. I’m going into Dick Mode. I told her ass not to get caught on the inside. I look back, watching her resurface and take a couple more beatings, but when she returns to the lineup she’s smiling.

     “What happened?” I asked.

     She says that instead of duckdiving the wave, the guys in front of her cut her off to paddle over the shoulder, stalling her in time to get sandwiched. Minutes later we paddle out to go over one wave, and the biggest wave of the morning is right behind it.

     “Oh shit!” I say. I want to give Bri advice, but I can’t. We’re both deep. Even I’m scratching to get out of the way. It’s a solid five-feet, and that’s being generous. So what do I tell her? I sure as fuck wouldn’t want to turtle dive that thing. The wave is standing up way on the outside. Before I duckdive it I see Bri ditch her board and dive under. I duckdive it. The wave is so strong that it drags me back, but I don’t get sucked down.

     Bri makes it back to the lineup, visibly shaken-up, but . . . she ain’t bein’ a bitch about it either.

TWEENERS:

     Instead of going for the big ones, the in-between waves are only three-to-four feet, and some of them have tapered but fast shoulders at the end of them. I catch a right, but some bald-headed guy drops in on me. I have to stall on my bottom-turn until he kicks out. He does, but most of the ride is already milked.

     Klaude’s gone. Khang paddles towards me and Bri, and he’s wearing that face, the face of “fuck it’s crowded.” He’s frustrated. So am I.

     I tell him that Bri and I are going for our last waves. Just then, a right-hand tweener starts to form. Bri’s paddling for it. “Go. Angle right!” I say.

     She gives her novice stroke all that she has. She’s pointing her nose down the wave; she’s listening.

     The Baldy is on her outside. He turns and starts scratching for it too. “Go!” I yell. Bri gets the drop, and Baldy kicks out. It takes a while for Bri to stand, but I see her from behind, looking down the line as she’s gliding on it, away from me. Her ride is short, but it’s a good wave.

     My last ride is far from impressive, but I’m stoked for the waves I got. The lip throw-out over my head was my best one. The tweener waves were good even though I didn’t get many of them, and I’m glad I got to see my crew out there on a rare weekday session.

     I drag Bri to follow me to get my hair cut and then we head out for breakfast. We talk about the session during the whole meal. She says that water dripped out of her nose when she went to the bathroom, but she looks at it as a good thing.

     She’s definitely one of us. 

Mandy's Family Restaurant, El Segundo, CA

DAYS OF THE ZIPPY FISH PT.4, SUN 28OCT2012 MOR

Loc: 26th

Crew: Christina

Time: 0730-0930

Conditions: 1-2 FT, high tide, offshore, inconsistent, empty, sunny, warm.

     Last night my best friend Manolo, Sebastian, and Tim went to a friend’s Halloween party. I couldn’t go because I had some school assignments to take care of. As of right now, it’s school first and surf second. I’m lucky that I can even have as much time for Briana, surf, and myself as it is.

     I planned to meet Klaude at 26^th early to make up for missing each other yesterday, but I went to sleep at 0200.

#

     Again, my room is so fucking cold. I’m remembering how waking up cold can affect one’s decision to surf in the morning. I snooze until 0700, and then I quickly grab my gear in a stupor and head out the door. When I start my car I realize I forgot my phone. Fuck it. I’ll be all right without it.

     I’m stoked that there’s free parking at the top of the hill—Manhattan Beach isn’t gonna get my quarters this weekend! The lineup looks empty with just a few wetsuits here and there. I already have my wetsuit on, so I slap on some Vertra and walk down the hill. Not only do I not see Klaude’s car, but I don’t see many cars at all. There are two empty spaces at the bottom of the hill by the lifeguard towers, prime parking. Motherfucker.

     Standing at the sand, I see that none of the DRC is here. Maybe Klaude’s coming later, I’m thinking. The waves are breaking close to shore. A few locals are there. Usually they’d be on their shorter, performance boards, but today they’re on logs. I paddle out with patience in mind, and it pays off. The waves are long and mooshy like yesterday but a little smaller. Still, I manage to position myself inside the shoulder for a fast, late take-off. Just when the wave looks perfectly shaped for a turn is when it’s turning into shorepound. I kickout just in time to avoid being body slammed on the sand.

     I paddle for the next wave again, but one of the local guys is paddling for it too on my outside, saying, “Go, go!” and smiling while doing so.

     “Go for it!” I say as I back out.

     He does go for it. He’s a familiar face. He catches the short ride all the way to the sand. I’d rather not be greedy on a day when there are barely any waves.

     There’s about eight of us out there, but most of the guys are new faces, just learning. One guy is teaching his buddy how to surf. Another guy gives me a thumbs up after a ride, even though I haven’t seen him catch one wave yet. Even though this place can be crowded and competitive sometimes, the overall energy here is good, better than Porto.

     After the first hour, things come do a dismal halt. I think about leaving when I notice Christina on the shore doing her yoga stretches. I wave. She waves back.

     I figure I’ll get a little face time with her, but she stretches for a LONG ASS TIME. Once she finally gets to the water, we catch up on life. I ask her about work, and she asks me about Bri. We talk about our plans to head to Indo. For Thanksgiving she has nothing going on, so I offer her to spend it with my family if she wants, but I give her the disclaimer: all we do is eat, get full, and sit around the T.V. afterwards. I assure her that she has many holiday options with the DRC.

     We also talk about our annual Christmas dinner which we’re both looking forward too.

     In the last hour I catch two waves, one of them my last for the session. I wave goodbye, and Christina heads north towards Porto.

#

     Once I get home I see that Klaude called at 0706 and left a v-mail at 0709. I check it. He says, “Surf report for the morning,” he says, “is fucking terrible. Don’t even bother. I’m leaving!”

     My best friend also tells how last night “was the shit.” He says, “Tim came through last night with a fake baby on his back, Sebastian had the santa suit on, and Malcolm was there in a soccer referees outfit. There were animals out there, but GOOD animals! I should’ve been pushy Manolo last night. I know you got a lot on your plate, but I should’ve got you out there.”

     I tell him I wish I could’ve gone and how I got a lot of studying done last night. Right now, unfortunately, it’s one ear out the other. I have to be selfish. This first semester of grad school isn’t easy, and I can’t fall behind. If I do I’m FUCKED.

     I milked the surf as much as I could this weekend. They say there’s a WNW swill coming in, bringing a little pulse to the South Bay. I hope I can get on it before work this weekend.

DAYS OF THE ZIPPY FISH PT.3, SAT 27OCT2012 MOR

Loc: Rosecrans

Crew: Bri

Time: 0900-1100

Conditions: 3 FT, high tide, offshore, consistent, minimal crowd, sunny, hot.

     My alarm goes off at 0600, but my room is so fucking cold. Next to Briana’s warm body, it’s hard to leave the covers. At 0700, I give up on hitting the snooze button and just shut off my alarm entirely. With the cold and my surf-worn body combined (also with Bri who doesn’t want to get out of bed) there’s no way I’m waking up.

     At 0815 I open my eyes. Bri is up too. Disappointment overwhelms my face. It’s do or die time, that moment when you have to decide: to surf or not to surf. A minute longer without a decision is a refusal. I reach for the blinds and open them. It’s broad daylight outside. “Fuck,” I say. “I didn’t make my commitment with Klaude.”

     Bri turns over and says, “You didn’t ‘make the commitment’ that you were going to meet him.”

     “That’s not the point,” I say. “He’s out there right now. I should be out there too. We always surf local on the weekends.”

     “Okay,” she says, “Let’s surf.”

     I’m filling up my hot water jugs when Bri starts saying how tired she is and how she has a lot of stuff to do before work. I give her the option: you don’t have to come if you don’t want, but I’m going.

     The wagon already has our boards in there from yesterday, so this morning is just a matter of getting the wetsuits and towels. When we reach 26^th, I don’t see Klaude’s van anywhere. We park at the top lot and walk by the lifeguard station for a look. Bruce is out there as well. I scan the lineup in search of any of my buddies. I see none of them. The waves are breaking close to shore; it’s not consistent.

     I think about the options. I really don’t feel like cooking, wanted to grab some breakfast on the way home but not if we don’t get a session in. “Let’s check out Porto,” I say.

     We hop in the wagon and take the lower road to Rosecrans, where I see an open parking space on the right side of the road. We park on Rosecrans and change without checking the water.

#

     Given the small conditions, whipping out the Zippy Fish again is a no brainer. It’s 0900; we’re late and on the second shift.

     We walk down to the lifeguard station, and it’s like a scene from the summer. People are lying out in the sun, playing volleyball, sitting under their umbrellas, and swimming in the water. The sky’s a piercing blue, it’s offshore, and hot. I’m already sweating in my wetsuit.

     There are some peaks in front of the lifeguard station working, but it’s crowded with surfers. We walk just south of it where there’s a gap in the crowd.

     There’s a peak to our north and south.

     I have a feeling we’re in a bad spot, but I don’t want to be close to anyone.

     We sit during this first lull, not expecting much when Briana turns to me and says, “I’m already stoked.”  

     To our surprise, despite the high tide, some waves are breaking towards the outside. Long, mooshy lines form with tapered shoulders at the end. I kick and scratch, popping up on a left. The ride is short, similar to North Churches’ refracted lefts, but they are still fun: good for a pump and down the line distance into inches of water. I kick out too late and roll onto the sand.

     Briana has a hard time catching them; she keeps purling. I tell her that it’s probably because she doesn’t have momentum. I look out on the horizon and see a bump. “This one,” I say. “Go.”

     She turns around and catches the wave going left. Again, going down the line just like yesterday.

     I wouldn’t call the session a buffet, but it’s definitely not boring. I pick out most of the lefts, and our desolate little spot doesn’t have much competition. Even though I can’t get any turns down, the waves are still fun, especially on a day when it’s supposed to be flat.

     Bri and I both get our fair share. “See,” I say, “and you would’ve been in bed knocked out right now. I would’ve came home, told you about the surf, and then you would’ve said, ‘Oh, that’s nice, glad you had a good session,’ but you wouldn’t have been able to relate how it actually was out here. And now look at you . . . you’re catching waves going down the line. Aren’t you glad you came out?”

     She smiles and lifts her eye brows. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right.”

#

     After Briana snakes a guy going right, we let the current take us south of 34^th. Even though the tide is going down, the waves start backing off at our peak. We see a longboarder close to the next tower with a peak all to herself. We paddle over and share the spot.

     Both of us get more rides, and I don’t have to watch her; she’s doing her own thing and I’m doing mine. The weather’s so warm that some old dude is barebacking it. I keep glancing at 26^th, seeing the crowd of surfers in the distance, wondering if any of my homies are there.

     We surf for two solid hours. Still beat and sun burned from yesterday, we catch a wave in and rinse off by the run path. The wind is still calm as it was when we arrived with a fresh new lineup of surfers taking over for the third shift. 

     We polish off the session with breakfast at Mandy’s Family Restaurant in El Segundo, both aware that we made the right decision not to sleep in.