ALL GOOD THINGS…, SAT 28JUN2014

Loc: Rosecrans

Crew: Bri, Juan, Rick, Dave

Time: 0530-0745

Conditions: Overcast, light onshore, inconsistent, low tide, 2-3FT.

     Coming off of yesterday’s stoke, I had a feeling that today wouldn’t be as good. Juan is the first one in the lot when we pull in, followed by Dave and Rick. The goal is to be in the water no later than 0530. Rick decides to put some money in the money while I do not.

     There’s a northwest wind patting our faces, but down at the sand the conditions are still glassy. Also, they are smaller.

     The same Japanese dude that’s always out there first—surprise surprise—is out there again. Unlike yesterday, El Porto already has a small handful of surfers near 42^nd. The peaks are 2-3FT with shape better than Wednesday, but they just look dismal in comparison to yesterday.

     I’m still stoked, high stepping on my way out to shore, I have a feeling that the water is warm enough for my trunks and rashguard. When my feet touch the water, it is.     

     I draw first blood on an inside left, but after a tight cutback, it mooshes out and I lose the wave. The waves are fast this morning, especially upon hitting the inside, they stand up and race away. Some of them look a little tube-worthy, but I focus on pumping and trying to get distance.

     Yesterday Gary had said that he used to surf aggressively, but now he enjoys surfing with his friends and seeing them on good waves more. On this morning, I don’t get those long epic rides like yesterday, but I’m stoked for everybody else.

     I admire Rick and Juan for their paddling power. Juan’s on a standard short, and he still manages to paddle into the smallest waves, somehow riding them all the way to the inside when I think he’ll get caught behind. Rick too, but it’s no surprise to see him paddle hard, just when the wave is about to pass him, he gets that extra stroke to drop in.

     I get some okay waves, but Bri gets the most quality rides out of all of us. Even though today is smaller than yesterday, there are some freak sets at three-feet plus, some are walled and some have shape. One right in particular just stands up and shoulders off perfectly for rippable down-the-line shape. She looks late on the take off, but she pops up and takes it all the way in.

     At 0700, Juan is done. His back is starting to hurt, and he needs to save himself for his birthday session tomorrow at HB. “You should join us,” he says.

     Rick and Dave disappear into the crowd at 42^nd Street while Bri and I hold down a gap just south of Rosecrans.

     The wind turns onshore, making the water choppy. The racy but rippable waves are now replaced with crumbly peaks, knocked down early from the wind. It’s so inconsistent that I’m cold in my trunks from not catching anything.

     But other surfers are doing all right. When I look a couple spots away, guys are managing to crank out at least one turn. I guess sometimes you have those days. I had a good one yesterday, and I can’t always get good rides all the time.

     When we head up to the lot we find that Rick’s already gone. Dave is the last one back at the lot. Yet, people are just parking and suiting up. We caught a good window. At least at 0530 it was glassy. It’s nice to be done at 0800, and I hope that Juan’s birthday brings all of us some good waves in HB tomorrow. 

Bri's post-surf pancake special

YOU DON’T KNOW UNLESS YOU GO, FRI 27JUN2014

Chicken fried steak and eggs, a post-surf breakfast of champions. 

Loc: Undisclosed

Crew: Bri & Gary C.

Time: 0530-0745

Conditions: light overcast, glassy turned light onshore/sideshore, medium crowd, consistent, low tide, 3-4 FT+.

     Where I surf isn’t a secret, but this morning was so good, that I don’t want to do this spot an injustice by naming it, at least while the spree of good swell lasts.

#

     Gary’s already in the lot, no surprise. Even at 0515. No one else is here. You’d think that after a session as fun as yesterday’s that there would be double the crowd.

     Walking down the hill, the wind’s not in my face like it was yesterday morning. In the dark dawn, we can see that the water is glassy. Two surfers are out. A four-foot peak breaks on the outside. The left is walled but the right is lining up well.

     Gary runs out to shore where a swimmer is making his way in. Gary runs out to a surfboard that’s floating in the water and guide’s the swimmer towards it. He lost his board.

     The surf is more consistent than yesterday, and I have to duckdive rows of whitewash just to get out. It’s low tide, but the waves are breaking far out.

     We’re paddling out together, but Bri gets pushed south to the next lifeguard tower. Not an easy morning for big buoyant boards. Gary and I are side by side, but not for long. He takes his first wave, and right behind it is one of those four-foot rights that I had seen from the shore. The sky is still dark, and the face of the wave looks like a dull grayish green. Dropping into the wave, the smooth face builds before me. I can’t even describe the quality. It’s not breaking like Trestles or HB. It’s not even breaking the classic way that this place is supposed to break. All I can say is that it’s so damn rippable. After my first snap, I’m propelled down the line again, the shoulder getting smaller after each turn until I ride out of my third. Now I’m far away. The two surfers that had been initially holding down the spot are mere dots from where I am. So is Gary. Such a long ride requires such a long paddle back.

     And a lull? No. We had paddled out together, but it’s so consistent that we don’t see each other for another fifteen minutes. Immediately, not even back at my spot, I turn and go on another right. Two turns this time and another long ass paddle back. I don’t even know where Gary or Bri are.

     When we finally meet again, we can only give shit-eating grins and shake our heads. Really? Is it really this fucking good right now? And yet, only five of us are out. Yesterday there were so many people early, and the day that everyone chooses to sleep on it, it’s firing.

     The wind turns a little sideshore going into the second hour, but the lineup is still uncrowded. The guy who had lost his board paddles past me.

     “No leash, huh?” I say.

     “Shit,” he says. “I surfed yesterday evening, and it was crap. I didn’t think it would be this big and breaking this far out. I’ve already had to swim back for my board twice!”

     He takes the next wave, a left. The lefts aren’t holding shape as well, and he tries to kick out, but the lip rejects him. Down he goes, and off to the races goes his board, all the way to the inside, sending him for a nice cardiovascular swim.

     “I don’t even care if it gets crowded now,” says Gary. “I’ve already gotten so many waves!”

     We have so many waves to ourselves that we’re already drained, so drained that we start making mistakes, either due to the combo of overexcitement or surf-worn muscles.

     Gary’s hamstring keeps cramping up on him. He’s in the lineup grimacing, digging into his muscles and stretching his leg on top of his deck. He shows me his board. There’s a nasty pressure ding. He had put his elbow through it.

     And me? I underestimate the speed on some of the drops. I should be fading out, but I stay too close to the face, and I can’t steer out. I poorly ride two perfect bombs.

     At 0700, there’s a little crowd now. The same faces I had seen yesterday are here, but much later. What’s funny is that the surf looks completely different from what it had looked like an hour and a half ago. It’s still fun right now, but they’ll have no idea what it was like at first light. It was so much better.

     Even with the rising tide, there are some freak bombs close to five feet. Bri has inside position on one of them. I lose sight of her as the lip starts to curl over her. She’s late, she’s not gonna— but she does. She goes all the way past the next lifeguard tower. Gary takes a bomb right too, a ride so long that I only find him ten minutes later when he’s waving at me from nearly two towers down.

     I force some lefts even though they’re not breaking as well, and I practice some layback turns. I don’t want to call them layback snaps because I’m not fully committed on the “laying back” part. The lefts are closing out more, but the face are so big and pumpy that they’re a good set up for frontside carves. From pumpy speed and a good bottom turn, I climb the face, reach back with my inside arm, lean back slightly, and whip my tail into a tight arc in front of me, but I don’t ride out of it. Since the left is closing out, I choose to bail after the maneuver and get back outside.

     I do another layback again on a closeout left. I get good torque on the tail, but the base of the wave bottoms out, and I can’t stick the landing on my 5’9 Motorboat Too. “It’s the Indian, not the arrow,” so I can only blame my lack of balance, but I’d need more board to stick a critical landing like that.

     And that’s how pumping the surf is. I could have easily used another board today, something better for all this water moving around.

     The waves get a little soft by the time we leave, but the surf is still consistent and fun. Catching our last waves in, Gary and I can’t help but claim the session with a high five. How could we not? It’s not even 0800 yet, and we’re surfed out. Walking back up the hill, we pass a guy in a van who’s just pulling up now to surf.

     Gary treats Bri and me to breakfast. It’s one of those days where the surf was so good that a post-surf breakfast is mandatory. He says it’s for my graduation, but it’s more than that. We get to share our waves of the day over coffee and food, get to hear more stories about how he grew up with Rick and the rest of the WHC. It’s the afterburn from a good session that Bri and I still ride, eyes alight while listening attentively to Gary’s words while chewing on jelly-covered toast. Without a 0445 wake up, none of this would have been possible. 

He's not sad, just drained. El Maestro himself, Gary AKA Balls Deep, getting his huevos rancheros on. 

SOUTH BAY SURPRISE, THU 26JUN2014

Loc: Rosecrans

Crew: WHC

Time: 0545-0830

Conditions: Overcast, gray, light onshore, crowded, consistent 3FT+.

     Out of my whole body, my eyes hurt the most from all the sun I’ve gotten in the last three days. Second is the sinus headache that I currently have. Sore paddling muscles are manageable.

     Bri and I are supposed to be taking a day off to recover, but Gary had given me the local intel about the current windswell. The verdict is to dawn patrol this morning.

     We wake up late, and by late I mean 0445. I sit up, head to the bathroom, and brush my teeth. Bri follows behind me and squats on the toilet for a hot morning piss. I’m quite shocked to be honest, but not about the piss. I had expected her to sleep in, for her to say, “Tell the guys I said hi,” and for her to plop her head back down on her pillow, but no . . . she’s determined.

     We reach the “secret lot” at 0530, but there are a lot more cars here than the last time. Dave T. is suiting up. He says that everyone else is already down there, and then he takes off running. Brett AKA Whiffleboy is here, too. He says it was warm yesterday, so he’s trunking it. Then Rick pulls up.

     There’s something in the air and in everyone’s energy that has the makings for a good session. Was it really that good yesterday? I add an hour to the meter just in case.

     Even Rick takes off down the hill before me and Bri, and we had reached the lot first. Onshore wind palpates my face. Reaching the sand, there are already people sitting at 40^th Street and Rosecrans. The sky is turning a light purplish blue. Two-to-three foot peaks peel over choppy low-tide surf. We’ve been bamboozled.

     In the lineup, I see Gary pumping down the line on a right in his classic gorilla stance. His wave is fast and racy. No turns. I’m thankful that I had taken my holy Rip Curl wetsuit instead of trunking it.

     Bri and I paddle out. The water’s actually warm. Whiffleboy was right. But what about the onshore wind? There’s no way that the conditions are going to get better.

     After surfing Trestles, the consistent beach-break surf feels different. Peak after peak rolls in. I’m scrambling, trying to turn and go when I should be picky and waiting. Then through the choppy surf, a random four-footer breaks. Dave yells for me to go even though I’m too deep. I do and fall behind, but I’m impressed. There’s some decent size out here, much funner than the last windswell about a week ago. Then the place starts going off. Gary, Ricky, Jimmy, Dave all get good waves. I get a three-foot left. It’s racy but standing up because of the low tide. With speed, I set myself up for a good frontside snap and ride out the rest of the wave. Back at the lineup, Gary says he saw some water come out the back.

     Since the guys have to work, I’m willing to pass on waves. I call Rick into a bomb left that takes him all the way to shore. Dave is the top shredder of the morning, killing it on the backhand rights, at least two turns every wave.

     Around 0730 everyone has to get their last waves in and go to work. By now, Rosecrans is packed. Porto is packed. There are surfers everywhere. Things get a little testy. I take a good right and eye the section before me that I want to hit, and then a guy on a funboard drops in on me. He almost loses balance while trying to kick out, but he ruins my wave. I miss my section. Then on a bomb left, I pull a turn-and-go, and some guy is right in my drop line. He duckdives, but we’re close. I turn around and bail on the wave.

     “You could’ve made that,” the guy says after resurfacing.

     “No,” I say. “I was about to run you over.”

     I turn and paddle for the next one, but so does he. He’s on my inside. I back out, frustrated, but he backs out too for an attempt to let me have it. Too late. Now I’m pissed. How I love this place when it works and how I hate its crowds. What El Porto surfer doesn’t feel like this? I paddle south away from everyone to reflect and cool off. Was I being an asshole?

     About ten minutes later, I paddle back North to join Bri. Another bomb comes in, a solid four footer, and this is during the summer months when the South Bay should have nothing. And did I mention that the wind had died and the surf turned glassy? Bri is closer to the peak. It’s her wave. I tell her to go, but she’s already turning and going for it. I’m envious but at the same time, I’m so stoked for her. From behind the wave, I see that she’s not just going down the line. She’s using the face of the wave much more now, cruising and taking different lines. No wonder she had gotten up no problem this morning. She’s discovered TURNS. How can she stay out now?

     There’s a set-wave left, and I’m a little deep taking off. Watching the WHC has really inspired my surfing. Seeing Rick take a floater earlier and make a long section really motivates me to step up my game. I make the section, climb the face, and throw in as much ass as possible into a frontside man carve. It feels good, like how momentum and speed just allow you to get into your turns much harder. My transition out of the turn isn’t so pretty, as I poorly set myself up for turn number two, but I’m no Gary or Ricky; it’s gonna take time.

     It’s 0830 by the time Bri and I head back. There are still waves, but the incoming tide has softened things up a bit on the inside.

     I wanted to spend the rest of the day relaxing, especially after a long camping trip, but my fellow DRC member has had a death in the family. It’s my friend Cheryl. Her mom had recently passed away while she and her husband Silverton were on their honeymoon. She had extended the invite for the DRC to attend the viewing. At first I had felt uneasy about going because I didn’t know her mom well, but last night my brother Randy reminded me what being a good friend is all about. It doesn’t matter that I didn’t know her mom well, I know Cheryl, and she’s my friend.

     Uneasily, I approach the group of mourners and wait my turn to talk to Cheryl, and then she starts crying hard, her light face and freckles now red and flushed with tears. When I get to her, I give her a big hug. I know that there’s not much I can do, but I remind her that she was one of my friends who was at the airport when I came back from Iraq, and that I’m here for her now should she need anything.