OUTGOING SWELLS, WED 06MAY2015

Loc: El Porto, 45th

Time: 0910-1010                  

Conditions: 4-5 FT, onshore, choppy, racy

Board: 5’10 Mini Driver, Quad Setup

     I had come here yesterday evening to check out the surf. It was small and onshore with a few sandbars offering some all right shoulders, so this morning I expected the surf to be decent with good wind and a little less energy. Too bad I sleep in and miss that window of glassy conditions.

     Walking down 45^th Street, I feel the onshore wind on my face. It’s not strong enough to blow shit out, but it won’t take much for that to happen.

     The Porto lot’s only half full, and the lack of life in the lineup reflects it, but despite the light chop on the water, there are some fast shoulders out there.

     It takes a while for me to make it out. Just that weekend of not surfing really brought down my conditioning. I pass on a couple long sectiony walls and then say fuck it and paddle into a rogue left. When I pull in, I get gobbled up and obliterated.

     The current’s pulling hard north. Before I know it, I’m in front of the rocks. It’s a paddle party, and everyone’s invited.

     Even though the shape’s not great, it still is a little playful out here. I get to the open face on a couple of lefts but fail to capitalize with a solid finishing carve.

     The rights look a little too dredgy, like I’ll get chucked off the lip. After watching a few go, I finally turn and go on a beefy one. Down the line, I can see that it’s already going to section out. However, I have a beautiful open face to work with before it does. Dropping down with speed, I bottom turn and crank off a solid bucket thrower and ride out into the flats. Fuckin’ A. Wave of the day right there.

     With the onshore wind picking up and more people leaving the lineup, I turn my board around and paddle back out, knowing that I’ll end up catching a closeout and cashing in my session after having caught that one good right.

WHEN TOO MUCH SWELL DOESN’T WORK, MON 04MAY2015

 

Loc: San Clemente / San Onofre, Churches

Time: 0900-1100                  

Conditions: 6 FT+, onshore, walled

Board: 5’10 Mini Driver, Quad Setup

     I had been closely watching the surf forecast for a while, waiting for this swell. I had to work all weekend, but today I had preset plans to go to Churches. On the late train, I arrive a little before 0900. Plenty of swell to go around was my mode of thinking. I don’t need to be early.

     The overnight surf must have pushed up over the shoreline and made its way to the road because there’s seaweed everywhere. The main parking strip in front of Churches is packed, so I park further south by the trailer sites, and what I see before me is. . . It’s not what I was hoping for.

     It’s walled. Too big for this place to hold shape. Guys are sitting way at the bottom of the wave. The lines are surfable but they aren’t tapered. No clean peaks, just sections that end in closeouts. I walk all the way to Middles, which is just a long closeout all the way to Lowers. Fuck me. Plus it’s overcast and fucking cold.

 

Top of Churches

North Churches going into Middles

Middle Trestles

Churches right

 

     I drive to Old Mans, and the shape sucks. It’s big, there’s a lot of water moving around, but the peaks are long and soft, so I drive back to Churches and suit up.

     The 6’0 Mini Driver is in today’s travel quiver, in case I need the extra volume, but the 5’10 should be fine.

     The paddle out’s not too bad, but the inside whitewash is a little strong. First I sit at the bottom of the wave. Nothing. I start inching my way towards the main pack and stop just short of them. That being said, the top of the wave is actually breaking. The waves aren’t peeling super long all the way towards the inside like how Churches can be on a good day, but it’s still rip worthy. The main problem is that everyone is sitting at the top of the wave. Longboarders, rippers, an SUP guy are all on it. Fuck. On crowded days I just pick a different spot to sit, but for today’s conditions, that tactic won’t work.

     I watch huge peaks roll in but have to pass because someone’s already on them. The sets are coming in head-high plus. Fucking A. I scratch out on a few. I feel it . . . not enough board. It’s too big for the 5’10.

     Now if I said that I’m not nervewracked, I’d be lying, but it doesn’t mean that I’m scared either. The feeling I have is more of a respect thing. Yes, Churches isn’t a round wave, but there is size, and being sucked down by one of these monsters could be taxing.

     I turn and go on my first right. The shoulder starts to race and section, so I kick out early. A guy on the shoulder who had backed out gives me an extended glace. Should I have held on to that one?

     It takes a while to catch another wave. Suddenly, I regret kicking out early on my last. I survive the drop on the next right, bottom turn, and cutback, but when I redirect, the wave mooshes out. Next wave, I get two lethargic soft backhand turns. Fuckin’ A.

     Impatient, I paddle towards the top and sit with the pack. I hate surfing like this. You have no idea how much I fucking hate crowds. I have to pass on waves because guys are so aggressive on them, I swear they’d fuck their own mothers just to catch a wave. As a wave rolls through and dips down, a massive line is way outside behind it. Someone lets out a hoot. Everyone scrambles. An old longboarder with a dickbroom mustache looks at me and starts laughing. What was that I said about respect? The wave stands up and breaks, and now I’m faced with a mountain of white wash. I duckdive for subterranean obliteration. No, not as gnarly as a big Porto wipeout, but it’s strong enough to keep dragging and dragging me backwards. I resurface a few feet away from Dickbroom. Close one.

     And . . . I want to tell you that the surf turned on, that I got that one wave that made it all worth it, and that I got a solid four-turn wave all the way to the inside. Instead. . .

     Fuck I’m cold. The air and water temperature have dropped dramatically this month. My 3/2 isn’t retaining much heat. A lull ensues, leaving every surfer just sitting in the lineup with their thoughts, and then . . . a nice set comes, but everyone is already on it. I struggle. Top of the wave, middle of the wave, bottom of the wave.

     My last wave’s a closeout. On the inside, I see a rogue set approaching, and everyone darting out to beat it. It’s been two hours. Two hours and I haven’t caught shit. I turn around and catch the whitewash in, stung at how I’ve just gotten skunk at Churches for the first time in a long time.

ENTER THE SWAMP, FRI 01MAY2015

 

Loc: El Porto, Rosecrans

Time: 0700-0830

Crew: Bri                        

Conditions: 3 FT+, foggy, swampy

Board: 5’10 Mini Driver, Quad Setup

     After yesterday evening, I expected for there to be fun thumping windswell peaks, but looking out at the ocean, I can already tell that the tide’s too high. Gary’s out here somewhere with Dave T. I spot someone in front of 40^th with Gary’s similar Grape Ape style on a left.

     When we paddle out at 40^th, I don’t see Gary anywhere. Must be more towards 42^nd, I’m thinking. Damn. I had wanted to surf 26^th Street, but I wanted to see if I could get some face time with Garr. It was my fault for waking up late. All around me, I don’t see one familiar face.

     I go really late on a left. It’s already spilling, and when the lip crashes onto my back, I’m sent flying down the line on my belly, finally recovering my popup on the inside. Lame. The takeoffs look promising, but the waves just moosh on the inside. I blow my next cutback from lack of speed (and skill).

     Meanwhile, it’s day number two for Bri and her new partner, the 6’0 Lost Mini Driver, and even though she has to struggle with the same conditions that I’m working against, she gets more waves than I do. I remind her to kick her legs to assist her paddling.

     It’s funny how that used to be my go-to board, which was suspect upon its initial purchase. Too big, had been my first thought, and then later I thought it fit like a glove. And now my girlfriend is riding it. Wow, it really must’ve been too big for me. A lot of credit goes for Bri’s progression, too.

     After Bri leaves, I hang out for a little while longer. The surf doesn’t improve much. I struggle to meet my one-turn quota and then finally quit and go in.

     At the car, there’s already a text from Garr from about an hour ago. “Not too worthy,” was what he had written. Yeah. I can see that.