2017-2

 

                I write this after going to a bar at Hermosa Beach to celebrate a coworker’s birthday. It’s the first time that I’ve partied with those guys, and God bless their Mexican and Black souls, but being in my married state, I definitely realize that there is nothing for me out there in the single world of bar and club hopping. Sure, the music sounds great when you’re buzzed, but I’ve already lived out this scene in my twenties.

                This morning I woke up late and took a look at the surf cam at El Porto. The waves looked small and like they were breaking close to shore, but the conditions were clean. On the late train, I filled my hot-water jugs and started up the surf wagon.

                On the way there driving through El Segundo, I saw that the wind was light offshore. On Vista Del Mar, I told myself that I’d actually spring for the metered parking at the Porto lot. Driving in front of the smoke stacks, I could see small but rippable peaks. When I noticed free parking, I opted to pull in there instead.

                I sent out a few bat signals, letting my mates know that the surf was small but clean. Of course, with the recent rains there was the risk of getting sick or catching some kind of bug from the tampon-polluted water. Worth the risk? Absolutely.

                I suited up in my wife’s 5mm hooded wetsuit, only because my 4/3 needs some tears repaired. Walking down to the beach on 45^th, I could see that the session was building up to be a classic second shifter with decent conditions. Maybe the word didn’t quite get out, but the lot wasn’t as packed as it could’ve been. As far as breaks are concerned. 42^nd St. had the most heads, but 45^th, which I had my eye on, only had a few people.

                One of the old dads from 26^th St., my other spot, was actually surfing there. We chit chatted for a bit. What else can I saw? For two whole hours, I only had light competition from a guy on a Zippifish and a couple dudes on longboards. Everyone else was a noob who eventually drifted away. My magic Kadowaki Puddle Jumper really did wonders in the waist-high surf, getting me into small waves and making sections to milk the most out of each ride. Even when I left at noon, the onshore was fairly light and plenty of peaks still up for grabs. According to my Trace mount, I caught 48 waves. Later, Gary pointed out that I had caught 100 waves in my last two sessions. I wasn’t counting, but that’s a nice little stat to start the new year.

                Even though a lot of people opted out to avoid post-rain surf, I’m glad I paddled out. I’m glad I caught a good, clean day of surf.

2017-1 First Sesh of the Year

It was overcast and small. Even though the wind direction didn't look too bad, the incoming low presh created weird rips in the water, and then there was also the lack of swell. Because of that, I opted to shuttle me and Bri to Porto where there'd be the most chance for size, albeit not very much. To no surprise, we pulled in to a spot to find Rick, Manny, and Gary right next to us. The usual morning squad, staying true to their cretan surf habits.

Manny said he was paddling out no matter what. As I changed, Rick pulled out his board for a parking lot wax job, so I expected him to join.

While Bri changed, an SUV drove past, its passengers staring at her ass as it entered and left the lot. On the way to the sand, another guy walking past also had a staring problem, which sparked my first what-the-fuck-are-you-looking-at? of the year.

Manny paddled out first and sat on what looked to be too close on the inside, but his positioning proved to be wise. The little peaks sprouted up on the outside, mooshed out, and then reformed, creating these fast little wedges and plenty of them. I mean, the inside was consistent. I'm not trying to oversell it, and to be fair most of the rides were short. But as crappy as the surf was, we had a lot of fun.

The three of us had the surf to ourselves for about an hour. Still, Garr and Rick passed on the sesh. Then the late risers arrived, sitting right on us.

As far as waves of the day, I had a lot of fun man-turn attempts, trying to pulling off some layback carves on the steep inside faces. Of course, I couldn't ride out of them. Manny gave me a few hoots. Later, Jimmy and Juan showed up, telling me they saw my efforts from the parking lot.

“Hey, Matt,” Jimmy said, “there's more flow to your surfing now.”

I can appreciate a compliment, but at the same time it was a nice realization to how I'm a novice compared to guys who've been surfing since (at least) the eighties.

Rick and Garr took off. I fed the meter for another hour at 0830. Ended up surfing almost 3 hours. It was a great way to start the new year, good or bad conditions.

Beater Beatings

Bruh...so I did end up paddling out after the last post. I couldn't help myself. I was already having myself a loser day, being unproductive, and I wasn't in the mood to write, so I headed to El Porto for an afternoon session. Surprisingly, it was damn near offshore with just a light variable wind. It was a hot and humid day, and the water was crystal clear and glassy with a dropping tide. However, one major thing was missing...shape. Fuckin' A, I can't say it was flat, boring, or stagnant. In fact, the sets were pretty juicy and easily shoulder high. I don't know if it's just the south swell not hitting the South Bay right or bad sandbars, but, no matter how some waves looked like they had shoulders, they would just race and dump on the inside. I mean, straight up Dump Rider Crew status. Despite how printing the conditions were, it was hard to catch anything with a resemblance of a shoulder. Even the small in-between-set insiders were running away. My Beater, as fun as it is, can only do so much when the surf is closing out. But I was on a Beater, wasn't I, a fucking sponge. So I hit the "fuck-it button" and started going for glory. Yeah, I was going for everything--the bombs, the closeouts. It was nice knowing that I was on a board of no consequence to my weathered face. And even when I had to bail under the lip, sinking the Beater is no problem, but an awkward wipeout is still an awkward wipeout, so I had to take care not to break my neck on the sand.

My best wave was a right that actually stayed open, but of course some guy had to drop in on me. Then a chick dropped in on him and was like, "Oh, I'm so sorry!" And the dude was like, "No worries." Meanwhile, I'm thinking, Really? Where's the consideration for the first guy who got bagged?

Well, I don't want to be that guy who gets into fights in the lineup, but sometimes I feel like I'm justified to talk some shit. Yet, I'm was a surfing a purple Beater that has a unicorn and a rainbow on the bottom of it. I guess I wouldn't take anyone seriously who's on such a surf craft.

So now I'm sitting here at Churches, having been skunked during the choppy morning sesh. But upon returning from My breakfast at Sonic, I see that conditions have cleaned up. The wind has died and the chop is gone. Aside from a high tide, conditions are pristine. Now I just have to decide if I'm riding the Beater or Puddle Jumper.