D 3
MD's 2
Avocado's
Lowers
Not a great surf month...
I only had seven sessions and a lot of breaks in between. It's the first full month of fall, so I hope the next weeks have some combo swell goodness in store for us. The crowds will die down as the temperature drops, so I do have that to look forward to!
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Wednesday, October 31, 2012
10.26.12 MD's Redux w/ M-I-M
Mike and I hadn't surfed in some time, thanks to the dismal conditions, including the first rain in a long time. This led to a lot of runoff, which is to be avoided so as to prevent getting nodal infections. After enough time passed, we were at the ready at the first sign of rideable surf.
The waves were about shoulder-high on the sets and we were excited to paddle out again after a solid break.
My first wave was a nice steep left but unfortunately, it shut down on me right away.
I had a good look at a right and I had a long drawn-out bottom turn around the spilling foam, but there was no section of gold at the end of the foam trail, so I turned the long b-turn into an exaggerated kick-out.
My last wave worth mentioning was a sick one on which I bonked it ok after pumping like a madman, hearing a bit of the whoosh! of my spray hitting the back of the wave.
The waves were about shoulder-high on the sets and we were excited to paddle out again after a solid break.
My first wave was a nice steep left but unfortunately, it shut down on me right away.
I had a good look at a right and I had a long drawn-out bottom turn around the spilling foam, but there was no section of gold at the end of the foam trail, so I turned the long b-turn into an exaggerated kick-out.
My last wave worth mentioning was a sick one on which I bonked it ok after pumping like a madman, hearing a bit of the whoosh! of my spray hitting the back of the wave.
10.19.12 MD's w/ M-I-M
We checked out D Street and it blew, so we headed south to try to catch more of the predominantly NW swell. If MD's didn't work, we would hit up NoTePads as a last resort. MD's was working far better than we expected, so we were out thar.
While suiting up, we couldn't believe our luck. There was no one out at the peak we had our eye on.
My first wave was a left that was good for a couple of pumps before I was done, reminding me of my performance in other areas of life.
My next wave had a steeper and longer line to it. I pumped a few times and timed my hit well, right into the frothy pre-explosion, throwing a good amount of spray, but once again leaning too far back to make it.
My third wave and left was a quick one which appeared to be throwing out a bit. I went for a rare for me closeout floater. My style was sick, but style doesn't really matter if you don't pull the maneuver. It appears I strayed too hard oceanside, when I should've been leaning a wee bit more shoreside.
I broke my streak of lefts with my next wave. I leaned down into the face, straining to see past the early morning glare. I should've kept my eyes shut, as there was nothing to see, unfortunately.
Back into the lefts! But it was just a closeout standing island pull-out, a freight train closeout barrel..
My last wave was disappointing. A right came and it appeared to have a bit of a runway, but it chubbed up and dashed my hopes of a fast ride. I half-heartedly pumped up to try and get some speed, but it was just too fat.
Unfortunately, our excitement at the beginning of the session appeared to be unfounded and our initial pre-stoke left us feeling hollow...
While suiting up, we couldn't believe our luck. There was no one out at the peak we had our eye on.
My first wave was a left that was good for a couple of pumps before I was done, reminding me of my performance in other areas of life.
My next wave had a steeper and longer line to it. I pumped a few times and timed my hit well, right into the frothy pre-explosion, throwing a good amount of spray, but once again leaning too far back to make it.
My third wave and left was a quick one which appeared to be throwing out a bit. I went for a rare for me closeout floater. My style was sick, but style doesn't really matter if you don't pull the maneuver. It appears I strayed too hard oceanside, when I should've been leaning a wee bit more shoreside.
I broke my streak of lefts with my next wave. I leaned down into the face, straining to see past the early morning glare. I should've kept my eyes shut, as there was nothing to see, unfortunately.
Back into the lefts! But it was just a closeout standing island pull-out, a freight train closeout barrel..
My last wave was disappointing. A right came and it appeared to have a bit of a runway, but it chubbed up and dashed my hopes of a fast ride. I half-heartedly pumped up to try and get some speed, but it was just too fat.
Unfortunately, our excitement at the beginning of the session appeared to be unfounded and our initial pre-stoke left us feeling hollow...
10.17.12 The "Couldn't Have Been Worse than Yesterday" Sesh: M-I-M and I hit up D Street again
Despite how disappointed we'd been with Neptune's decision in doling out rank waves for us the previous day, we decided to give Him another chance.
The waves were a bit bigger than the previous day and we were amped, having expected the waves to be similar.
My first wave was a four-foot drop that was neither a left nor a right. If you guessed a closeout, you are correct! I bailed under the foam after kicking my board out.
My second wave was a right which at first glance, didn't look like much. I stayed with it, and salivated when I realized the wave was going to steepen. I glided up and milked the newfound energy in the wave. The speed I was able to generate surprised me. I did one pump and then one mini-pump. I rose back up the face of the wave and was again surprised by how fast I was going. This caused me to "misjudge" where on the wave I was going to hit it and ended up overshooting my normal target. I ended up turning and sliding probably one fin out and ALMOST pulling it. I ended up falling forward and that was that...
When my next wave, another right, rolled around, I was excited on my prospects of killing it. Surely I was now prepared for the quick double-burst of speed, right? Well, I never got my chance, as the lip crashed in front of my board, robbing me of crucial speed and turning my dreams of flying down the line into my living nightmare of flubbing into the foam.
My next wave was a welcome left, but it was just a quick turn into a floater on which I faded out the back.
I caught my second left of the day and managed to pump some speed out of the flat-ish wave. I battled the curl for supremacy, but ended up yielding the wave to a guy coming on the much sicker-looking right. I waved him on like the true bro that I am.
BOOM! Third left in a row, and I was on it. I pumped down the nice steep face and thought the wave was going to close out, but realized about two seconds before pulling out the back that it was going to barrel. I set up and leaned way forward, but the wave smacked me hard and pushed my open hand into the GoPro, causing me to lose to lose my balance. I did get a sick view of the tunnel though!
My fourth left in a row was a steep and quick one. I pumped down all the way, micro-pumped where the water goes from horizontal to slightly-sloped. This allowed me enough speed to go up and SMASH the lip. All of the glory came early in the maneuver, especially when you consider that I didn't land it. I threw buckets of spray but leaned too far back and flailed backwards.
My last wave was anti-climactic. It closed out and I pulled through it. Mike and I went in, amped.
The waves were a bit bigger than the previous day and we were amped, having expected the waves to be similar.
My first wave was a four-foot drop that was neither a left nor a right. If you guessed a closeout, you are correct! I bailed under the foam after kicking my board out.
My second wave was a right which at first glance, didn't look like much. I stayed with it, and salivated when I realized the wave was going to steepen. I glided up and milked the newfound energy in the wave. The speed I was able to generate surprised me. I did one pump and then one mini-pump. I rose back up the face of the wave and was again surprised by how fast I was going. This caused me to "misjudge" where on the wave I was going to hit it and ended up overshooting my normal target. I ended up turning and sliding probably one fin out and ALMOST pulling it. I ended up falling forward and that was that...
When my next wave, another right, rolled around, I was excited on my prospects of killing it. Surely I was now prepared for the quick double-burst of speed, right? Well, I never got my chance, as the lip crashed in front of my board, robbing me of crucial speed and turning my dreams of flying down the line into my living nightmare of flubbing into the foam.
My next wave was a welcome left, but it was just a quick turn into a floater on which I faded out the back.
I caught my second left of the day and managed to pump some speed out of the flat-ish wave. I battled the curl for supremacy, but ended up yielding the wave to a guy coming on the much sicker-looking right. I waved him on like the true bro that I am.
BOOM! Third left in a row, and I was on it. I pumped down the nice steep face and thought the wave was going to close out, but realized about two seconds before pulling out the back that it was going to barrel. I set up and leaned way forward, but the wave smacked me hard and pushed my open hand into the GoPro, causing me to lose to lose my balance. I did get a sick view of the tunnel though!
My fourth left in a row was a steep and quick one. I pumped down all the way, micro-pumped where the water goes from horizontal to slightly-sloped. This allowed me enough speed to go up and SMASH the lip. All of the glory came early in the maneuver, especially when you consider that I didn't land it. I threw buckets of spray but leaned too far back and flailed backwards.
My last wave was anti-climactic. It closed out and I pulled through it. Mike and I went in, amped.
10.16.12 D St. w/ Missed-It-Mike
Forgive me dear readers, I have really been lagging. If you know me personally, and for your sake I hope you don't, you'll know that I am all about streaks and numbers. Usually I can quote how long it's been since my last soda, or the last time I made a barrel (September 21st, still counting it!).
These streakophile tendencies can be really annoying, but they do have some upside. Take, for example the ninety-two day streak during which I was able to stay firmly planted in monogamy starting in March 2009, a streak I probably will not be breaking until my plumbing (and wanton feelings) begins to fail me.
One day of not updating the blog, turns into two, then three and all of a sudden I have a streak going. Yes, it's strange, OCD, whatever you want to call it, but you can also blame it for my having tabulated EVERY session I've had for the last fourteen months.
Couple the above with an uptick in my workload as of late, and you have a veritable orgy of procrastination excuses.
On this day, I surfed lackluster D Street w/ none other than M-I-M. I don't remember much about the session, so I'll just go off the GoPro footy that I still had on my cam.
The waves were small and it was one of those days where it was tough to convince oneself to paddle out. I beat Mike to the viewpoint, and when he showed, I ran up to him yelling, "Don't even check, bro, just suit up and let's go". Since Mike has known me for over a decade, he knew to be suspicious. My initial yet fraudulent enthusiasm may have had an effect though, as he ended up joining me for a surf.
My first wave was a crab-grab. There were two reaches on this wave. The first, was my left hand reaching for my outside rail. The second was me thinking there was a barrel. The lip curled over just a wee bit.
On my second wave, I looked as I was popping up and realized there was no left. I stood up and dug in to my heelside rail a bit so as to go right, quickly realized there was even less of a right and tried to go left again. The lip cascaded oh so gently and I bailed, having nowhere to go.
My next wave was a left that had some promise. The pumping I did on the wave led to an eventual and disappointing fade. I had nothing to show for my ride except for my paddle back out.
My fourth wave was yet another left that was so quick the only thing I had to show for it was a pretty sick-looking sailor dive out the back. Mike was not a fan of it, but his hate has fueled me towards excellence in the past, so I welcomed his venom.
My last wave was one on which I had to pump gingerly so as not to blow it and have the wave pass me by. This fear turned out to be a non-issue because all the wave had for a finishing section was a weak spillover of its foam. I took the opportunity to bonk it weakly, rode away clean and did an exaggerated pump for the onlookers on the beach, of which I counted zero during my paddle-out.
Mike had to go in to go to work and I was disgusted by the conditions. We went in, knowing tomorrow's look couldn't be much worse.
Monday, October 15, 2012
10.8.12 Lowers Mid-Day Session w/ TJ
It was TJ's (Forrest's roommate) birthday and as he had chosen a car-less lifestyle, I had the opportunity of making his birthday for him by taking him up to Lowers. We parked at about 10:15 and walked pretty much along the old trail. I suited up at the car and barefooted it to see if I'm still the man I once was.
TJ swore it wouldn't be crowded. A few years ago in one of the surf mags, I remember Shane Beschen talking about surfing Lowers during the second shift: when the morning guys were bailing and the lunchtime guys hadn't yet arrived. He claimed it was the most uncrowded. But when we rounded the corner of the dirt path, my spirits sank, counting too many heads in the water. TJ had worn his civilian clothes for the walk and I asked him if it was cool if I didn't wait for him and just paddled out. He had no problem with it, so out I went.
The wade-to-paddle transition was oh so smooth. Compared to Punta Roca's 8/10 in sketchiness, this is a generous 2.5. During my paddle-out, I saw the one girl in the line-up catch a left and get snaked two seconds later. I thought for a second maybe Missed-It-Mike had taken the day off of work and sneaked up here without telling me, but no, the snaker in question was of a lighter complexion.
I decided to take the grom Wardo approach and sit inside of the beastly pack, two dozen strong. I paddled out and caught my first left after more than twenty minutes of sitting, paddling and pulling back countless times. It was probably the second strongest wave of the day, but it was so gutless. I did a weak slash and a weaker bonk and kicked out. The good news is I got my first wave of the day out of the way.
Lowers is an amazing wave. It's also located near highly populated areas with high concentrations of surfers. This leads to massive crowds for comparably few waves. Having photogs and videogs (I'm coining it!) on the beach further intensifies the madness, creating a frenzy that is perhaps only rivaled by Rincon near Santa Barbara along the length of the west coast of the country. This is why there are often four guys paddling for waves.
My choice to sit on the inside created perhaps a half-dozen close calls. On two or three of these, I braced for impact during my duckdive, but impact thankfully never came.
I had initially planned to surf the shorter and comparatively crappier left, but I scuttled that plan quickly due to the thick blanket of non-discriminating bodies. Since the Lowers right is so much longer, steeper and better, I thought I'd beat the system by focusing on the lefts. However, the unexpected goodwill I encountered there, with many surfers yelling out which direction they were going, led to many a split peak (note to self: create and copyright recipe for Split Peak Soup for upcoming surfer-themed restaurant).
After another twenty minutes or so, I caught a right that had somehow passed everyone by. I did a baby turn on it, but it too was gutless.
I sat with TJ for about fifteen minutes before deciding I'd had enough. I paddled into the pack and just sat there, hoping to get lucky. When a set comes, it does drain the foam off the rabid crowd, leading to opportunity if another wave sneaks up behind a set and many of the frothers are still kicking out. I caught a decent right and I really laid into my bottom turn, so much so that I managed to dig a rail and lose a lot of my speed as I headed up the face. I hit the wave and there was little to push back from. Since I had no speed, there wasn't much I could do to turn my snap into a carve and so I faded off the back.
I caught one other forgettable wave and called it quits after close to 2.5 hours of being out there.
I waited for TJ to come in and he showed me the Trestles shortcut, which shaves about eight or so minutes off the walk and gives you the impression of being somewhere other than the massive metropolis that is the vast majority of SoCal.
TJ swore it wouldn't be crowded. A few years ago in one of the surf mags, I remember Shane Beschen talking about surfing Lowers during the second shift: when the morning guys were bailing and the lunchtime guys hadn't yet arrived. He claimed it was the most uncrowded. But when we rounded the corner of the dirt path, my spirits sank, counting too many heads in the water. TJ had worn his civilian clothes for the walk and I asked him if it was cool if I didn't wait for him and just paddled out. He had no problem with it, so out I went.
The wade-to-paddle transition was oh so smooth. Compared to Punta Roca's 8/10 in sketchiness, this is a generous 2.5. During my paddle-out, I saw the one girl in the line-up catch a left and get snaked two seconds later. I thought for a second maybe Missed-It-Mike had taken the day off of work and sneaked up here without telling me, but no, the snaker in question was of a lighter complexion.
I decided to take the grom Wardo approach and sit inside of the beastly pack, two dozen strong. I paddled out and caught my first left after more than twenty minutes of sitting, paddling and pulling back countless times. It was probably the second strongest wave of the day, but it was so gutless. I did a weak slash and a weaker bonk and kicked out. The good news is I got my first wave of the day out of the way.
Lowers is an amazing wave. It's also located near highly populated areas with high concentrations of surfers. This leads to massive crowds for comparably few waves. Having photogs and videogs (I'm coining it!) on the beach further intensifies the madness, creating a frenzy that is perhaps only rivaled by Rincon near Santa Barbara along the length of the west coast of the country. This is why there are often four guys paddling for waves.
My choice to sit on the inside created perhaps a half-dozen close calls. On two or three of these, I braced for impact during my duckdive, but impact thankfully never came.
I had initially planned to surf the shorter and comparatively crappier left, but I scuttled that plan quickly due to the thick blanket of non-discriminating bodies. Since the Lowers right is so much longer, steeper and better, I thought I'd beat the system by focusing on the lefts. However, the unexpected goodwill I encountered there, with many surfers yelling out which direction they were going, led to many a split peak (note to self: create and copyright recipe for Split Peak Soup for upcoming surfer-themed restaurant).
After another twenty minutes or so, I caught a right that had somehow passed everyone by. I did a baby turn on it, but it too was gutless.
I sat with TJ for about fifteen minutes before deciding I'd had enough. I paddled into the pack and just sat there, hoping to get lucky. When a set comes, it does drain the foam off the rabid crowd, leading to opportunity if another wave sneaks up behind a set and many of the frothers are still kicking out. I caught a decent right and I really laid into my bottom turn, so much so that I managed to dig a rail and lose a lot of my speed as I headed up the face. I hit the wave and there was little to push back from. Since I had no speed, there wasn't much I could do to turn my snap into a carve and so I faded off the back.
I caught one other forgettable wave and called it quits after close to 2.5 hours of being out there.
I waited for TJ to come in and he showed me the Trestles shortcut, which shaves about eight or so minutes off the walk and gives you the impression of being somewhere other than the massive metropolis that is the vast majority of SoCal.
Monday, October 8, 2012
10.6.12 Avocado's with Missed-It-Mike
D Street was fun the previous day, but on a Saturday I would only surf there if it was to pay off a bet. We checked my somewhat secret shorebreak spot and it wasn't working. We decided to check Avocado's (no need to check Grandview on a Satruday) and we saw something decent, so down the steps we went.
On my first wave of the day, I caught a left on which I pumped quickly. I went up for a hit, and reflecting on the inner monologue pep talk I'd given myself on the ride over, made an effort to stay over my board more. I hit it with a diagonal trajectory and did a better job than I normally do on the hit. I ALMOST pulled it, but God had other plans for me at that time, presumably for me to roll around in the whitewash, sans board.
On my first wave of the day, I caught a left on which I pumped quickly. I went up for a hit, and reflecting on the inner monologue pep talk I'd given myself on the ride over, made an effort to stay over my board more. I hit it with a diagonal trajectory and did a better job than I normally do on the hit. I ALMOST pulled it, but God had other plans for me at that time, presumably for me to roll around in the whitewash, sans board.
I had a lot of middling waves on which I'd pump and get no reward for my efforts, including a screamer that I went forever on only to have it mush over.
The crowds were steadily building and the foam-to-rider ratio was reaching critical levels. I was in position and paddled hard for the wave of the day when a guy on a log to my inside decided he didn't want to mess up his hair by duckdiving out of my way. I pulled back, bummed. The guy apologized and I told him not to worry about it, but deep down, I was bummed.
I had to go in after about forty-five minutes due to a client appointment in Vista, which ended up cancelling due to illness. Bah...!
10.5.12 Back in the Rubber Again at D St w/ Missed-It-Mike; September Wrap-Up
It appears my illness was awaiting my departure from El Salvador to kick into high gear. Sunday night, we flew to Miami to rendezvous with my cousin Rodolfo, whom I hadn't seen since 1996, and meet his new wife. They graciously allowed us to stay with them for the night while we dealt with the overnight layover our miles program made us go through. During that night, I had a bitch of a time going more than five minutes without sneezing and I was deathly afraid of making Rodolfo or Rocio sick.
Then Monday morning, we flew from Miami to Dallas, during which I made the fateful decision to partake in American Airlines' Quesadilla breakfast option, a decision I wouldn't regret until the Dallas-LAX leg of our journey. I spent that flight in the twilight between sleep and brain-pounding dizziness, which, during our descent into the man-made haze of LA, reached its breaking point. I snapped off my seatbelt and Raquel protested, telling me they weren't going to let me in the bathroom. Thanks to my years of practice of ignoring her, I deftly sidestepped her attempt at hock-blocking me. The two flight attendants were strapped in and one squawked, "Sir...!" to which I calmly, matter-of-factly replied, "I am going to throw up". Stunned for a beat, the flight attendant said, "OK, but hurry up".
I did my business and was disappointed in breaking my no-puke streak of more than five years and also in only partial relief from the nausea.
That night was nasty. I spent it wrapped up in bed while watching the MNF game. Tuesday was a lot better and I managed to get myself into the gym, but I wasn't ready to hit the water yet. I met up w/ Missed-It-Mike in Oside on Thursday but it looked terrible.
We decided to try our luck at D Street the next day, which leads us to:
On my first wave I had what I am calling my pop-up of the year. I stomped down on my front foot, then rose up for a hard pump and barely beat the pitching lip. It quickly caught up with me and the wave closed out.
My first wave was a left with a tiny barrel. I did my best to switch crab-grab into it. I was able to get my head in, but my shoulder took some liquid trauma, after which my barrel clock had less than a second left on it.
My second wave was a mirror image of my first. Mike was in a better spot for it, just south of the sectioning lip. I yelled for him to go while I tried my luck backdooring the section. Unfortunately, I never quite got into it all the way, took the high line, and slid the fins out in the barrel. This amounted to an underwhelming score from the cliff-top judges.
My third wave was a quick one, and I knew it would be as I prepared to pop up. I stomped down and arced up to the lip for a an off-the-lip/slash which Mike said looked sick from the back but not all that sick on video.
The waves had been pretty weak thus far. Which is why my next wave was such a surprise...
A waist-high left approached and I paddled for it, somewhat gently. I was afraid of overshooting it. Once I'd ceased paddling it, I knew I was in for a bit of a doozy. I grabbed my rail for my third crab-grab of the session. I watched, slack-jawed, as the barrel threw out like a microscopic version of Teahupoo. I got tumbled and then pummeled, but it was worth it for that second-and-a-half of awe.
My next wave was one that was on the small side, but I saw it was about to link up with some juice thanks to another wave piggy-backing the section in front of me. I descended, pumped once, and the speed section I'd envisioned failed to materialized. I went up for a hit on the weak section before me, and made it, but didn't descend for lack of push.
My next wave was a left on which I was never able to catch up to the open face.
Another wave, another pop-up, another quick pump to nothingness. This wave gave me a lot to reflect on regarding the vast differences between ES and CA waves.
September Wrap-Up
A pretty good surf month overall, thanks to my trip down south. I had a couple of really interesting waves the week before my trip. I'm getting REALLY close to having filmed a real barrel that I successfully exit. If I get a wee bit more help from the waves in throwing out and letting me out, I will get there!
Wisconsin 3
Punta Roca 2
La Bocana 2
Tyson 2
Pine Ave 2
Medios 1
Loopholes 1
S. Jetty 1
Wave of the month: Without question, the double-overhead macker at Punta Roca. Wow! I still remember that wave fondly, perhaps like you would a former lover. Not that I would know, I was a virgin when I met my wife and she still calls me that from time to time (in her defense, it IS to make me try harder).
Bail of the month: This would have to be that frothy beast that enveloped me in its aerated arms and hugged me tight, for about five seconds of old-fashioned pounding.
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
9.29.12 La Bocana w/ Rising Crowd/Tide on a Saturday
I'd failed to remind the hotel's go-to guy I'd need the gate opened. I wasn't too bummed when I woke up to find it locked, because it was a Saturday and Punta Roca would have probably twice as many people on it.
I watched La Bocana for a while, intent on surfing La Bocanita if it seduced me with some decent curves. I was in danger of giving myself tennis spectator neck, my attention being called from west (La Bocanita's weaker lumps) to east (La Bocana's shiftier bigger waves which I recognized would be hard to catch).
Neither spot had anyone on them about an hour after first light. On a Saturday. In California, the crowd would be at least twenty-five heads in the water in these conditions.
Less than five seconds after I'd made my decision to surf La Bocana, I spotted two dudes walking down the beach towards the previously unpopulated peaks.
I paddled a long time, perhaps seven or eight minutes, first out, then east so as to not deal with the nasty rocks on La Bocana's inside on the low tide.
It took me about a half-hour to catch my first wave. It was so shifty that I had a hard time knowing where to be when the next wave broke. Compound this with the crowd swelling into dozen-o-dudes territory and my hopes for an amazing session were dwindling.
A guy who I was getting non-verbal vibes from (I think I was the only glaringly white guy in the water) caught a right. A second set came less than a minute after his wave and I caught the first of the set. Non-verbal vibe dude was paddling out and for whatever reason, decided he would not try to paddle and/or duckdive so as not to be in my way. I had to take the drop almost straight down. His was an a-hole move, no question, but it did force me to take a more vertical trajectory into my lip snap. I descended again and went for a roundhouse cutty. I hit the wash well, but my fins and I disagreed on which direction we wanted to go and I bailed.
When I paddled back out, I duckdived a couple of waves and surfaced to realize non-verbal vibe dude staring through me. I paddled and stared back at him for more than five seconds until he looked away. I'm not sure if he's still in the localism training school and hasn't progressed past the stink-eye chapter, but man I'm getting fed up with it. People don't put up with this at Punta Roca. If you talk shit there, there are enforcers who will in most cases humiliate you with catcalls or puteadas (hard verbal reamings) and in very rare cases they will take it to a physical level.
La Bocana is where the wanna-be locals go to be tough guys. I've never had a problem with the actual locals, the ones who live within walking distance to the break. The only issues I've had are with the little pussies who come down from San Salvador in the cars and with the gas their daddies most likely bought for them, fitting a surf in before their daddies need them at the family business in the capital (in all fairness, I'm generalizing a wee bit, it could very well be their step-daddies, given Salvadoran oligarchs' penchant for divorce).
The crowd swelled into the mid-teens and I wasn't getting any good looks at waves. The wave gods were firing off peaks sporadically and haphazardly. One here, one there, none where I was.
Finally, after about fifteen more minutes, I was in a tough spot on a left a guy had kicked out on. I was extremely late. When I pushed off from my board it felt as though I was doing a downward push-up (where your toes are above your head at finishing position). I somehow made the drop, then swooped around the foam to a fat section into an unsatisfying carve. The drop was one of the most exhilarating I've had in a long time but that feeling was quickly tempered by the one turn I had on the wave.
I caught a wave more on the Medios side, on which I would have pulled back had there not been a dude paddling out watching me. I was late and it was a closeout but I went. I stomped it, then turned to the left a bit to reduce my chances of ending up in the submerged rocks. I went for a couple of seconds, keeping an eye out for the weird, skinny, vertical rock on the inside. I kicked out when I felt I was close.
Over it! I went in after maybe an hour in the water. I was tempted to see what La Bocanita was up to but it wasn't happening. I went in to prepare my itinerary for our move to the San Salvador hotel in which Guillermo's wedding reception would be held.
I watched La Bocana for a while, intent on surfing La Bocanita if it seduced me with some decent curves. I was in danger of giving myself tennis spectator neck, my attention being called from west (La Bocanita's weaker lumps) to east (La Bocana's shiftier bigger waves which I recognized would be hard to catch).
Neither spot had anyone on them about an hour after first light. On a Saturday. In California, the crowd would be at least twenty-five heads in the water in these conditions.
Less than five seconds after I'd made my decision to surf La Bocana, I spotted two dudes walking down the beach towards the previously unpopulated peaks.
I paddled a long time, perhaps seven or eight minutes, first out, then east so as to not deal with the nasty rocks on La Bocana's inside on the low tide.
It took me about a half-hour to catch my first wave. It was so shifty that I had a hard time knowing where to be when the next wave broke. Compound this with the crowd swelling into dozen-o-dudes territory and my hopes for an amazing session were dwindling.
A guy who I was getting non-verbal vibes from (I think I was the only glaringly white guy in the water) caught a right. A second set came less than a minute after his wave and I caught the first of the set. Non-verbal vibe dude was paddling out and for whatever reason, decided he would not try to paddle and/or duckdive so as not to be in my way. I had to take the drop almost straight down. His was an a-hole move, no question, but it did force me to take a more vertical trajectory into my lip snap. I descended again and went for a roundhouse cutty. I hit the wash well, but my fins and I disagreed on which direction we wanted to go and I bailed.
When I paddled back out, I duckdived a couple of waves and surfaced to realize non-verbal vibe dude staring through me. I paddled and stared back at him for more than five seconds until he looked away. I'm not sure if he's still in the localism training school and hasn't progressed past the stink-eye chapter, but man I'm getting fed up with it. People don't put up with this at Punta Roca. If you talk shit there, there are enforcers who will in most cases humiliate you with catcalls or puteadas (hard verbal reamings) and in very rare cases they will take it to a physical level.
La Bocana is where the wanna-be locals go to be tough guys. I've never had a problem with the actual locals, the ones who live within walking distance to the break. The only issues I've had are with the little pussies who come down from San Salvador in the cars and with the gas their daddies most likely bought for them, fitting a surf in before their daddies need them at the family business in the capital (in all fairness, I'm generalizing a wee bit, it could very well be their step-daddies, given Salvadoran oligarchs' penchant for divorce).
The crowd swelled into the mid-teens and I wasn't getting any good looks at waves. The wave gods were firing off peaks sporadically and haphazardly. One here, one there, none where I was.
Finally, after about fifteen more minutes, I was in a tough spot on a left a guy had kicked out on. I was extremely late. When I pushed off from my board it felt as though I was doing a downward push-up (where your toes are above your head at finishing position). I somehow made the drop, then swooped around the foam to a fat section into an unsatisfying carve. The drop was one of the most exhilarating I've had in a long time but that feeling was quickly tempered by the one turn I had on the wave.
I caught a wave more on the Medios side, on which I would have pulled back had there not been a dude paddling out watching me. I was late and it was a closeout but I went. I stomped it, then turned to the left a bit to reduce my chances of ending up in the submerged rocks. I went for a couple of seconds, keeping an eye out for the weird, skinny, vertical rock on the inside. I kicked out when I felt I was close.
Over it! I went in after maybe an hour in the water. I was tempted to see what La Bocanita was up to but it wasn't happening. I went in to prepare my itinerary for our move to the San Salvador hotel in which Guillermo's wedding reception would be held.
9.28.12 Another Go at It at Punta Roca
The hotel's go-to guy dropped the ball on this morning. After some debate, my wife convinced me to rouse him so I could surf the sick walls of Punta Roca. I felt bad and didn't want to wake him, but she won, so he lost.
I made it to my parking spot at 645, just in time to see Piry pull up on his bike. I walked with him and we both got excited by the improvement in the waves since yesterday.
In what is perhaps my biggest accomplishment of the trip thus far, I managed to hit the water after Piry and STILL beat him to the water. I wasn't trying to race, either. I was methodical, but quick, allowing little room for hesitation once I'd set my mind on my next step.
On my first wave, I bottom-turned, snapped, and slid the fins out. I didn't recover, but I hope it looked sick!
My second wave was a bit bigger. I got a snap in, then went for a roundhouse cutty but lost the board in the wash.
On my third wave, I got in some massive top-to-bottom, critical positioned pumps. These were pretty sweet in that I could hear the water coming off my rail and its subsequent spray hitting behind the wave. I got in one really good hit, then an ok one before kicking out.
It is worth mentioning that after almost every wave at Punta Roca, and every wave I enjoyed during this session, I feel an amazing adrenaline rush upon kicking out. This is extremely rare in the States. But where in the States do you constantly get to catch bowling, heaving waves, feet (sometimes inches from consequence-laden rocks)
Piry and I sat on the outside, deeper than anybody else. A short guy who goes by Enano (Dwarf) paddled out a bit deeper and less than a minute later, he was seemingly rewarded when a macker came through. I was eyeing him as I too paddled and pulled back when I realized he was going to be on it. Less than a half-second after my pull-back, Enano decided he wasn't having any part of it. As a result of people just inside of us thinking one of us would catch it, no one else in the near vicinity paddled for it. I immediately heard a two-man chorus of "PPUUTTAA!" directly to my north. If these guys were bummed, they couldn't have been bummed at me, assuming they were logical beings of course.
A minuter later I paddled a bit deeper as Piry set up for the wave of the day. He caught a beautiful 8+' freight train as I yelled him onto it. I duckdived and upon coming up I was rewarded with what is the most adrenaline-inducing sight I've had in probably years: a wave slightly bigger than Piry's. I was in a good spot for it, but I was slightly off balance on my board. I stopped paddling for a second as I switched from paddling out to paddling in to quickly readjust myself on my board.
I was successful and paddled as hard as I ever have. The wave lifted me and my board as my brain alternated in seeming split-seconds between slightly more complex versions of "NO!" and "GO!". The good side won and I was rewarded with what is, without question, the biggest wave I've ever caught at Punta Roca.
Because of Piry's wave, I was dropping through some still-settling froth and was careful not to make sharp corrections to my trajectory. It would have been very sad if I'd slid the fins out on a b-turn due to the heavily aerated nature of the water. Since I was the farthest out (Enano had since caught one), I was also on stage. A kook move to cost me the wave of the day would harrowingly affect my chances at another set wave.
The photog missed the first few seconds of the wave, including one where I felt as though I'd absolutely SMASHED IT!
I went for a set-up mini-snap/pump to get into the power section of the wave again. I could've been more aggressive, but I'll be honest here, I was in awe of this magnificent beast I was on and was thrilled to have talked myself out of survival mode through the first half of the wave.
Decent, but I would have liked my trajectory to be more bottom-to-top. Again, this is easy to nitpick now, because I am not there now, seeing the low-tide ocean water come off the rocks allowing for terror-inducing cobblestones to appear in my periphery and mellow my aggressive intentions.
I noticed through the pictures I had taken on this trip that when I bottom-turn hard on my backhand, I look not to where I want to go but to my outside rail. It's a bad habit and it allows for less reaction time as I have less time to spot my target on the wave.
I went for a roundhouse cutty when a the section was ripe for a snap. If I had really wanted to do a proper roundhouse cutty, and increase the likelihood of landing it, then I should've pumped once, then laid into the turn, gone all the way to the bottom for speed and THEN smacked the lip.
When I faded off the back, I felt electric and was feeling a level of stoke I hadn't experienced in years.
My last wave was an insider and all I remember about it is that Mama Roca surprised me by showing up way before I expected it to, about a half-second before what I thought was imminent impact. I leaned hard on my outside rail, thinking maybe the bottom of the board would take the hit. I was SHOCKED not to have hit the rock. Upon kicking out I flipped my board over and there was no damage. Unbelievable!
I went in and had a bit of a tough time on the rocks, giving myself a nicking on my right foot. I was surprised again, this time by some high tide push of some waves. I had to turn to jump over the surge and then find a nook or cranny in the sometimes-barnacled-sometimes-super-slippery rocks
I made it to my parking spot at 645, just in time to see Piry pull up on his bike. I walked with him and we both got excited by the improvement in the waves since yesterday.
In what is perhaps my biggest accomplishment of the trip thus far, I managed to hit the water after Piry and STILL beat him to the water. I wasn't trying to race, either. I was methodical, but quick, allowing little room for hesitation once I'd set my mind on my next step.
On my first wave, I bottom-turned, snapped, and slid the fins out. I didn't recover, but I hope it looked sick!
My second wave was a bit bigger. I got a snap in, then went for a roundhouse cutty but lost the board in the wash.
On my third wave, I got in some massive top-to-bottom, critical positioned pumps. These were pretty sweet in that I could hear the water coming off my rail and its subsequent spray hitting behind the wave. I got in one really good hit, then an ok one before kicking out.
It is worth mentioning that after almost every wave at Punta Roca, and every wave I enjoyed during this session, I feel an amazing adrenaline rush upon kicking out. This is extremely rare in the States. But where in the States do you constantly get to catch bowling, heaving waves, feet (sometimes inches from consequence-laden rocks)
Piry and I sat on the outside, deeper than anybody else. A short guy who goes by Enano (Dwarf) paddled out a bit deeper and less than a minute later, he was seemingly rewarded when a macker came through. I was eyeing him as I too paddled and pulled back when I realized he was going to be on it. Less than a half-second after my pull-back, Enano decided he wasn't having any part of it. As a result of people just inside of us thinking one of us would catch it, no one else in the near vicinity paddled for it. I immediately heard a two-man chorus of "PPUUTTAA!" directly to my north. If these guys were bummed, they couldn't have been bummed at me, assuming they were logical beings of course.
A minuter later I paddled a bit deeper as Piry set up for the wave of the day. He caught a beautiful 8+' freight train as I yelled him onto it. I duckdived and upon coming up I was rewarded with what is the most adrenaline-inducing sight I've had in probably years: a wave slightly bigger than Piry's. I was in a good spot for it, but I was slightly off balance on my board. I stopped paddling for a second as I switched from paddling out to paddling in to quickly readjust myself on my board.
I was successful and paddled as hard as I ever have. The wave lifted me and my board as my brain alternated in seeming split-seconds between slightly more complex versions of "NO!" and "GO!". The good side won and I was rewarded with what is, without question, the biggest wave I've ever caught at Punta Roca.
Because of Piry's wave, I was dropping through some still-settling froth and was careful not to make sharp corrections to my trajectory. It would have been very sad if I'd slid the fins out on a b-turn due to the heavily aerated nature of the water. Since I was the farthest out (Enano had since caught one), I was also on stage. A kook move to cost me the wave of the day would harrowingly affect my chances at another set wave.
The photog missed the first few seconds of the wave, including one where I felt as though I'd absolutely SMASHED IT!
I went for a set-up mini-snap/pump to get into the power section of the wave again. I could've been more aggressive, but I'll be honest here, I was in awe of this magnificent beast I was on and was thrilled to have talked myself out of survival mode through the first half of the wave.
Decent, but I would have liked my trajectory to be more bottom-to-top. Again, this is easy to nitpick now, because I am not there now, seeing the low-tide ocean water come off the rocks allowing for terror-inducing cobblestones to appear in my periphery and mellow my aggressive intentions.
I noticed through the pictures I had taken on this trip that when I bottom-turn hard on my backhand, I look not to where I want to go but to my outside rail. It's a bad habit and it allows for less reaction time as I have less time to spot my target on the wave.
I went for a roundhouse cutty when a the section was ripe for a snap. If I had really wanted to do a proper roundhouse cutty, and increase the likelihood of landing it, then I should've pumped once, then laid into the turn, gone all the way to the bottom for speed and THEN smacked the lip.
When I faded off the back, I felt electric and was feeling a level of stoke I hadn't experienced in years.
My last wave was an insider and all I remember about it is that Mama Roca surprised me by showing up way before I expected it to, about a half-second before what I thought was imminent impact. I leaned hard on my outside rail, thinking maybe the bottom of the board would take the hit. I was SHOCKED not to have hit the rock. Upon kicking out I flipped my board over and there was no damage. Unbelievable!
I went in and had a bit of a tough time on the rocks, giving myself a nicking on my right foot. I was surprised again, this time by some high tide push of some waves. I had to turn to jump over the surge and then find a nook or cranny in the sometimes-barnacled-sometimes-super-slippery rocks
9.27.12 Inconsistent Punta Roca with Chamba
I let our hotel's go-to guy know I would need the gate unlocked early in the morning so I could make my short trek to Punta Roca. He delivered and I was on my way. I called Chamba en route but he didn't pick up.
This would be my first time walking out to the point by myself. There were no issues whatsoever, other than my signature unnecessarily-long rock dance from which I emerged unscathed.
This wave is sooooo good...! It's hard to imagine a better wave. If I really nitpicked, I could bitch about the ones that swing to the east and close out in the initial section (or bitch about the ones which don't, depending on where I'm sitting). I could also get into dealing with the rocks and the shallowness, but this is what makes the wave as good as it is, so that would be "point"less (AHAHAHAHHA!).
I caught my first wave within ten minutes. I prolonged my bottom turn to match the speed and amount of water I'd need to traverse with it. I pushed my toes in hard on the rail, pushing spray off the tail, then backside rail. Unfortunately, I didn't have anything in my surfing quiver to ameliorate the situation in which I'd mired myself.
My board was facing the wrong way, very close to the foam and I'd used up all of my speed to milk every last ounce of spray I could out of the wave. Big spray is impressive, not so much when the make is sacrificed to achieve it. I leaned hard, especially on my front foot's heel. I got a little movement forward on it, but not enough. I fell and twisted a bit to land on my chest and could've possibly bodysurfed the wave a bit with better planning.
Shortly thereafter, I saw a dark guy coming down the path with a board I recognized from afar. It was Chamba with the RM board he'd lent me when my board needed cauterizing on my last visit.
I watched in envy as Chamba alternated between extremely quick balancing on slippery rocks to full bore progress towards the water. It took him maybe ninety seconds from when his toes first got wet to when he jumped on his board. It took me probably four times that! What a dick.
I sat for OVER AN HOUR until my next wave came. I turned hard off the bottom and snapped, then did something I caught myself doing last trip, which is immediately, coming off the bottom to snap again. The second hit was on an interestingly-sloped section of the lip. It felt as though, I had water under my tail and nose but none under the majority of the straight stringer. I got a nice satisfying THWACK out of it but it was a no-make.
I'd been sitting in the sun for over two hours when my last wave came. I rode down the face and saw the massive Mama Roca boil. I headed for higher pastures and caught a glimpse of Chamba yelling and paddling for the wave I was on, pretending he was going to drop in on me. I got a couple of good turns in and called it a day.
I saw Chamba get a sick barrel in which he had his mouth open like M-I-M accuses me of doing as the lip grazed his head, his neck acting as a buffer so the rest of his body wouldn't be affected. I paddled over, looked back and saw him lay into a sick turn. Sick one.
This would be my first time walking out to the point by myself. There were no issues whatsoever, other than my signature unnecessarily-long rock dance from which I emerged unscathed.
This wave is sooooo good...! It's hard to imagine a better wave. If I really nitpicked, I could bitch about the ones that swing to the east and close out in the initial section (or bitch about the ones which don't, depending on where I'm sitting). I could also get into dealing with the rocks and the shallowness, but this is what makes the wave as good as it is, so that would be "point"less (AHAHAHAHHA!).
I caught my first wave within ten minutes. I prolonged my bottom turn to match the speed and amount of water I'd need to traverse with it. I pushed my toes in hard on the rail, pushing spray off the tail, then backside rail. Unfortunately, I didn't have anything in my surfing quiver to ameliorate the situation in which I'd mired myself.
My board was facing the wrong way, very close to the foam and I'd used up all of my speed to milk every last ounce of spray I could out of the wave. Big spray is impressive, not so much when the make is sacrificed to achieve it. I leaned hard, especially on my front foot's heel. I got a little movement forward on it, but not enough. I fell and twisted a bit to land on my chest and could've possibly bodysurfed the wave a bit with better planning.
Shortly thereafter, I saw a dark guy coming down the path with a board I recognized from afar. It was Chamba with the RM board he'd lent me when my board needed cauterizing on my last visit.
I watched in envy as Chamba alternated between extremely quick balancing on slippery rocks to full bore progress towards the water. It took him maybe ninety seconds from when his toes first got wet to when he jumped on his board. It took me probably four times that! What a dick.
I sat for OVER AN HOUR until my next wave came. I turned hard off the bottom and snapped, then did something I caught myself doing last trip, which is immediately, coming off the bottom to snap again. The second hit was on an interestingly-sloped section of the lip. It felt as though, I had water under my tail and nose but none under the majority of the straight stringer. I got a nice satisfying THWACK out of it but it was a no-make.
I'd been sitting in the sun for over two hours when my last wave came. I rode down the face and saw the massive Mama Roca boil. I headed for higher pastures and caught a glimpse of Chamba yelling and paddling for the wave I was on, pretending he was going to drop in on me. I got a couple of good turns in and called it a day.
I saw Chamba get a sick barrel in which he had his mouth open like M-I-M accuses me of doing as the lip grazed his head, his neck acting as a buffer so the rest of his body wouldn't be affected. I paddled over, looked back and saw him lay into a sick turn. Sick one.
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