I shot up to Oside again and knew I'd be surfing. There was swell in the water and the wind was calm. I parked The Rad, suited up, and began my journey. I paddled out south of Wisconsin Street. The tide was pretty low, but it was just starting to creep back up, leading to what I hoped would be a jolt of much-needed consistency.
I paddled out and sat with an older guy, who much like his older predecessor before him, told me to go on a macker. He had position on me and must have decided he was too late, because it was one of those waves you don't give away....
I popped up and swooped down. This wave had a sliver effect; the wave I was on had a miniscule steep section, but it in a way continued farther down the line, slightly behind the wave I was on. I pumped up to the top of my original section, then pounded hard on my front foot. I had a quick recollection of the previous day's bobble on the wave of the day, but that quickly went away when I spotted my target. It was a little strange prolonging my bottom turn to essentially hit a section of the wave that was behind my origin wave. I had tons of speed but went too vertical on it. All I had to show for it was a sick view of an s-ton of spray and a feeling of muted stoke.
I paddled back towards where I caught the wave and let the old guy have priority on me. No waves came for a while and when a decent one did, he didn't paddle for it, so I went inside of him. More nothing came, but I did catch a right that was smaller, but a screamer. The footy shows me pumping with the curl crashing just shy of my inside rail. Unfortunately the future section got the memo the past section sent and it began to pitch. I was in an awkward spot, as I could see this thing begin to pitch ahead of me, but not hard enough to create a vacuum for me to weave through. The end result was me almost grabbing my rail for an almost pig-dog with the wave smacking me in the back of the head.
I paddled back south, bumming out about the ever-increasing pack. Eventually I caught a left. The initial drop section was fine, but then it fattened up. I did a laid-back (not a layback) turn on it and watched as the wave instantly imploded underneath me. I bailed so as not to pearl and faceplant onto shallow sand.
I paddled even farther south, still battling the current and the pack. I sat for about five minutes before this macker came and I sprint-paddled farther south and a bit deeper for it. I heard a guy about ten yards away lick his chops going, "OOOOHHHH". I whirled, paddled hard, and dropped in. I pumped up and, going for what must have been style points on this quickly-steepening section, didn't immediately pump down. My intention was to then swoop down to have tons of speed but not have progressed on the wave nearly as much, in a way, extending my time in the juice. As I stomped down on my front foot, I noticed my board not moving and quickly realized I was caught up in the lip. This resulted in what I hope was a supremely satisfying smackdown for the wave. I surfaced, pulled my leash to get my board towards me and paddled back out, bummed.
After watching the Wisconsin pack grow from a pack of two to a pack of twelve, I stopped fighting the current and tried my luck farther north. I eventually had a look at a right and got an ok smack on it before it too closed out. After surfacing, I saw a sick left fold over into a ledge and spit. That raised my froth level back up and the fact that no one was on it gave me hope.
I'd made a pact with myself to dig a little deeper on my backside bottom turns. This results in increased drive up the face for more explosive turns. I caught a right and quickly fulfilled my end of the deal: the footy shows a more technically sound bottom turn but the fat section I was presented left me feeling like a sucker.
A left came and I caught it, hoping I could race the section to the greenwater. I lost. I pulled through the back.
The crowd became so unbearable that I got the hell out of there. It was good to get a look at a couple though, so I left somewhat satisfied.