It had been about a week and a half since my last session. Usually, when returning from surfing in the tropics and knowing cold water awaits, I tend to need quality waves to put up with the colder-feeling water.
Since I got pretty much skunked in Hawaii, I was aching to get out there. The surf was doing what I like to call its winter tease. Big waves, bad conditions and/or polluted water.
I also managed to pick up a bug on my last day in Hawaii which I'm still battling. I'd made plans with Mike to surf the previous day, but I was just too sick.
I met Mike there at 6:30. He'd checked it before I got there and seemed to approve. He checked it with me and we saw head-high waves with some overhead sets. There were a lot of close-outs but, we saw some corners that looked delicious. Mike made the call and we suited up.
The paddle-out was a doozy. We managed to time it so we would paddle out at the worst possible time. Both Mike and I took some mackers on the head. It got to the point where my arms were screaming for me to stop paddling, but we made it out there.
We got swept down a bit. There were many waves I'd paddle for, but have to pull back as it would turn into a monster closeout.
My first wave was a right. It was just a little overhead. It closed out just after I bottom-turned. The corner I thought I'd seen disintegrated more quickly than I'd expected. If I could surf this wave again, I would've tried for a backside floater.
About twenty minutes later, I caught my next wave. It was a couple of feet overhead and, you guessed it, another right. I paddled for it and thought I was going to be too late. I managed to see someone paddling out and I didn't want him to see me puss out so I pressed on, popped up, air-dropped down and bounced right off my board, getting TROUNCED.
Mike had yet to catch a wave and we were drifting dangerously close to one of his least favorite waves: 15th Street Del Mar, Home of quite possibly the most foam per person in mid-County.
Mike and I both paddled for a big wave, and he hooted me on to it. It was another big closeout and I opted for straight-off Adolph, possibly the smoothest maneuver in my arsenal.
I went in and watched Mike catch a big right while managing to turn while his board went straight. He shoulder-rolled into the water, making the big splash the most spray I've seen him throw this year!
Once Mike came in, I told him that the last time I saw him on a wave was the gnarliest thing I've seen in the water in a long time, and that day's wave was the least gnarly thing I've seen him do. He is an enigma!
There was no footage worth showing. The big bounce off the board would've been cool but I must have not pressed the record button long enough to capture it...
"If the best surfer in the water is the one having the most fun, Eddie P would be a promising amateur who eventually burns out and is forced to perform 'favors' for surf wax" -Anonymous
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Showing posts with label 20th Street Del Mar. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 20th Street Del Mar. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Sunday, January 8, 2012
1.8.2012 Frustrating, then Fun 20th Street Del Mar with Missed-it-Mike
After going rogue for the vast majority of the previous day, Missed-it-Mike re-appeared on the grid. He blamed his disappearance on a misplaced cell phone. He ended up going to church after this session and it may be because of his guilt about being incommunicado and the possible lies to cover up the truth.
Mike, to his credit, arrived exactly on time. I'd been awake for close to four hours due to digestive tract issues. I had managed a 45-minute nap so I wasn't a total wreck when we left my place just after seven.
The plan was to check Tippers, a spot that can get good on a NW'er. The fog made it impossible to do so, so we trekked south. We got to 20th St and only had to check it for about a minute before we saw waves worth the effort and cold. My car's thermometer revealed the temperature as 45 degrees.
I had no problem sealing my wetsuit (still missing the sealing zipper string attachment), so we paddled out. The tide was very high. Mike made his paddle-out a dry one, but I was not so fortunate.
Once we established our perch, I looked around and noticed that all four of the nearest surfers were wearing hoods. It was as though we'd stumbled across a secret meeting of the Druids. They eventually dispersed inconspicuously, so as not to attract attention...
I didn't catch any waves in the first twenty or so minutes. The high tide was making the waves show, but they were too fat too catch for our boards' volume.
The first wave I caught was a nice left, perhaps the most open wave I've caught all year. I caught it and took my time getting to my feet, allowing the wave to steepen. I dropped down and pumped a few times. I saw that the right was coming towards me and I cut down towards the beach to maximize my speed. If I had to diagnose what I did wrong on the next part, I'd say I waited a half-second too long to start my bottom-turn. I hit the section as it was already dumping and didn't make it. Here's the proof:
I caught a left which showed some hollowness. I pulled in and got in there for a little before getting trounced.
Yet another left appeared. It was slow, but I was able to catch it. I pumped conservatively so as to stay in the "speed" pocket of the wave. I cut down, came back up and did a slow slash before the wave shut down.
I finally got a crack at a solid right, but of course, Mike was on it. I'm pretty sure this the wave on which he said he was able to do an air. I had my eye on the one behind it so I will have to take his word for it.
The next wave had no one on it and I caught it a little bit late. I made the drop without issue and had some speed with which to work. I smacked it, recovered and then did a very low-to-the-water roundhouse cutback. My trailing hand caressed the wave's face. Unfortunately, I lost control once I hit the wash. Still, a pretty sick one!
Another right came and I hit it well. The wave petered out and I went out the back.
My final wave of the morning was a great one. It started off slowly, but I was able to get a couple of pumps in before a solid slash. The wave started going a little flat again, so I leaned forward, then, eventually shuffled up towards the nose. I had to look down to make sure I wouldn't stomp on the camera. I finally made it to the shallow section of the wave and quickly re-set my feet in their original position. My new footing didn't quite feel right. Instead of going for an oh-so-satisfying smack, I was forced to mellow it out. I went up to tap it, was successful, but I couldn't hang on.
Mike, to his credit, arrived exactly on time. I'd been awake for close to four hours due to digestive tract issues. I had managed a 45-minute nap so I wasn't a total wreck when we left my place just after seven.
The plan was to check Tippers, a spot that can get good on a NW'er. The fog made it impossible to do so, so we trekked south. We got to 20th St and only had to check it for about a minute before we saw waves worth the effort and cold. My car's thermometer revealed the temperature as 45 degrees.
I had no problem sealing my wetsuit (still missing the sealing zipper string attachment), so we paddled out. The tide was very high. Mike made his paddle-out a dry one, but I was not so fortunate.
Once we established our perch, I looked around and noticed that all four of the nearest surfers were wearing hoods. It was as though we'd stumbled across a secret meeting of the Druids. They eventually dispersed inconspicuously, so as not to attract attention...
I didn't catch any waves in the first twenty or so minutes. The high tide was making the waves show, but they were too fat too catch for our boards' volume.
The first wave I caught was a nice left, perhaps the most open wave I've caught all year. I caught it and took my time getting to my feet, allowing the wave to steepen. I dropped down and pumped a few times. I saw that the right was coming towards me and I cut down towards the beach to maximize my speed. If I had to diagnose what I did wrong on the next part, I'd say I waited a half-second too long to start my bottom-turn. I hit the section as it was already dumping and didn't make it. Here's the proof:
I caught a left which showed some hollowness. I pulled in and got in there for a little before getting trounced.
Yet another left appeared. It was slow, but I was able to catch it. I pumped conservatively so as to stay in the "speed" pocket of the wave. I cut down, came back up and did a slow slash before the wave shut down.
I finally got a crack at a solid right, but of course, Mike was on it. I'm pretty sure this the wave on which he said he was able to do an air. I had my eye on the one behind it so I will have to take his word for it.
The next wave had no one on it and I caught it a little bit late. I made the drop without issue and had some speed with which to work. I smacked it, recovered and then did a very low-to-the-water roundhouse cutback. My trailing hand caressed the wave's face. Unfortunately, I lost control once I hit the wash. Still, a pretty sick one!
Another right came and I hit it well. The wave petered out and I went out the back.
My final wave of the morning was a great one. It started off slowly, but I was able to get a couple of pumps in before a solid slash. The wave started going a little flat again, so I leaned forward, then, eventually shuffled up towards the nose. I had to look down to make sure I wouldn't stomp on the camera. I finally made it to the shallow section of the wave and quickly re-set my feet in their original position. My new footing didn't quite feel right. Instead of going for an oh-so-satisfying smack, I was forced to mellow it out. I went up to tap it, was successful, but I couldn't hang on.
Thursday, December 22, 2011
12.22.2011 Humbling 20th St High Tide Sesh
Last night, Missed-it-Mike texted me and asked if I wanted to surf the following day.. He missed TWO phone calls from me and then texted me again to say maybe Friday. What a tease...
After having not surfed for a week and a half, due to a combination of lack of swell and a lingering injury, I was ready for some action. I knew the tide was going to be extremely high (close to 7').
Given the high tide, the reefs would be drowning, so I didn't even consider some of my favorite west-facing reefs. I bee-lined to 20th Street in Del Mar and parked the car in my usual spot.
While walking for the surf check, a guy got out of his car and put his feet on the ground. He was a double-amputee. I assumed he was military and a quick glance at his dash confirmed he was DoD-permitted. He was also wearing an Operation Rebound shirt.
We both arrived at the check spot next to the lifeguard tower at the same time. A set reared and my eyes bulged. He looked at me, I looked at him and I said, "I don't need to check it any more, I'm out there!". He laughed.
I threw on my suit and booties and walked up the sand. He'd left his metal legs leaning against the concrete sea wall. As I walked to the water, I saw him with his fish, dragging himself. He was on the wet sand, so I didn't offer to help.
We both paddled out and he took a couple of small but thick shorebreak waves to the head. I looked back to him to make sure he was cool and I heard him say, "That'll wake you up!". I hooted and smiled and made it out past the breakers.
I sat for a solid twenty minutes without seeing a rideable wave go by. I paddled in a ways. Nothing. A little more. Ni mierda...
Finally, a relative macker poured in and I caught it. It looked a lot steeper than it actually was and I set it up for it with that in mind. Unfortunately, my misread lead to me doing my all-too-common-on-high-tide-days front-foot flamingo. I was able to recover but there was just nothing there.
A HALF HOUR LATER (!) another wave came through that I was in excellent position for. It was a peak and its shoulder was lining up. I caught it and it had some steepness to it. I pumped as heftily as I could and kept an eye on the oncoming section. I cut down hard then back up, smacked it and threw TONS of spray (the offshore wind certainly helps). Halfway through the turn , I realized I was not going to recover as I'd failed to keep most of my weight over my board. I kicked my board out behind the wave (to lessen the chance of it coming down on me) and took my drubbing.
In my mind, I'd decided to bail. I sat on the inside for about ten minutes. I spotted a guy with closely shaved hair and a big scar from what could have been stitches. He looked at me and I said hello. He said something I couldn't hear, all I could make out was "board". I asked him to repeat himself and had the same result. So I did what I always do in this situation: I smiled broadly and said, "NICE!"
A wave came shortly thereafter. I had a hard time getting speed going and rather than my usual choke-up on the board strategy, I invoked the Huntington Hop. It worked well and I was able to get some speed going just in time to decisively life my board and smack the approaching wash. I did a fist-pump as a goof, claiming a maneuver that is rarely seriously claimed and fell backwards onto my face (yes, on purpose. No, I don't know why).
As I walked to the showers, I saw the double-amputee again and spoke to him. He couldn't have been older than twenty-two. He was super stoked to be out there and it will serve as a reminder to not let any excuses get in the way.
After having not surfed for a week and a half, due to a combination of lack of swell and a lingering injury, I was ready for some action. I knew the tide was going to be extremely high (close to 7').
Given the high tide, the reefs would be drowning, so I didn't even consider some of my favorite west-facing reefs. I bee-lined to 20th Street in Del Mar and parked the car in my usual spot.
While walking for the surf check, a guy got out of his car and put his feet on the ground. He was a double-amputee. I assumed he was military and a quick glance at his dash confirmed he was DoD-permitted. He was also wearing an Operation Rebound shirt.
We both arrived at the check spot next to the lifeguard tower at the same time. A set reared and my eyes bulged. He looked at me, I looked at him and I said, "I don't need to check it any more, I'm out there!". He laughed.
I threw on my suit and booties and walked up the sand. He'd left his metal legs leaning against the concrete sea wall. As I walked to the water, I saw him with his fish, dragging himself. He was on the wet sand, so I didn't offer to help.
We both paddled out and he took a couple of small but thick shorebreak waves to the head. I looked back to him to make sure he was cool and I heard him say, "That'll wake you up!". I hooted and smiled and made it out past the breakers.
I sat for a solid twenty minutes without seeing a rideable wave go by. I paddled in a ways. Nothing. A little more. Ni mierda...
Finally, a relative macker poured in and I caught it. It looked a lot steeper than it actually was and I set it up for it with that in mind. Unfortunately, my misread lead to me doing my all-too-common-on-high-tide-days front-foot flamingo. I was able to recover but there was just nothing there.
A HALF HOUR LATER (!) another wave came through that I was in excellent position for. It was a peak and its shoulder was lining up. I caught it and it had some steepness to it. I pumped as heftily as I could and kept an eye on the oncoming section. I cut down hard then back up, smacked it and threw TONS of spray (the offshore wind certainly helps). Halfway through the turn , I realized I was not going to recover as I'd failed to keep most of my weight over my board. I kicked my board out behind the wave (to lessen the chance of it coming down on me) and took my drubbing.
In my mind, I'd decided to bail. I sat on the inside for about ten minutes. I spotted a guy with closely shaved hair and a big scar from what could have been stitches. He looked at me and I said hello. He said something I couldn't hear, all I could make out was "board". I asked him to repeat himself and had the same result. So I did what I always do in this situation: I smiled broadly and said, "NICE!"
A wave came shortly thereafter. I had a hard time getting speed going and rather than my usual choke-up on the board strategy, I invoked the Huntington Hop. It worked well and I was able to get some speed going just in time to decisively life my board and smack the approaching wash. I did a fist-pump as a goof, claiming a maneuver that is rarely seriously claimed and fell backwards onto my face (yes, on purpose. No, I don't know why).
As I walked to the showers, I saw the double-amputee again and spoke to him. He couldn't have been older than twenty-two. He was super stoked to be out there and it will serve as a reminder to not let any excuses get in the way.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
11.29.2011 Del Mar Sesh with Missed-it Mike, Trevor and that same Other Guy
The waves on this day didn't look great. They were ok in size, but they were closing out all too often. I elected Missed-it Mike as session captain because he can be indecisive and I thought it'd be funny. After much prodding, he meekly suggested he wasn't interested in surfing there. We drove from 20th St down to N. Torrey and though we saw a sick left from the road, we were faced with the same scenario there, just smaller.
We hoofed it back to 20th. Missed-it Mike made it clear he wasn't interested in surfing, but we were able to strong-arm him into it. Thanks to my years of feedback, as well as this blog, MiM has become more self-aware about his complaining. His new game is to complain and keep us guessing as to if he's seriously uncomfortable or if he is just trying to be cute.
I suited up into my 4/3, straining to remember if my wetsuit was this stiff before Panama or if I was just being a pansy, coddled by the tropical waters of yesterweek.
Gauging by the wind's chill, I decided to go ahead and RUBBER UP! Booties came on, and I slipped into my virgin 4mm gloves I picked up months ago at the Rip Cur Outlet northwest of Lowers in San Clemente.
MiM was giving me grief over the Panama pictures, saying that the crab-grab was wack. While I can't say I disagree, EVERYONE* in the water agreed that he was just jealous he hadn't invented a new barrel-riding technique.
He briefed Trevor on my tendency to crab-grab and they were cheering me on to my first wave, a sick right that was quick to develop (unlike the author). Hearing calls for crab-grabs, I tucked into my old familiar stance and got barreled. The wave dumped over and I zoomed through the barrel fast, tucking my leading (stalling) arm behind me and went quite a ways through the spinning hydro-tunnel.
I had quite the thrill going quite that far. When I pull in to a closeout, I have a certain expectation as to how far/how long I expect to go. For every half-second I go beyond that expectation, the euphoria increases exponentially.
I surfaced and let out a hoot.
On the next wave, I pulled a proper pig-dog and did my damnedest to stall hard. A stranger paddling about 20 feet inside of me who had just snagged a good one gave me a long hoot as the lip finally cascaded over me. I don't remember what happened, but I didn't make it (I'm pretty sure I over-corrected into the wall).
I caught a very similar right, tried it again, and in my burning desire to get barreled with a proper pig-dog stance while NOT going into the wall, had the lip drive my throat into my knee. OUCH! Painful and a little scary, but no long-term damage. Swallowing left me sore for a few hours afterward.
I later caught a left and, upon first pump, I was reacquainted with my glorious DHD board and the speed its rail generates. Though I kept pumping, the beautiful curves of my foam masterpiece were not enough as I slowly lost the race to the speeding lip.
The waves' consistency slowed down and the likelihood of closeouts increased. MiM, having an eight-hour day ahead of him bailed. I waited about ten minutes before a belly-boardable wave came (!) and hit the sand.
*not really.
We hoofed it back to 20th. Missed-it Mike made it clear he wasn't interested in surfing, but we were able to strong-arm him into it. Thanks to my years of feedback, as well as this blog, MiM has become more self-aware about his complaining. His new game is to complain and keep us guessing as to if he's seriously uncomfortable or if he is just trying to be cute.
I suited up into my 4/3, straining to remember if my wetsuit was this stiff before Panama or if I was just being a pansy, coddled by the tropical waters of yesterweek.
Gauging by the wind's chill, I decided to go ahead and RUBBER UP! Booties came on, and I slipped into my virgin 4mm gloves I picked up months ago at the Rip Cur Outlet northwest of Lowers in San Clemente.
MiM was giving me grief over the Panama pictures, saying that the crab-grab was wack. While I can't say I disagree, EVERYONE* in the water agreed that he was just jealous he hadn't invented a new barrel-riding technique.
He briefed Trevor on my tendency to crab-grab and they were cheering me on to my first wave, a sick right that was quick to develop (unlike the author). Hearing calls for crab-grabs, I tucked into my old familiar stance and got barreled. The wave dumped over and I zoomed through the barrel fast, tucking my leading (stalling) arm behind me and went quite a ways through the spinning hydro-tunnel.
I had quite the thrill going quite that far. When I pull in to a closeout, I have a certain expectation as to how far/how long I expect to go. For every half-second I go beyond that expectation, the euphoria increases exponentially.
I surfaced and let out a hoot.
On the next wave, I pulled a proper pig-dog and did my damnedest to stall hard. A stranger paddling about 20 feet inside of me who had just snagged a good one gave me a long hoot as the lip finally cascaded over me. I don't remember what happened, but I didn't make it (I'm pretty sure I over-corrected into the wall).
I caught a very similar right, tried it again, and in my burning desire to get barreled with a proper pig-dog stance while NOT going into the wall, had the lip drive my throat into my knee. OUCH! Painful and a little scary, but no long-term damage. Swallowing left me sore for a few hours afterward.
I later caught a left and, upon first pump, I was reacquainted with my glorious DHD board and the speed its rail generates. Though I kept pumping, the beautiful curves of my foam masterpiece were not enough as I slowly lost the race to the speeding lip.
The waves' consistency slowed down and the likelihood of closeouts increased. MiM, having an eight-hour day ahead of him bailed. I waited about ten minutes before a belly-boardable wave came (!) and hit the sand.
*not really.
Saturday, November 5, 2011
11.3.2011 20th St Del Mar with Missed It Mike, Trevor and some other Guy; October Wrap-Up
October Session Count: 8
Black's 2
Lowers 2
Shorebreak 2
25th St 1
Oceanside 1
No-Gos 4
October wasn't a great surfing month for me. It started off very well with back-to-back sick seshes (Oside and Black's) but stalled and sputtered for much of the rest of the month. Four No-Gos (where I drove to surf but it was terrible and didn't paddle out) leave me with a D+ in terms of surf consistency.
~11.3.2011 20th St Del Mar with Missed It Mike, Trevor and some other Guy~
We met at North Torrey and the waves were small and fat. We checked 20th and it looked slightly bigger and slightly steeper. I wouldn't have gone if Trevor wasn't itching to paddle out and Mike had expressed disinterest in not going. In order to pressure Mike into going, I said, "I'm out thar!"
The air was really cold, and the offshore made it that much colder (this sentence will win some sort of writing award). Going from a nice warm car to the cold air and then resigning yourself to shedding clothing so you can get in a "wet"suit to get into sub-60 degrees water is daunting.
Mike did his amazingly hilarious bit of complaining about everything. His feet were cold. His feet hurt from walking bare. I asked him if he was coddled as a child and he responded, "What's coddled?". This guy is a comedic genius!
Mike and I were the first to hit the water. Mike had to turn around as he left his wedding ring on, so I had it all to myself. I caught a left and did a weak, but extended, off-the-lip and came down smoothly.
Another left came and I thought it would be a doozy. I bypassed the first hittable section (Mistake 1), pumped way down the line (Mistake 2) and tried a cutty (Mistake 3). This wave should've been hit from the get-go and the rider should have stayed close to the curl, the power source of the wave. Upon the wave ending, a sick slash would have ended the ride nicely.
A right came just as the rest of the crew was paddling out. It looked steep, so I got into my kneeboard barrel stance. I put too much weight on my too far forward stance and ended up sliding over my board and bodysurfing as the lip pitched over me. Bummer, but still a cool view.
Once Mike paddled out, the waves shut down and we drifted south. The water has dipped below 60 degrees, which makes it booty and glove territory for me. I made a mental note to bring those along next time.
I did catch one wave that was a pretty sick barrel. Mike enlightened me as to my sick facial expression just before and in the barrel. Apparently, I open my mouth pretty wide as I'm in there, giving the audience the impression that the barrel is sicker than it is. Pretty funny! The wave barreled all at once, as it was a closeout, and I saw a good twelve feet in tunnel ahead of me.
Black's 2
Lowers 2
Shorebreak 2
25th St 1
Oceanside 1
No-Gos 4
October wasn't a great surfing month for me. It started off very well with back-to-back sick seshes (Oside and Black's) but stalled and sputtered for much of the rest of the month. Four No-Gos (where I drove to surf but it was terrible and didn't paddle out) leave me with a D+ in terms of surf consistency.
~11.3.2011 20th St Del Mar with Missed It Mike, Trevor and some other Guy~
We met at North Torrey and the waves were small and fat. We checked 20th and it looked slightly bigger and slightly steeper. I wouldn't have gone if Trevor wasn't itching to paddle out and Mike had expressed disinterest in not going. In order to pressure Mike into going, I said, "I'm out thar!"
The air was really cold, and the offshore made it that much colder (this sentence will win some sort of writing award). Going from a nice warm car to the cold air and then resigning yourself to shedding clothing so you can get in a "wet"suit to get into sub-60 degrees water is daunting.
Mike did his amazingly hilarious bit of complaining about everything. His feet were cold. His feet hurt from walking bare. I asked him if he was coddled as a child and he responded, "What's coddled?". This guy is a comedic genius!
Mike and I were the first to hit the water. Mike had to turn around as he left his wedding ring on, so I had it all to myself. I caught a left and did a weak, but extended, off-the-lip and came down smoothly.
Another left came and I thought it would be a doozy. I bypassed the first hittable section (Mistake 1), pumped way down the line (Mistake 2) and tried a cutty (Mistake 3). This wave should've been hit from the get-go and the rider should have stayed close to the curl, the power source of the wave. Upon the wave ending, a sick slash would have ended the ride nicely.
A right came just as the rest of the crew was paddling out. It looked steep, so I got into my kneeboard barrel stance. I put too much weight on my too far forward stance and ended up sliding over my board and bodysurfing as the lip pitched over me. Bummer, but still a cool view.
Once Mike paddled out, the waves shut down and we drifted south. The water has dipped below 60 degrees, which makes it booty and glove territory for me. I made a mental note to bring those along next time.
I did catch one wave that was a pretty sick barrel. Mike enlightened me as to my sick facial expression just before and in the barrel. Apparently, I open my mouth pretty wide as I'm in there, giving the audience the impression that the barrel is sicker than it is. Pretty funny! The wave barreled all at once, as it was a closeout, and I saw a good twelve feet in tunnel ahead of me.
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